Back in the day when drugs were fun

I woke up about 4 am so did my mate. I was cold but wasn't sure if it was cold.  I don't trust my body. It must have been cold cause my mate got a blanket, I went back to sleep and didn't wake until after 5 am and did my mind thinking thing, got up at 6:30am and I felt good! The headache was dull almost non existing.  I took the Claritin last night and Nasonex. So maybe I can still read my body some.

Good news yesterday, I made an appointment with a new pulmonary doctor on 10/4, a new Rheumy doc on 10/14 and medical doctor who is a cardiologist on 10/13.  I'm optimistic that they are going to find the miracle combination to make me feel well.  All I really want is to lose some of this horrible blubber, yes blubber I'm the size of a baby whale, I could feed the Eskimos’ in Alaska for a month, I was going to say a year but that would be stretching it and exaggerated.  Also to get rid of this pain in my left lung and to be able to move around without it hurting. I can deal with everything else the anxiety kinda feels like when you had some real good cocaine and we all know how much I love cocaine.  (No well that's the main thing I miss, not cigarettes and not liquor.  I still would love to have a hit or two of coke.)  I would like to know what is causing me to be dizzy and this numbing that I get in my mouth. But even that I can handle, the swelling and pain I can tolarate. However I would take some good pain meds, unfortunately they don't get me high like the rest of the world they just numb my pain like they're suppose to.

I've always had a high tolerance for drugs.  I stole my first bit of refeer from my brother and his wife.  (Sorry to inform your kids about your past, if any of them are still reading. But it's my confessions and this is a part of it, and you didn't miss it anyway, you had about an ounce.) Anyway I went over to the candy store where my boyfriend worked.  A policeman was the owner, Ha-ha!  I ordered some bambu and my boyfriend smiled cause he wanted me to try the cheba for a long time. He gave me a trey bag.

Thinking about it now I don't know why I decided to try refeer.  I did a report in school about drugs; I was suppose to interview family members and get their opinions.  I don't remember what anyone told me except my oldest brother.  He lived in the basement and the smell of refeer always filled the kitchen, all the way up to the last days of his life.  He told me all the other drugs were bad, but there was nothing wrong with a little maryjane every now and then. It was natural and grew off a bush dried and ready to smoke.  That may be what peeked my intrested.  My brother was cool, the nuns hell they were married to God what did they know? Marijuana a gateway drug, leads to other drugs.  Na!

After got my papers from the store my friend who I met in church and (we are still friend to this day, the one who worked in the World Trade Center.) We went to her house, which we usually did on Sundays, she live in a co-op housing complex.  We went to the park, the wind was blowing, I didn't know what I was doing but I managed to roll a joint of my brothers' stuff it tasted funny, it was green.  So tried the one my boyfriend gave me, it was brown and had a different taste.  It was good.  We didn't feel anything but when we went to the handball court, I couldn't stop laughing.  I was now a pot head. Back in the 70s' is was easy to get. Everyone was smoking if you sat next to someone smoking they would offer you their joint.  It was rude not to accept you know. When you went to the park and if you didn't have any money you could always find a nice size roach.  A nickel bag of refeer usually had enough to make like 15 fat joints.  Refeer didn't have names like they have now, back then they were named after the territory it came from, Acapulco Gold, Panama Red, Tai Stick and the best shit of all was that Jamaican herb, ‘gunja.’ Them boys always had the best shit and plenty of it. Oh yeah that black shit it was embalming fluid, You know the stuff they use to preserve dead people. That was good shit too.

Once I got in high school I met this girl who was wild and I followed her.  I don't know why, but after the restrictions of Catholic school I loved the freedom of HS.  I played hooky every day.  I tried coke, didn't care for it back then. Had angel dust, (refeer soaked in PCP), pills and tabs of acid.  I liked acid too, but I was scared of it.  I did take it now and then.  (In fact the guy who is a billionaire my mother let me ride with him to Atlantic city on NJ Transit, we stopped on 42nd street and brought  a loose joint, tobacco rolled up and a tab of acid, a piece of loose leaf paper with an oil mark on it. The guy told us to drink some coffee to make it work. We slept all the way to AC. Needless to say we got beat.) But I tried anything except heroin, saw too many junkies.  They were always nodding, dirty, couldn't talk. Not cool, not me.  Thank God, I probably would of killed myself if I got into dope.  I surely would have gotten aids with my sex addition.

My life of sex and drugs can go on forever. My constitution was strong and I was always the one whose' head was straight.  I could drink you under the table and over.  I could smoke so much refeer all I had to do was take a puff in the morning and be just as high as I was the night before.  Cocaine I sniffed until I couldn't talk and my mouth was numb and my twat itched for some freaky sex. I smoked crack and crawled on the floor looking from that piece of rock that fell earlier when I had plenty.  But the difference was that I saw what it did to my friends.  It called me just like it did everyone else, but I didn't listen.  It was bad enough that my kids had a sex addict who liked to get high as a mother and a father/stepfather smoking crack and doing dope.  They didn't need me to be a crack head too. My constitution kept me from being an addict to anything but sex and cigarettes.  I always tried to ensure that my kids had a roof over their head and food in their bellies, even though there were times they went to bed hungry and cold.

Funny how my mother put my father out because she didn't want us around a drug addict.  My son's father spent his life in jail.  My oldest daughter is just like her father. So is my youngest daughter. Goes to show you genetics run deeper then what you look like and what illness you'll inherited.