Monday, April 30, 2007

CROSSTOWN TRAFFIC


I’ve been off the drugs for a solid handful of years now, yet it’s weird and strange how often drug memories, actions, and thoughts pop into my fairly clean head. Sure, like everbuddy else who spent their teenage and early adult years partaking in any drug, anytime, anywhere, then followed that up with a solid decade on the coo-coo-cococaine ya begin to wipe out a whole lotta the mishaps, financial woes, ruined relationships and general bad vibes and easily zoom back to the cocaine camaraderie, wanton sex, unforgettable nerve-tingling- brain-sparking-crystalline-thinking that always kicked off the next cocaine high. Luckily, beyond that(whew), I don’t desire or fantasize about or even consider jumping back in for a quick line or two (or forty), although I do experience a nausea-inducing mix of envy and hate when I spy someone tawkin’ and walkin’ the cocaine trail. The one aspect of my former drug persona that I can’t rid myself is--and it’s somehow embedded deep within my central nervous system-- that when driving, while on the road, when I spot a policeman I switch right into a state of silent-yet-urgent paranoia. My eyes get glued to the rear view like I’m observing a last chance glimpse of Penelope Cruz doffing her clothes, I reach for my seat belt and snap it into place crushing my vertebrae in the process, I immediately start planning my copspeak explanation, and reach into my recent memory banks in a tongue-swallowing attempt to remember if there is any paraphernalia or discarded drug stuff lying under my feet, anything and everything to avid the downhill rush of yet another jailtrip. (I’ve only done three, and I think that should be enough to cover my particular lifetime.) All this, and I’m GODDAMNED STRAIGHT! Is it some kinda druggy karma, or self-mediated punishment, or simply a case of the results of irreversible damage done to my poor battered and busted-up central nervous system? How do I kick this post-habit habit and get to be like most of the rest of the pack, switching lanes, forgoing signals, traveling at absurdly high or low speeds, ignoring coppers as if they were nothing more than silly stop signs? Maybe I should get into the pill thing, chemical zen, a new fix for the end results of just saying no…

2 comments:

mdoggie said...

I find it hard to believe that no one is commenting on this post. Maybe, in this age of all-seeing, all-knowing, all-exposing-your-past-foibles-to-hamstring-you-politically age we live no one wants to 'fess up but I hear you brothuh it's almost instinctual the anus clenches and the sweat forms whenever you see the heat and your as innocent as a babe.I think it's about being catholic...

lambgiuse said...

Sorry boyz, it takes me awhile to put the wife and kid to sleep (chloroform cocktails), but to respond…cocaine was an easy way to white wash the fact that we all had allot of energy in those daze. Youth works good in that way. However I am particularly proud of a few factors from those times:
1. Scott was honest about our abuse and parasite tendencies, and because we all really actually were friends, we reveled in the fact that we were so audacious.
2. We had some great sex that we will never AGAIN repeat without being exposed by NBC ‘s Chris Hansen’s internet predator show.
3. Did I mention the great sex?
4. I woke up hating humanity on a regular basis, but I never dissed my posse.