Neglect and New Years

It's been a while since I've posted anything here, and I must admit, I've been pretty lazy concerning updating my blogs (this ain't my only blog). I guess I'll talk about today being new years eve, and my feelings concerning this holiday.
It kinda sucks, when I used dope, I often found myself withdrawing from society. I guess I did it because I was always ashamed of my addiction, and I was afraid the more I was around people the more obvious my drug problem was... Not that you couldn't tell something was up if you simply looking at my pasty pale green face.
Now that I'm sober, that social neglect has come to bite me in the ass. I have nothing to do tonight, and I'm really working on making myself ok with it. Admittedly, I'm pretty bummed out, but then again, I know if I'm out, I'm basically going to wish I was home. Also, really, it's just another day, and to be frank, for ten years, I partied everyday. It's about time I took a break from "partying", and allowed myself to enjoy some much needed solitude. On top of all of this, I have my next big show in less than a month and a half. If I want to get this done, I need to seriously use the rest of my time on my show.
On top of this, lately my inner junky has been trying to convince me that I can get away with partying at least once "cmon Luke, it's NYE, let go and celebrate." And I have to keep arguing with myself that it's literally impossible for me to just take 'one hit' and let go of it. That I have tried this over and over with the exact same results, once I start I can't stop. Fortunately this week my probation officer contacted my methadone clinic and now I'm testing 3 times a month. This leaves very little room for me to fuck up (unless I'm ok with going to jail).
Anyways, that's all for now. The results from my prune tasting competition will be coming up soon, along with more of my daily struggles.
Happy new year.

Grumpy/Moody

I am grumpy/moody. And that's all I want to say about it.
But saying/typing it sure makes me feel better.

Diminished

This morning, I woke up wishing I had slept more. Something about today is shattering my faith in humanity, and even more so, shattering my faith in myself.
When I walked out of the clinic, a homeless guy asked me for a quarter which I happily gave him, but then he was going off on all kinds of psychobabble about his grandfather, not knowing my people, etc. It was sad and disturbing.
I hope things start looking up soon.

Resolve

Earlier this week, the inevitable finally came to fruition. I was walking up to the methadone clinic when I was approached by a guy asking for a cigarette. I had left them in my car and said I'd give him one when I wrapped up my business at the clinic.
When I finally stepped out the guy was waiting. As we walked up to my car, he asked me what I was doing there, to which I replied that I wad getting my daily dose of methadone yadda yadda. After I gave him a cigarette he asked me if I wanted any heroin, to which I replied "no thanks, I'm fine". And we went on our way.
It wasn't till I got home did I realize the gravity of the situation, and the importance of my response, and for the first time in a long time, I wad truly proud of myself.

Prunes

Now that I've taken on the task of making myself regular, one thing I want to do is make this mission as pleasant as possible. The way I'm pursuing this is through the consumption of high fiber foods. Like I said, I've been drinking Metamucil like a astronaut drinks Tang. On top of that, I'm also munching down on prunes.
And I must admit, every time I say it, or type it, I shudder at the idea. But really, prunes (shudder) aren't that bad. However, there are a couple brands out there, and being the American I am, I've grown to believe that the more I spend, the better the quality. So, here are two of the more expensive brands I can find in my local Ralph's supermarket. In the near future, I hope to share on the Junk blog, a thorough and objective "prune (shudder) review".
My first two brands are Sunsweet, and Mariani. More in the near future.

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Constipation

In case you didn't know, opiate based substances make you constipated. I remember back in my small town days when I was strung out on OxyContin, my friends would jokingly refer to the situation as having a gnome that would cruise by, and "boulder up the cave". From my experience, the metaphor of the 'boulder' couldn't be at times truer.
Methadone Hydrochloride, has a bit a similar effect on me (minus the "getting high" aspect of other opioid analgesics). Just recently the constipation was so bad, it felt like I was passing a boulder. Actually, I was kind of scared. The movement felt like it was to big to come out, and I was afraid I would have to go to the emergency room for professional help. Fortunately things never came to that point, but the experience definitely scared the shit out of me (almost literally).
This morning I asked the methadone dispensing nurse if she could recommend anything to help me out. Milk of magnesia, prune juice, and/or lots of fiber were basically the solutions she recommended. Unfortunately none of these sound at all appealing to me.
Since then, I've been munching away at prunes and chugging orange Metamucil like my life depended on it. I can't save I've noticed a drastic change in my colons behavior, but things have been better than they have been.

Flying in the Twenty First Century

This past week, I ran out of town to attend the Art Basel Art Fair in Miami Florida. Living in California, I obviously had to take a plane ride to get me across the country, and for this trip I chose to ride Virgin America since I was going to flying across the country. I choose Virgin not only because they are a reputably better airline, but because each seat has its own television screen! (These television screens are something I absolutely find essential when flying across the country. And it still blows me away to know this piece of technology still not standard on all airlines, specifically the big ones).
It was the events that I experienced during this trip that made me extremely happy to know that I was drug free.
First "incident" occurred, in LAX. During the security check, officers from Homeland Security swabbed my fingers, palms, and laptop for chemicals. (What were they looking for? Drugs? Explosives? Both? Homeland Security wouldn't explain.) Fortunately I haven't been handling anything illegal, so I had nothing to worry about.
Five days later, in the Ft. Lauderdale / Hollywood International Airport, I got through security without issue. Funny thing was, I actually thought I was going to get enjoy the rather controversial full body scan, but I just had to contend with the metal detectors. However, when I got home and unpacked, this letter fell out of my suitcase:

 

That's right, the boys in blue went digging through my luggage. Once again, I have my sobriety to thank for making this a non-event. 

I keep imagining what might have happened if Homeland Security found something on me. I would have been thrown on the governments no fly lists in a flash, and the chances of me ever leaving the country would have been probably been somewhere next to impossible.

It makes me glad I got busted when I did.

Sixth Sense

When I first moved to Los Angeles, I moved to get away from the drugs I couldn't stop doing, and in the beginning it worked. When my career as an addict started, I was in a small town, and in small town, the drug user community is small and extremely tight. It wasn't till I had moved and innocently went to an art show in downtown Los Angeles (coincidentally next to Skid Row) did i learn how the open air drug market, common in most urban/metropolitan environments, worked. And it was at that event where I learned just why cities like LA and San Francisco are such major drug hubs, and it was then when I reassumed the role I had moved to LA to escape. Years later, I, like most drug addicts had picked up that unique "sixth sense" common with most addicts: The unique sense to "sniff out" dope wherever I am. Several weeks ago, this was a sense I treasured, but now it feels more like a curse.
Being out of town and immersed in the Art Basel art fair has been a great opportunity for me to take my mind off my addiction and absorb all the amazing stuff around me. Unfortunately, the event is also being held in Miami, and any dope fiend worth his weight can tell you that Miami is exactly where some of america's best dope makes it's start on its way across the country.
Fortunately I've got one major defense lined up to help me, and that is that there isn't a dealer dumb enough to cop to me cause I look the way I do. (Note: Most people probably wouldn't look at me and think me a drug addict due to my race and general appearance.)
The only trouble is that that doesn't mean I can't spot them a mile away myself. The good thing about in Basel is that being here, I'm constantly reminded why I'm here and exactly what i can potentially achieve if I stay on the straight and narrow.
I'm truly glad i've got something to live for, cause if I didn't I don't think I'd have any reason for me to stop in the first place.
That's all for now.

Wheelin & Dealin

When I went on my walk this afternoon, I couldn't help but notice how I found myself eyeing primer black Toyota Camry's. Of course, the reason why I was checking them out is cause my main dealer drove such a car. Fortunately for me all the cars that have caught my eye have been False Alarms. But I wonder, what would happen if such a car was my actual dealers. What would I do? Would I end up copping some dope? The proposition freaks me out. But I'd like to think I'm a pretty smart guy with a solid conviction. All I can hope for is that my dealer played it smart, quit the biz, and has decided to let me go. One can only hope.