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May 2013

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Intense Using Dream

I dreamed that I relapsed on heroin. I put on my ripped up and patched clothes, stuffed a backpack, and left. I bought a roll of quarters soaked in dope and went to the house of an old 'road-dog'. I swallowed two, I gave him four. I knew he'd have more of a tolerance than me. Then we had a fight, wrestling and punching and cowering hiding, over the last quarters. I shouted "I didn't say you could have them!" as he flipped the couch to get at them. I tackled him and his head hit the edge of the stove in his small galley kitchen. I punched and kicked him but he pulled a gun. I managed to get it out of his hand and upright again, and he had another. We aimed at each other, but the guns were light, flimsy, plastic cigarette lighters; He got up and took the last quarters.
Then a brief interlude concerning the film 'American Beauty'. We were in a household bathroom with public service announcement wallpaper and a family member came in to express concern about our using.
The drug-abusing friend and I go out to his car, which is old and beat up and covered in stickers from a university he'd never attended. The passenger seat is pushed all the way forward. There is a tan station wagon sitting in the middle of the parking lot, blasting music. He said 'That motherfucker's been here all night.' I assumed there was crack smoking going on in the vehicle.
Then I am on the route 37 bus (I wasn't aware there was such a thing). I am standing at the front, and a man sitting a few rows back is making sexual comments and speaking loudly about pornography in general. I get him up and knee him in the groin and hit him a few times. The driver (a cool one, who wasn't wearing a shirt) kicked the man off the bus instead of me. He said he understood. The lewd man got back on a few stops later.
We pass through the slums and I see sick black kids everywhere. An older woman is telling her husband that her kids are going to pick up a disease called 'neighbourism' from some other children there. It will turn their hands black.
I have to walk past an AA event to get to where I am going once I leave the bus. It seems to be winding down, tables are being put away.
I am walking down a hill in the large nature park, which is spotted with fellows in the program. As I am trying to walk surreptitiously past someone I used to use heroin with, she pulls me aside and asks me to fix her pink gel pen. I twist it, it's fixed. She thanks me.
In the crook of my left arm is a mark from my real-life blood draw on Friday, on the right are track marks from heroin. One is red, the other is blue. I think, 'Gods, I would have had two years on Thursday.'

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