I had been clean for at least seven months.
They had me hospitalized, rehabilitated, medicated and on a path to normalcy.
I was working in a call center taking inbound calls from old women complaining about their oatmeal being infested, how to bake their cookies extra crispy, and where the closest store to get the gluten free rice cakes was.

It was a sad, pathetic, life for a junkie. But, I felt happy.
I had an appetite again and enjoyed the spontaneity of the work. The random conversations with complete strangers and the need to improvise on the spot. It was better than working on a construction site, less stressful than a copper heist or a drug deal. But, hard to stomach a paycheck that wouldn’t be enough to ante up in some of my old card games.
My family was proud of me and said that I looked healthy. They turned red in the face as they asked about what I was doing or where I was living or if I still played music. I felt like the creative juices were expunged from me. I picked up a guitar and felt nothing. Actually, I never even picked up the guitar. I’d rather watch tv or play spades on the internet.
“does your sister still live in Brooklyn?” they would ask.

The routine got tiresome and eventually I snapped. Took a job in the city for better pay and a little excitement. It was a real Ponzi scheme. Off the bat I knew it was boiler room, too good to be true. But, shit I needed the rush. First paycheck I went to a bar and never looked back. I took the boltbus to Brooklyn.

There was a show on the riverfront, primus and gogol bordello.
I took a couple shots of patron, smoked a joint in a port o potty, made out with a hippy, met up with my sister and met 3 of her friends, got lost on the way home, wandered around Brooklyn and fell asleep on the sidewalk.

Woke up with empty pockets and a dead cell phone. I walked into a bodega and made friends with the clerk. He let me charge my phone and eventually I texted my sister. She was worried sick about me. I felt fine, and didn’t think it was a big deal. We laughed and shared a pot of coffee.

It was hard saying goodbye.

We met friends for lunch in Manhattan and I took the train to Trenton. I stared out the window and felt lonely. I longed for the California coast, the Mexican sun, the spanish mountaintops. I cringed at the jersey turnpike. I listened in to a conversation between teenage lovers and realized i was old. I closed my eyes and escaped. There is something inspirational about a train ride alone.

things were gonna be different when i got home.

01/15/2011

Posted on 01/15/2011
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