Wasted Grace in Crazytown? Never.

Elvis is buried in Graceland. Michael’s family wants him buried in Neverland. What sort of land would I be buried in? When I reflect too much upon the time I spent using, in active addiction, it feels like it would have to be Wasteland.

If you combined the hours I spent peeking out of closed window blinds and the time I spent crawling around on the floor looking for something else to put in the pipe, I could probably have knitted socks for all of Asia. Also, I probably could have been building (instead of losing) relationships, doing the job I was being paid to do, mowing the lawn, taking my dogs to the vet, living life, that sort of thing.

We are told that we will not regret the past. Well, I’m not there yet. I’m not sure I need to get there, either. Those people who don’t regret the past didn’t get to see the hardwood floors that were destroyed from urine stains my poor dogs made over years of meth-neglect (taking my dogs outside required me putting down the meth pipe and putting on clothes, and neither of those things were especially appealing to me when I was using).

I have friends who were John Barleycorns or Pharmacy Phils or what-have-you, who had different drugs of choice, and different preoccupations when they were using, but I don’t think any of us were focused on being productive and engaged citizens of humanity when we were actively getting fucked up. Those things don’t go together, really. At least not for me.

I am thankful everyday there is not a human who was dependent on me for food or water or care while I was using. My dogs barely made it through with me.

My life now is pretty active and full (even if some of it is entirely random). When I ask myself the question regarding what I have packed into the stream of life each day, I am typically more than content. Maybe I’m trying to make up for some of the time I wasted. Who knows.

Maybe Wasteland is too dramatic…. (also, hackneyed). Crazytown seems appropriate… Time to get to a meeting.