I changed themes to something very simple that I got over at scribblescratch. I like it. I decided to change my theme to something simple and elegant because I wanted it to reflect the lifestyle I am trying to live right now. Minus the elegant part. Lets face it, you guys, I will NEVER be elegant, lol.

It is 3:32AM and I am not asleep. I have to go to the clinic around..oh..I dunno…6:30AM or so. They close at 11AM today so its best I get there as early as possible because im sure there are going to be tons of people there. Now, when I say tons..I mean tons. In one and a half hours that methadone clinic doses 500 people and sends them on their way home.

So, I guess I am due to write a little more detailed update. I dont mind. I am really going to start using my blog as a journal, a mechanism for self therapy. You may laugh at that, but you also havent been through what I have recently.

Like I said, on Tuesday, June the 10th my boyfriend and I were on our way to pay off some traffic tickets he had and, well, its no secret now that we both have a heroin problem. On Monday, June 9th we made a pact with each other…that was our last day. We were going to buy one gram, thats all..and split it, and that would be it. We would be sick and sweat it out together. That day we didnt have enough money to buy a whole gram…so we got a half of one fronted to us. That means we owed our “dealers” the money for a half a gram of heroin.
On Tuesday morning, June 10th, on our way to pay off some of his traffic tickets…we decided to meet up with them to pay them back to get it all over with. We met in the usual fashion. Soda hopped back in my car and it was somber moment. We started to leave the grocery store parking lot that we met up in…and a car almost hit us. I am a mouthy bitch so I was yelling the typical road rage rhetoric when the male in the car starts to get out. At this point..im thinking..”Ok, We are about to get beat up by a big ol black dude.” Now that I look back on it, I sooo wish we would have gotten beaten up by big ol black dude. Big ol black dude turned out to be Big Ol Vice Squad. He choked me back into my passenger seat so that he could reach all the way through the window and grab Soda by his neck. Soda split. Im not sure why he split…but…as humans our fight or flight mechanism kicks in during this situation and he flew. I tried to fly, but I couldnt get the car to move. I tried for what seemed like hours to get the fucking car to drive because I was going to get the fuck out of there. I realize now that it was only about two seconds and the car wouldnt drive because it had been turned off by force, when it was not in park. So, when I was trying to turn it on..it wouldnt because it wasnt in park. By this time I looked out the window to see Soda on the ground getting beaten by about three cops. I just remember his face smashed against the pavement and three cops piling on top of him. About that time the same black guy grabs me by one arm out of the car. I was not resisting at all. At this point, my senses had kicked in, I wasnt thinking irrationally..and there was no reason for me not to comply with everything that was going on around me. He pushed me, and shoved me, and did everything he could short of pushing and knocking me down. I verbally protested “Sir, There is no reason for you to push me like this, I am not resisting.” His reply was “Im just making sure you dont fall.” At that point, if he wasnt a police officer…I would have turned around and smacked the fuck out of him. Did he think that because he was bigger than me he could push me around and treat me like I was below him? Was it because I was female? White? Because he had a better job? Or because…wed been caught in what they assumed was a drug deal and he was looking at me like I was junkie scum and junkie scum isnt worth respect? It doesnt matter. What does matter is that he was treating me as if I was somehow unequal to him, under him, less than him. I dont know if any of you here reading this have been truly treated as if you are LESS THAN equal to someone, but it is the most dehumanizing, humiliating feeling in the world. I am not saying I did not deserve to get caught. Im not bitching about getting caught. Up until that point I had been committing crimes everyday, multiple times a day. Buying illegal drugs. That is criminal activity and I was a criminal, taking part in criminal activity…not at that moment, on that particular day, but I had been for days before that…so, yes, I deserved arrest. I did not deserve dehumanization.

Anyhow, I soon learned that I had been caught in the middle of a sting. The news media (you can see a video about the bust and even see our mugshots here). Basically they caught 15 addicts and the 4 dealers. Because Soda and I were not buying drugs, and had no drugs on us at the time of the bust, we were treated with the utmost disrespect by the police..ironic, eh? I think its because they just didnt get what they wanted so they slapped us with the most bullshit, trumped up charges EVER. Ok. Soda got evading and resisting…which he deserved because thats what he did. BUT, they charged BOTH of us with paraphernalia….the exact charge I believe was “unlawful use of drug paraphernalia.” Heres the fucking kicker..the paraphernalia they are talking about is as follows: ROLLING PAPERS, DIGITAL SCALES, and A CIGARETTE ROLLER!!! Ok, I can understand the digital scales..but the fuckin rolling papers and cigarette roller… WHEN THERE WAS CIGARETTE TOBACCO IN THE CAR!! Oh my God. Anyway..we ended up sitting at the secret sting location (a mall parking lot) from like 9AM to 6PM in the scorching heat, then we were loaded into literal cages on wheels and hauled to jail where we stayed until 2AM. Soda made pretrial. I didnt, I dont know why I didnt and he did..but he did. His bail was more than mine, his bail was 6k. Mine was 2k. Anyway…I had to make bond but I got out. Our court date is on July 1st. I am getting a public defender. I think I will be ok.

Like I said, I am in the Methadone program which is treatment for opiate addicts. Not a lot of people understand opiate addiction. The brain of an opiate addict is very very different from that of a normal person..and not just because of the drugs. There have been amazing medical and scientific advances in the area of study that involves opiate addicts and how our brains work…the information is amazing. I am learning so much at the clinic and I will write about the emotional mind and physical brain of an opiate addict in my next entry…as well as why I support methadone clinics and why suburban moms need to stop fucking bitching when one is built in their neighborhood.

Until next time….
Send me positive vibes.

It seems like I have nothing to blog about, but theres actually so much to blog about that I cant even begin to fathom how to put it into words and create some type of legible piece of writing. So, I wont. I wont go into detail about my life recently…I dont feel I owe some long drawn out story. Ill just pick up, not where I left off…but where I am now. Thats what I feel like doing.

Picking up, not where I left off…but where I am right now. That makes me wish that life was like the internet. For a lot of people life is the internet or the internet is their life or some huge part of it, I dont know where I am on that. The internet certainly takes up a lot of my time but would I call it a part of my life? I dont think so. Would I miss it if it were gone? Hmm..I would probably find something else to do. The instant easy access to information would be missed, but thats what books are for.

My life has been nothing short of chaotic, just a big mess. Its getting better though, because, like this blog entry..I am picking up where I am now, not where I left off.

Oh baby. Im so tired.
Man, from the Government
Man, from the tax board
Man, in the public school,
Man, owns the golden rule, yeah.

Im everybodys slave. I made you my slave.
You said…This Id Do For You.

If it would help, to give the world back what it gave..then I would. I would. I would for you.

You say my eyes are crazy eyes. Well, sometimes they are and so are you.
And if you wonder, what I would do, I would do anything if I could. You know I would. I would for you.

Everyone I meet in my life makes an impact on me in some way. Some people make huge impacts, impacts the size of the meteor that wiped the dinosaurs off of the Earth. Some people make very small, grain of salt impacts. Some people I will remember forever, some I will forget in years.

In the 9th grade I went to two different schools. The high school I was zoned for was in a VERY bad part of town and naturally my mom didnt want me going there. So, I got a special transfer to a high school in a good part of town. My special transfer was for a psychology class that wasnt offered at my zoned school. Needless to say, within months of being a member at my new special transfer school I was kicked out for threatening a teacher. I was subsequently sent to the school that was in my school zone. In the middle of the worst neighborhood on my side of town. About 50 white kids went to this school, a few Latinos, even fewer Asians, and the rest were black. I didnt have a problem with this at all and felt extremely comfortable in this environment because it was what I had been used to throughout my whole school career. Not to mention, my best friend Kathryn went to this school and I was super excited to be back with her.
Well, I ended up skipping all of my classes at this school..hanging out in the hallways, gyms, and bathrooms with my friends, talking on my cellphone. There wasnt a lot of authority in this school so it was pretty easy to get away with this kinda stuff.

One day I was walking through the hallways when I was supposed to be in one of my classes and I saw a very beautiful man. He was definitely not a Freshman. He was probably a Sophomore.  He was tall, olive skinned, blonde haired and had eyes that were as green as emeralds. He really was unlike any male I had ever seen before and I was instantly very attracted. I walked up to him and I said..”Hey…are you Puerto Rican?” (lol, really funny now that I look back on it). And he said, “No. I am Afghani. Im from Afghanistan.” I was a little taken aback because I had NO idea where Afghanistan was. At that point I was thinking maybe somewhere in Africa? Anyhow, he gave me his screen name and said he spent most of his time online (cha ching! I did too!) and told me to hit him up. Cool!

I wanted to learn more about this guy. He said his name was JT. I knew this had to be short for something. I thought about him for the rest of the day and wondered where Afghanistan could possibly be. So I came home, and looked it up. It was next to Iran, China, and Pakistan. I started to learn about his country. I started to talk to him and get to know him, we became close friends. We played “Empire Earth” together for hours and became close.
Over the course of our friendship I would ask him questions about where he was from. What was it like?
He told me he didnt remember a lot about his country. He was born in 1985 and Afghanistan was in the middle of a war. His family were driven out of their homes after he was born and they took refuge in the neighboring country of Pakistan. My friends name was Mussa. That means Moses in Arabic. I soon learned that Mussa had an older brother, equally beautiful although very contrasting in his looks, named Eisa, which means Jesus.
Mussa would not talk about his country or where he came from very often. I believe that maybe he felt his identity had been stolen by those Soviet Tanks that moved through the streets of his home town as a child.  Mussa never had a lot to say about his home land. Despite this, he was deeply proud of where he was from, deeply proud of his family and everything they had overcome. Deeply saddened by what years of war, and ravaging had done to his homeland. Deeply saddened by what it had become.

I met Eisa a little while later. He was not as tall as Mussa. He was darker skinned, like chocolate, with deep brown eyes, midnight colored hair,equally beautiful, and three years older. He remembered where he was from. He remembered his white house, his yard full of bright green grass, the bright red flowers planted underneath the windowsill. He remembered everything before they had to leave to seek refuge in Pakistan. The picture he painted of his home was not a reflection of the pictures I was now seeing on the news. No longer were there Soviet Tanks invading the beautiful streets of my beautiful friends home land, they were now American Tanks, American troops, and American missiles destroying the ruins of what the Soviets left behind, stirring up the dust from the previous wars. By this time our country had invaded their country. We were imperializing them, just like the Soviets did before us, the Europeans before them, and the Moslems before them.

I asked Eisa to send me pictures of him and Mussa when they were little boys. I wanted to see a glimpse into their childhood. The first picture he sent me, I will never forget, and I wish I still had it.
Standing outside of their childhood home in Afghanistan, beautiful green mountains in the background. A white fence lined with colorful red and purple flowers directly behind two gorgeous little boys. A barely standing Mussa, smiling with his hand to his mouth, his blonde hair blowing with the wind. A taller Eisa, with a very stern face, sadness and confusion in his eyes, and an AK-47 in his hands. That picture really answered a lot of questions for me, but asked even more.

I started thinking about them the night before last because I watched a documentary about Afghanistan and amidst all of the dust, the sand, the rocks, the ruins, the guns…I saw those beautiful people again. The same beauty I saw in my two friends who I will always remember.  That show made me think about them, and mostly the plight of the beautiful Afghan people who have been oppressed for hundreds of years and who have survived and persevered throughout hundreds of years of imperialization, oppression and pain.

I  miss my friends. I still talk to them from time to time, and I think about them often. I always check in to make sure that they have maintained their sense of identity living in a place that wants so badly to rip it away from them. They are two people who I will never forget. I will never forget their beautiful family, the stories they told me and the music they exposed me too…I felt very privileged to be taken in and shown so much of their culture, a culture that is so misconstrued here in the west but that I find endless beauty in.

Just a story of two people I have encountered in my life that I will remember forever.

I was writing an e-mail to a new e-mail buddy of mine and he said he wanted to know a bit about my life..so..I decided to talk about it. Here ya go…

Right now I live with my boyfriend. It is difficult living on our own, you know? Very different from being a kid and many times I find myself thinking about my childhood and just..yearning to be a child again in the arms of my mom. My mother and I have a SUPERB relationship. She is my BEST friend in the whole world. Shes my hero.

Now, prepare for the story of my father. Whew. Ok….this is a bit emotional for me…but I share it with people because everything that has happened in my life has played a huge role in who I am…and this includes my father. Let me begin by saying that I love my dad. There have been times in my life where I needed him very much as a father, but now that I am an adult…I need him as a friend. I miss him so much.
I lived with my mom and dad until I was about 7 years old. Maybe 8. I had a happy childhood with the looming sense that SOMETHING was wrong. Something just wasnt right in our household and my mother did an amazing job at sheltering me from the heartbreak that was going on in my house as a child.
My father was and still is an intravenous heroin addict. It breaks my heart just to write it. I want to go back and delete it over and over again but the absence of the words does nothing for the reality of the situation. When my parents were divorced, I didnt see my father for years. All the sudden I got a letter from him that said he was living in Florida with his parents. So, during the summers I would go down and visit him.
He had a new girlfriend by this time. Her name was Kay. I went down to Florida on Christmas, to spend Christmas with my father. Well, when I woke up on Christmas morning…he was gone. I figured hed be coming back soon so I just sat and listening to my cd player. A lot of hours passed and he wasnt home yet. It was dark. I got bored and decided to clean the house as a gift, when I got finished mopping the kitchen floor I sat down to get some rest and then I thought I heard his truck pull up..so I ran through the kitchen..slipped on the wet floor..and busted my head open on the side of the refrigerator. Yeah, thats kinda funny, lol. He didnt come home until about 11 or so that night.
I dunno where he was. Dont care anymore.
Well, after that he moved back to Tennessee, married another woman and I went to his house every other weekend and things seemed pretty normal. He invited me and my cousin to go on a camping trip with him, and my aunt and uncle. I could sense that things werent right with him. I am imagining now that this was the time he was in the throws of his addiction and he brought me right into the middle of it, which, I should be very angry at…but I forgive him. Well, everything was fine until we all went on a hiking trail and about..halfway through the hiking trail we turned around and my daddy was gone. We all ran around and screamed his name over and over but we couldnt find him. So we just went back to the camp site and called the police. My aunt and uncle drove us to their house where my mom came and picked us up. All I could think was that my father had let me down again.
He disappeared again after that. The next time I was to see him I was 16 years old..almost 17. I heard a knock at the front door and it was my father! And, his new girlfriend. We didnt talk about all the bad times..we never did. He just made promises that he would stick around, be a part of my life, yadda yadda. I visited him a couple times in Oklahoma. I even went over there for Christmas when I was 17.
My dad was acting..very..very strange. More strange than id EVER seen him before. Something really shady was going on. I could tell. By this time I had learned of his drug use and I sort of understood what was going on. But, once again, in the throws of his addiction..he brought me in. To most people this would seem crazy but I know he did it just because he missed me and he wanted to see his little girl.
Anyway, I had bought some hair dye at the store and wanted to dye my hair one night so I was in the bathroom dying my hair and I stepped up onto the top of the toilet to reach the cabinet and for some weird reason I picked up all the towels and I found a needle, a spoon, a lighter, and one full baggie and a few baggies with residue. I wasnt angry. I was just heart broken again. Hed broken my heart again, but thats ok. I confronted him about it and he just said he was using the needles to inject the dog with something (they didnt even have a dog). Ugh. His rage started to go above and beyond. I heard him on the phone with my mom, and my mom must have KNOWN something was going on by the way he sounded. Well, I heard my dad scream “IM GONNA DROP HER OFF AT YOUR GOD DAMNED DOORSTEP.” He was obviously talking about me, but because he screamed at my mom..that really pissed me off and I said to him “Who do you think you are? You are so fucked up on whatever dope youre pushing into your veins that you dont even realize who youre talkin to. Youre talkin to the woman who raised me ..you have nothing to do with it. You didnt raise me youve hurt me constantly.” Well, he began to throw all of my belongings in trash bags, put them in the back of his truck..took me to the airport and I flew home, heartbroken again.
Well, I gave him another chance. And, this is the most painful for me. The next Christmas I wanted to go see him again. He lived in Oklahoma so my mom was going to drive me halfway and dad would drive halfway to pick me up. So, I get there to load my things into his car..everything was fine. About 15 minutes into the trip with my dad..he started to “nod off” (fall asleep) at the wheel due to his drug use. He was high. He was swerving off the road and I got really scared and I said…”Dad if you dont pull over and get you something to wake you up..im gonna call the cops..and call mom or something because im scared” so he reached in the backseat like he was gonna hit me or something and so I opened the car door. He just..grabbed me by my neck and threw me out of the moving vehicle. I only had my cellphone and a book. Everything else I had taken…he took. My guitar, my boots, and a pillow that my deceased grandmother made me when I was a baby. It was all gone and there I was..alone..in Arkansas. I called my mom and she called the nearest police department. I started walking back to where we had come from. I walked for a few miles and a state trooper found me. Took me to the police station and my mom drove all the way back and picked me up there.

I havent seen or spoken to my father since. So, thats that I guess, huh? Lol.

As human beings, we have forgotten how to not only exist upon this Earth, but with this Earth. A tree breathes what we exhale. We breathe what the tree exhales. This gives us a common destiny with the tree. We are a part of this Earth. We are not separate from it and we are not separate from this universe and whatever magnificent force may be out there, but we are a part of it. Modern mythology may tell us that we are lesser than it, but that is a myth used to control the masses..we ARE it. But, we have forgotten. We have evolved technologically and devolved spiritually and look where it has taken us. It has taken us into an age of nuclear weapons where one detonation will wipe out entire cities and leave the shadows of its victims forever etched into some dimension that we cant comprehend, its led us into a world of man made religion where faith means nothing and we are scared to even question what television tells us is true. When is the last time you planted something? When is the last time I planted something? When is the last time you sat outside and really meditated on the fact that your dna is the same as that around you and you are a part of your atmosphere…not some separate being that exists only within the confounds of social norms and corporate cultural machines. Love, live, learn, and exist with what you are.

I wanted to add that you also do not simply exist within the confounds of what you think you know to be true about this universe and the many realities that exist within it. Do not be afraid to learn. Knowledge is power, knowledge is INFINITE and to rob yourself of it is the greatest injustice you could do yourself. Be Scholarly.

So, today is Thanksgiving so I thought I would write an entry about what I am Thankful for this year.

I have a lot of things to be Thankful for this year.
My aunt is doing well. For a while there I was very afraid that I could lose her and that another person in my very small family would pass away, breaking a very tight tie that binds us all. But, she was stronger than we all thought she would be and she fought her disease with positivity and laughter. She surprised us all, I think. I am proud of her and my uncle, and their son, my cousin. For being strong enough to deal with everything the way they have. I love you guys and I am very thankful for you.

My mom. What can I say? She is my rock. My shelter. My best friend. I am thankful that not only is she my very best friend, but I am lucky enough to have her as a mother as well. She has made so many sacrifices in her life for me. She raised me the way a good mother is supposed to raise a little girl and throughout all my life it was just us. Me and my mama, ive never needed anything else. And, I still dont need anything else. I love my mother more than anything in this whole wide world, she is my life and without her…I would be nothing.

Kelley. My best friend and cousin. I am thankful that she has turned out to be the strongest woman I know, next to my mother.  Throughout all the trials and tribulations in her life she always comes out of them with a new lesson, and a new strength. She is a survivor and I am very proud of the strong woman she has become.

Soda. We have come so far in the past two years. The way we have changed and molded to each others needs makes me so happy inside. We went from something very very bad, to something very beautiful. You love me, you respect me, I love you and I respect you. We live our lives together. Every dream I have, you are there with me. Every fantasy, you are there with me. You are my BEST friend, my lover, my partner…youre my everything! I am thankful for you…and I love you.

Today kicked ass pretty much. My moms dinner was great and Kelley got me a badass new digital camera for my brithday..ill post some pics from it later.

I am writing this entry about another Intervention episode I just saw. It was great. By far my favourite episode this far. My own father is a junkie. It sounds…bad to say but im so far beyond caring about that stigma. Todays episode was about a man named Coley who was a Methamphetamine addict. He was a husband and a father. I can usually deal with the episodes of Intervention pretty decently..but this one, for some reason, really got to me. Even though my father is addicted to a substance that is on the opposite side of the spectrum..I just have this sensitive spot in my heart for fathers who are substance abusers and especially their children because I was one of those kids. Fuck, I still am one of those kids. Even though I havent spoken to my father in two years I still deal with the hurt and the pain that addiction causes a family, a father, and a child.

I was rooting so hard for Coley and his wife and his kids…and I think all that emotion came from the same place inside of m me that roots for my dad all the time, everyday. I was just thinking about it a couple days ago and I came to the conclusion that I think about my dad everyday. Every single day. I probably mention him every day too..to different people.

There was a part of me that was hoping my dad would somehow contact me on my Birthday. Around 9PM last night I started thinking about it…so I checked my e-mail at the only address he ever knew of mine. The only thing there from him was an e-mail id saved from forever ago asking me “where r u” after all that stuff in Arkansas happened. One word, two letters.  I replied and said “Im home, where are you?” I never got a reply.
I told Soda that I bet my dad sent me a card to my moms house because he knows her address.  I havent checked that mail yet..
My mom never checks the mail so she wouldnt know either.
I probably wont check it because I know when I look through the mail…theres not gonna be a card from him.

Im thinking about opening up my domain for hosting. Id just host like ..4 or 5 people. Id have to  OK it through Kelley first because she owns all the space…there are really only two people right now that I think deserve to be hosted here..and thats my friend Sarah and this chick I kinda know named Glynnis but..she blogs and her blogs are pretty good (she blogs on Myspace and we all know how I feel about Myspace). I *think* shes interested in modeling so…having your own domain to keep a portfolio of your work is never ever a bad idea. I offered it to her…lmfao..id be so excited to have hostees because..IM A DORK LIKE THAT.

Well, my birthday is in about 2 and a half days. Its on Thursday. I will be 21. Getting older is both something I enjoy and something I loathe. With each year I know that sooner than later, im going to have to really do something with my life. I guess, its not that im not doing anything with my life right now..I have a great job, a nice place to live and nice things but, my mom still helps me out A LOT. I hate burdening her. Im sure its not a real burden because I know for a fact she LOVES providing for me. She always has..but its a burden for me to feel as if I am burdening her. I often wonder if shes disappointed in me.  Ive had some major ups and downs in my life and even though I am finally ok I still have a lot of hang ups, and thankfully my mom really understands me. Shes understood me from day one and I truly believe that she believes that any progress is progress. Me being happy on a day to day basis is probably the biggest change that everyone in my life  has seen in me here recently. My mom knows that its hard for me to be “ok” and “content” and most of all “happy.” Im not using this as an excuse to be a piece of shit in life (I try real hard not to be a piece of shit in life) but, I think it has made the fact that her daughter is different a lot easier to handle and deal with.

So. Yep. I will be 21 in a few days. Twenty one years of existing. Three years ago I would have never believed that I would still be around to see 21 and now..I dont understand how I ever could have thought that hahaha. How can anyone not want to stick around to see what life throws at em? I dunno.

Well..im going to leave you guys with shots of my GORGEOUS new notebook and one picture of some dinner I made the other night (yeah..its an occasion when I make a GOOD dinner).

And the great dinner I made..the recipe was from Kelleys boyfriend, Paul and  I altered it a bit..but it was delish.

Nachos!!! Best Nachos I ever had too.

yall keep it real. lol.

Do you ever get tired of your life and find yourself fantasizing about picking up, packing up, and moving?

For me, lately..ive been getting this restless feeling. Tired of the same scene and the monotony but who isnt? Who doesnt get tired of their life and wonder what life would be like if certain events played out differently?