Addendum : When I Wake Up, Down

It’s no surprise that I have shut down to such a degree as a result of my journey, that when I awaken and attempt to arise, I go right back down. The moment of confusion, glancing at the wrist where no watch resides, squinting to see the clock, and then searching the walls for a calendar. And then the sudden striking fear that weeks have passed by in mere moments, that someone robbed me of what I am owed, and the burning sensation rising up from my chest to that specific point right between my eyes — and then the “reality” that sets in as I realize, yes, I did land at the point in time in which I was supposed to land, and yes, nothing is really out of whack in my personal time-space continuum. I mean, this is part of the process. Not to say I welcome it, but it’s part of the process.

I’m groggy, but not too groggy to hear what’s going on outside my door: my roommates, with their random musings about nothing important, with their lazy days trailing in to lazy nights; I can see the flicker of the tube as if it was in front of me — if I wanted it in front of me — spewing random nonsense towards un-awaiting heads, causing not even one synapse to fire. Yes, this is what I deal with on a daily basis.

So I turn my attention from that and toward the window, toward the all-to-bright Miami sun, with its remnants of days too hot and nights to unenthralling to coax me from my sanctuary. And I turn back towards my pillow, take a nose dive, and let it all go.

Yes, I fall back asleep, because I know it all too well, see.

Note to Self : Don’t Get Too Confident

I can already see you there, smirking, smugly muttering to yourself about how things are going to fall apart before my very eyes: you’ll be discovered, see! Those roommates have more head in those heads than you’ll ever realize! But after smirking back in your direction, maybe even tossing my head back for a quick chuckle, bringing my eyes back down to yours with a stern look, I’ll remind you, you see, about the lessons I’ve learned from others, and how it’s practically next to impossibly possible that I will trip up here. I mean, I’ve learned from the worst. There’s a definition that applies here:

Main Entry: smug
Pronunciation: 'sm&g
Function: adjective
Inflected Form(s): smug·ger; smug·gest
Etymology: probably modification of Low German smuck neat, from Middle Low German, from smucken to dress; akin to Old English smoc smock

3 : highly self-satisfied

Self-satisfied, indeed! Like I’ve told you before once, or twice, or several times more than you’re willing to comprehend, I’ve seen some bad things happen to good people who absolutely must resort to the same types of things I resort to in order to keep myself sane. I see it all too often: the sloppiness, the tracks not covered, the air of “I’ve seen everything and have all my bases covered” bit (I’m not cutting you any slack for that cognitive weakness). I now understand why it happens, how you’re lulled into complacency by the routine. It ALMOST happened to me (and I stress, almost), but I’ve become good at spotting my points of weakness and complacency. I won’t allow it to happen me, see. I really won’t.

But I take pride in my track record because I’ve seen the best of the best fall, usually when they THINK they’re on top of their game, but of course they aren’t — they’re shades of what they once were, beaten down by the product they base their life around. There’s another dictionary definition that applies here:

washed-up
Pronunciation: 'wosht-'&p, 'wäsht-
Function: adjective
: no longer successful, skillful, popular, or needed

No longer successful, and success is the only outcome I can accept — I mean, we know the alternative.

We know the alternative.  WE HAVE SEEN IT!

Awakening : Friday

I think, for one, I’ve had an awakening today. I realized I don’t need to interact with anyone to survive.

See, I’m in it in the worst way. I have this anxiety that causes me pain on a daily basis. This morning I heard the chirping again of my roommates and I couldn’t deal with it. I still, mind you, had to wait until they left to get anywhere. Donning my mask, I stuck my head right in the crack that I created when I opened my door, right after I heard the front door close. Safety. I waited a couple more minutes with my masked head hanging out the door, ready to retract and jump back into the fold, before making my way, quiet-like, out that door.

No one notices me when I have my mask on, which should surprise me — I mean, a masked man! In public spaces! — but wouldn’t nerve me today anyway. See, I’m on a mission, again. Luckily my roommates didn’t find my stash — I mean, what was I thinking leaving it in the medicine cabinet, in the kitchen? But I was smart enough to wait it out, just after my roommates went to sleep each night, tucked tight with dreams of candies and merry-go-rounds and whatever other shite they think about on a daily basis, before creeping into the kitchen, opening the cupboard without making a sound, slipping that plastic bottle out from underneath the rest, extracting my daily ration and oh so carefully placing the bottle back where I pulled it from — I can’t disturb even a particle of dust in these parts, always guarded and patrolled in the mornings, over lunch, and after work until the sleepytime evenings when I can again make my journey. Day after day — or should I say, night after night — of getting my daily need has reduced my ration to a conspicuous amount (if I take even ONE more, they’ll notice, they will), so they’ve FORCED me into public, into interacting with that outside world, south Florida, what I loathe so much.

And in order to play the outside game, as I drop my trailing foot from the last step to the pavement, I need to be “in cognito”, to keep my important parts covered — all of them, see. The sun has fully taken over the sky, and I’m still covered, the heat, and my layers — have to manage my layers — but my mask, it must stay, it cannot leave. The last layer is the key to my successful journey, and will allow me to complete it with maximum efficiency.

It’s not a long trip, not more than a couple minutes, from the time I exit my safe suburban haven to the time I hit my secret location, into the illicit apartment, to get my fix. I don’t particularly enjoy the company of “these people”– of course I am not one of them! — and the transaction is always fast, and they never question me (more than the snide comment here and there) about the mask — I mean, the know my situation, and that I have something to hide (my integrity along with my identity). But we’ve been doing it like this for as long as I care to tell, as long as I can remember now, really, and it will continue unabated while my roommates continue to hold me like this, PRACTICALLY against my will! (I mean, I know I’m strong enough to leave them if I want, but why bite the hand who feeds you?)

I’m not into those “party drugs”: the X, the nose candy, the needle-loaded weak-ass stuff that is about as much of a party as a caffeine high, the stuff every tight-ass sub-28-year-old boy and girl blows week in and out, sucking away their parents’ trust fund by the sniffle or spike or whatever they call it.  My stuff transcends beyond that; it’s what the big kids use, and it will continue to do me just fine until I find something better to do with my time.

The return trip seems to take twice as long as the trip over — the anticipation, you see, and a lot of it by yours truly.  If I didn’t get hyped up for this moment, who would, and I know the journey will end eventually, but not before I weasel my way back in, careful not to leave a set of tracks, shutting the door quietly even though I know there’s know chance anyone will hear me, and slipping right back in the door I left what now seems to be just seconds before (strange how time warps when you haven’t even had any fun yet).

Soon the mask can come off, but I like to fully complete my journey first, so I head back out to the kitchen, slip back into that illicit cupboard and rearrange things carefully the way I do to allow the bottle a clean exit, where I load one, just one, of my special narcotics back in the very space in that bottle that last night’s bit occupied the night before.  So later tonight, when I need to get my fix when the roommates are on the next snooze cruiser to sleepytime island, I can resume my routine of one in, one out, just like nothing ever happened.

So why do I do it this way, you ask?  Why don’t I just horde my ill-gotten gains in my personal sanctuary and never bother to come out to play this game?  See, that’s the secret I can’t give away.  Just yet.

In due time, in due time.

But first, I’ll have my fix in peace.  I enjoy it that way.  I really do.