When a heroin user finds a vein that they like, they use it over and over again until it collapses. It would make more sense to use different veins each time to avoid these scars, but I guess heroin use and sense don't really go together. The time leading up to the collapse is when they get track marks, long lines of bruises and little individual pin pricks, all the way up the arm opposite from their dominant one.
I spent a lot of time as a very young girl with the local junkies, in garages and the depths of local parks, doing lesser drugs and stroking the ropey scars and cheap tattoos of longtime users. Kids are cruel, and it didn't take long to figure out that the kids my age didn't want anything to do with me, but that the junkies would take in anyone. I was a good student, and as long as I kept my grades up there wasn't any reason for anyone to notice that I spent most of my time missing. It didn't take long for things to turn ugly, and by the time I got to high school I was reformed and sullen and uninterested in touching drugs ever again.
It's been a pretty crappy weekend, and today I played only songs that I need my whole voice to sing along to, because it's in danger of disappearing. Catching up on some filing, I came across a few pictures from the summer after my first year of college, the summer I spent smoking fiercely, wearing black tank tops, and talking too fast. I never appreciated summer vacation enough when I had it. I'm pretty sure I'm not appreciating what I've got now that's good, because I'm not sure how to filter it--there isn't enough time to stop and savor all of it. So instead, I'm documenting, and what I've got now is a firmly entrenched bad mood and a lot of bad memories, both of which are things I'm lucky to have because they mean I'm still alive. I have to take while the taking is good.
So. Hello there. I'm samantha. I like dirty jokes and cursing like a sailor, red shoes and argyle, potato chips, puppies, beer, and the word "pulchritudinous." I like to spend weekday evenings in bars or at home with my tambourine and the northwest's finest indie pop. I do not like people who cheat, telephones, doing the dishes, lettuce, or the look I get when the bartender doesn't think I'm old enough to be in there. My doctor has confirmed that I am finally 5'1" tall. I weigh less than three numbers but no you cannot lift me up to see.
I like daisies, most of all. Daisies and hugs that last just a little too long.
No comments:
Post a Comment