posted on Jun, 23 2004 @ 07:08 AM
Driving to work this morning, I accidentally spilled my morning heroin all over the inside of the car while shifting into third gear. It wouldn't
have been a big deal, necessarily, since I knew I had a secret stash in one of my desk drawers at work. It would be okay, I thought. But when I got to
work, my secret stash was empty. Gone. I was completely, totally, out of heroin. This was going to be a problem. I've been addicted to heroin for
easily 10 years. It's an addiction that started when I was in San Francisco, a city known far and wide for its heroin. Not a day has gone by when I
don't have some, or a lot, as the case may be. I was a bit worried about how my co-workers were going to react to watching me go cold turkey right
there in the air-conditioned comfort of my office. The morning only got worse when a half-hour into my work day, my computer crashed so hard I had to
re-format the drive, foreshadowing my own meltdown. About noon, the headache was in full-strength, and no amount of Tylenol was going to remedy it. I
needed a fix. Bad. Good heroin is not easy to come by near my office building in the sticks, but like any good junky, I did know where I could get
some low-grade heroin, to at least get me by until I got home. I made the buy and headed back to work, only to spill half of what I'd just bought in
my lap. I thought I was going to cry. There was enough left to at least take the edge off, thankfully. But sometimes it just doesn't pay to be a
The moral? Stories are a lot more interesting when you replace the word "coffee" with the word "heroin."
Just some food for thought...