Archives
- April 2004
- May 2004
- June 2004
- July 2004
- August 2004
- September 2004
- October 2004
- November 2004
- December 2004
- January 2005
- February 2005
- March 2005
- April 2005
- May 2005
- June 2005
- July 2005
- August 2005
- September 2005
- October 2005
- November 2005
- December 2005
- January 2006
- February 2006
- March 2006
- April 2006
- May 2006
- June 2006
- July 2006
- August 2006
- September 2006
- October 2006
- December 2006
- January 2007
- February 2007
- March 2007
- April 2007
- May 2007
- June 2007
- July 2007
- August 2007
- September 2007
- October 2007
- November 2007
- December 2007
- January 2008
- February 2008
- June 2008
- July 2008
- November 2008
- February 2009
Thursday, June 08, 2006
I sat in the tub, soaking in a bath full of epsom salts, after two hours of walking around Portland and thought about how I might have a Vicodin squirreled away somewhere in the medicine cabinet. I looked at our case of toilet paper, stamped FMV (for maximum value!) and thought about poverty and how it has a funny way of hanging on to you and ripping away your dignity with sharp little teeth. Then I closed my eyes and let the monsterous headache throb away. I thought shit. Shit.
Comments:
I enjoy posts like this because what you wrote is so real. At the same time, I wish it weren't real because I know how hard all of this must be,
I read along and I felt it, and I'm sorry. I've got my fingers crossed in hopes that things will get better soon.
Post a Comment
I read along and I felt it, and I'm sorry. I've got my fingers crossed in hopes that things will get better soon.
