A Brief Voyage Into The Land Of Idiocy.

So last night, we agreed that we'd meet in a parking lot after my meeting, and we'd drive together to his parents' house. He'd borrowed their car, and we needed to return it. The place where my meeting is held is halfway to his folks' place, so it made sense to travel together.

He has my phone, as I've had his turned off since he can't pay the bill. (Yay, big codependent victory. Boo, big codependent sucker-ass move in letting him use my phone while I'm at work.) I get out of the meeting, and he isn't there. I wait. I pace. He's not there.

Some folks come out, and I borrow a phone. I call, and it rings and rings and rings. I know that paranoid Mr. Junky won't answer a number he doesn't know. I call again. I call his parents and ask, "Is he there?"

Of course he isn't there. I ask them to try to call him with their familiar number, and I thank the first person to loan me a phone. I stand, and fret, and sort of cry, and walk around, and look at the addicts coming out of the N.A. meeting and sort of hate them for what they probably do to their loved ones, and kind of scope them out to see if one of them would make a nice husband, and then more people come out who I know, and I borrow a phone again, and I call him, and he doesn't pick up, and I call his parents, and he's not there and he didn't pick up.

By this point, there's a giant knot in my stomach. How long will it take me to learn not to trust him with my stuff, with plans, with anything?

I leave, but stop at a gas station pay phone to try his folks one more time. They'd spoken to him, and he was on his way to their house. I drove on to their house to meet him.

The crisis was small, and it had nothing to do with drugs...however, it had everything to do with selfishness, thoughtlessness, and his seeming inability to ever, ever, ever have his shit together. We never said that we'd meet at his parents'. We were going to meet in the parking lot. It was very clear. He changed his mind, probably, because he was late or eating dinner or jerking off or watching tv, and decided that he'd just meet me at his parents, without considering that there'd be no way for me to know that he was just driving out there.

I was telling a friend about this little episode, and I said that as long as he's not committing felonies or doing heroin, he feels like he's doing really well. It's frustrating, though, when the bar has been dropped so low. Yes, he wasn't doing heroin, and I thank God for that, but he was driving me nuts and being really selfish and stupid and inconsiderate.

Also, because of his heroin and felony behavior in the past, when he is disappeared for any amount of time, I get pretty sure that he is doing heroin or felonies. At least for a moment, I am terrified and heartbroken. The fact that I'm even writing about this briefest and stupidest lapse into the land of idiocy indicates that things are going well between us, that he's doing well and I'm doing well...however, I'm still waiting for the turning point, when things go bad...when he's gone, not answering, unresponsive, and when I either won't see him again because he's dead or in jail or when I do see him again, he's all mushy faced and droopy eyed and awful.

How To Be Dead.

Mormonesque turned me on to this Snow Patrol song while we were on our road trip. Here's the lyrics:

Please don't go crazy if I tell you the truth
No you don' tknow what happened
And you never will if
You don't listen to me while I talk to this wall
This blanket is freezing, it's been out in the hall
Where you've had me for hours
Till I'm sure what I want
But darling I want the same thing that I wanted before
So sweetheart tell me what's up
I won't stop
No way

Please keep your hands down
And stop raising your voice
It's hardly what I'd be doing if you gave me a choice
It's a simple suggestion. Can you give me some time?
So just say yes or no.
Why can't you shoulder the blame?
Cause both my shoulders are heavy
From the weight of us both.
You're a big boy now, so let's not talk about growth.
You've not heard a single word I have said...
Oh My God.

Please take it easy, it can't all be my fault.
I haven't made half the mistakes
That you've listed so far
Oh baby let me explain something
It's all down to drugs
At least I remember taking, and not a lot else.
It seems I've stepped over lines
You've drawn again and again,
But if the ecstasy's in the wit is definitely out.
Dr. Jekyll is wrestling Hyde,
for my pride.

Isn't it perfect? Isn't it just fucking perfect? It's like a conversation we would have. The best parts are those about drugs, Dr. Jekyll and Hyde, pride, the "Oh My God," and the shoulders. It's perfect.

I read it as a recount of a conversation between two people. It pleases me.

Also today I'm listening to Wilco and Ryan Adams. Question sent me two cds yesterday, and they're both the first ones these guys recorded after kicking heroin (beating a dead horse just occurred to me as extremely funny. If heroin is a horse, I'd beating it. If it's a dead horse, I'm still beating it. Hah). It's good music with just the right bittersweet melancholy, and I'll always listen to it with the memory of her sweet note.

I love everybody!