Stop.

I want my husband to stop hurting.

I was working today, and he kept putting his foot under my hand and whining about how much it hurts him. He asked me to stop working long enough to rub his foot. I told him, "No." He insisted. I kept saying no. Finally, I told him I'd rub his foot if he'd do something about the pile of dishes that's accumulating in the sink. He said he would before we went to bed tonight. I rubbed his foot for a bit, and then got back to work. A few hours later, he went to bed, leaving the pile of dishes stacked up in the sink.

I'm almost positive that he's still smoking weed in the house. I'm too tired to go looking for it, and I figure I'll find it when it's time for me to find it. I'm going to make him leave when it gets clearer. I can't do this anymore with him.

I love him. He's hurt, and his psychic pain manifests itself in foot cramps and back spasms and hot flashes and all kinds of madness that makes him needy and clingy and difficult to be around. It's hard to watch him suffer, and I wish it would stop. I wish he'd take the steps to stop it. He's not going to. I'm going to have to ask him to go away again, and I don't want to. I also don't have it in me to repeat the same lunacy again and again.

It's been a long week.

Who Knows.

After realizing that he'd acted like a jackass last night, he went to bed very early and was quiet in that extra-sulky, addicty, head-buried-beneath the covers way. It was fine with me. I didn't like him anymore, and I didn't want to hang out.

It gets all under my skin, though...sometimes, I wonder if I haven't remained married to this man, or even if I might have fallen in love with this man, because I can't figure him out. I stand before him like an enigma...like he's a riddling bridge troll I've got to get past before I can move on with my life, and the riddles he keeps coming up with stump me again and again.

I hate the weird attitude, too, of needing to go hide after acting crazy. He gets upset with me for seeing him act like an asshole, or he's upset with me for noticing that his behavior was ridiculous...as if the problem is in my noticing.

It does help me, though, when I read your comments. It helps me to know that this shitty, pissy, foot-stomping addict mess is normal addict mess. It helps me to keep perspective. It helps me to read my own writing, my own thinking from the night before when I was so pleased with him.

I do tire, however, of this constant evaluation...the perpetual re-positioning of myself against my life. I am always looking at me, looking at him, looking at us and our lives and trying to figure out if where we are is where we need to be, if where I am is where I want to be...if this life is tolerable. There's a lot of measuring, weighing, checking and balancing. I am hoping that my vigilance now will pay off in simplicity in the future, that a day will come when every moment won't require an analysis to see if it's worth it. I'm hoping that one day it will all be worth it.

I'm so wise. I'm investing. I'm taking a risk with the hope of a future return. We'll see what happens.

Now, with all that said, I think you should all go read the Cunt Face Social Club. We've taken the underground society public, and we need some lovin. I'm not sure what's going to happen with us over there, but we will be a force to be reckoned with one day. Our mission is not yet clearly defined (except, of course, for the procurement of man-slaves and eventual world-domination), and so much of our fate will depend on you, dear readers, and your responses to our fledgling posts. So check us out!

These Kids These Days.

Amy Winehouse And Pete Doherty, Oh My!

I try to keep posting these stories when I don't have much to say. I'm tired, but never fear, my loyal readers, there are addicts acting up worldwide, and I'll be sure to bring you news of them, even in my boring contentedness. And as long at Pete Doherty is still breathing, there will be heroin news.

Hah!

I do wish Amy Winehouse would quit acting like that, though. She's so clever and sings so well. I suppose I probably really like her because she's an addict, and I love me some yummy addicts, especially the downward spiraling artistic kind...I like her music, and I'd hate to have to throw the magic pussy at her.

And here's one more little tidbit. I always enjoy these "Grandma slangs dope in suburbia!" stories...plus, I make a little more off videos! Click click click!

P.S.

Look at my new ads! If that's not a sign that I've made a turn for the better, I don't know what is! Now, instead of telling me that my readers might be interested in purchasing some heroin detox or rehab, they are telling me that you guys might be interested in Hot Wife Sex, some HD television, or Pre-Divorce Counseling!

We're on an upswing, folks! Now let me try to fix that real quick!

Heroin heroin heroin heroin

Heroin needles junky fix

Heroin heroin heroin heroin

Heroin sucks. Heroin will ruin your life. Fuck heroin up the ass with a dirty needle.

I have the cure for heroin. It's very magical.

I can't wait to see if that worked!

For Pete's (and Lindsay's) Sake.

It must be hard being super-rich. How do you know if you've reached rock bottom? When you've got money falling out of your ass, what's the impetus to stop acting like a fool?

Daniel Baldwin

"I'm an egotistical overachiever with an inferiority complex," Daniel Baldwin said.

My husband fell in love with him last night while watching ABC's Family Secrets documentary thing. A reporter interviewed him at various stages throughout his stay at the swanky Malibu Promises treatment center, where celebrities and the ultra rich go to dry out. Something about the excessively blue eyed, charming, and difficult Baldwin made my man feel close to him. It was kind of funny to watch.

Baldwin was occasionally recalcitrant or petulant in that oh-so-addicty way, and I'd say, "See how hard he is to talk to! See how he's being!" and he'd just laugh and laugh.

It's kind of frustrating when he can see it, and we know he can see it, and we've all acknowledged that he's being annoying like Daniel Baldwin talking about his guilt over his children's experiences with his using.

I sat in his lap and we laughed at how Daniel Baldwin could be my third husband. He's just my type. I rubbed his beard against my face. I was furious with him. I wanted to smell his armpits. I wanted to throw all his clothes in the yard and scream. I wanted to kiss.

Yes, Mantra, the next time I want to ride a roller coaster, I'm going to the fucking amusement park. Or I'm marrying Daniel Baldwin.

Another precious Daniel Baldwin bit, "There's the person that's the addict, and then there's the person that's who you are. I prefer to say that I am a beautiful person. But the addict is a horrible person. The addict will screw you over and lie to you and do all kinds of things."

Ain't that the truth.

Can't We All Just Get A Bong?

I miss pot. There...I said it.

I want to be able to smoke pot without feeling like I'm doing drugs. I want to smoke week four times a year or so...I like the smell of it and the way it makes me laugh. I like the way it reminds me of being a teenager.

I spent that second decade of my life largely stoned. I was kind of a hippy. I'm still kind of a hippy, but I had outfits about it then, and long hair.

I'm finding myself a little angry lately at not feeling like I can enjoy messing around with pot because I have to be Mrs. McJunkyface, and if I dabble with fun drugs, then I'm somehow tempting fate or tempting him.

I've grown out of drugs...like the kind of drugs that will make you sell your mama's ass. I did piles of coke while I was in college, but even then, I always made it to class on time, maintained a stellar GPA, went to work and paid my bills. I always had it together, and I've learned since my husband's not having it together that my ability to push down breaks on my behavior indicates that I'm not an addict. He is.

But I want to be able to smoke some pot sometimes without feeling guilty. I'd love to be able to eat some mushrooms or take some acid and think about god and indulge my inner hippy without feeling like I'm betraying my husband, my blog, my program, and everything...I don't know why I'm suddenly all tormented about it.

Or maybe I do...maybe it's another thing I feel like I've sacrificed when he can't even take his ass to some meetings sometimes. I'm working to change my whole life, giving up things I don't need to give up, while his recovery is painfully slow and miserable.

I feel like I've got so much already figured out, and I'm standing on the other side of the mountain drinking water and relaxing, while he's still trying to find some kind of short cut so that he won't have to go the hard way.

Interesting Site On The Meth Epidemic

I found this story in my News Room feed, and I thought some of you guys might find it interesting.

Toddler Dies After Drinking Methadone.

Nicole Richie Says Heroin Isn't That Bad.

She says she never ended up living under a bridge, or, like, not having shoes. That's really impressive, huh? She's a real fucking survivor. What a fucking cunt.

UN Reports Drug Addiction Slowing Worldwide

For everything except opiates, of course.

Weed.

Man Arrested For Ransacking Helicopter For Drugs.

Ian Furbush wandered from the emergency room where he had been admitted onto the helipad at the Christiana Hospital in Newark, Deleware, and ransacked the helicopter looking for drugs. Stupidly, he left his work badge on the scene...

Ottawa Reviewing Clean Crack Pipe Program

Martin Sheen Goes To Washington

Using Drugs To Treat Addiction

Here's another article I found with this new news service thing I'm trying out. Let me know if you hate it. I think I might make some money from it, so I hope you don't hate it.

It's about the use of drugs to treat addiction, and it's written from the perspective of someone who is pro-drug...it doesn't get into methadone maintenance, but it does talk about buprenorphine and naltrexone for controlling cravings.

Canada To Commence Class Action Oxycontin Suit

Another Oxycontin lawsuit! Man, I wish we could have gotten our grubby little hands on some of the action of the first one. That shit started this whole heroin debacle.

That's right. It's oxycontin's fault. My innocent angel husband was the victim of a corporate scheme. Yep.

Today's Heroin News

I've only got one story today, but it's a real doozy.

In Buffalo, New York, a 5-year-old child brought packets of heroin to his daycare and distributed it amongst his friends. He presented the gift, which was wrapped in wax paper and imprinted with smiley faces, to six children, until he was caught by the teacher. The parents of the child totally super-duper promise that the heroin didn't come from their house. The kid says he found it on the way to school. He and his sisters are staying with their grandparents pending further investigation, but so far, the parents haven't been charged.

Parasites And Strays.

Or strays with parasites.

My husband takes in stray people. I think he is lonely for guy friends, and especially for guy friends who are bigger fuck-ups than he is in that they don't have wives to boss them around and pay for things.

For the last two days, one of his friends has been staying at the house. The kid is 30 and still lives with his parents. He's a drunk. One of the times that he stayed with us, he pissed all over the kitchen, just like my ex-husband used to do. I like to call that alcoholic hobby "piss-walking," a tragic Frankensteinian hybrid of sleep walking and pissing.

There are very few things that can make me as furious as piss walking. The ex used to do it at least once a week during bad periods, and he had this knack for finding my things to piss on. After we got married, he pissed on the dress I wore to our rehearsal dinner. One summer he stood over a trunk full of my winter clothes and pissed and pissed and pissed. He'd wake up the next day and swear he hadn't done it. Once, when I tried to get him to stop pissing in the laundry hamper, he pulled his arm back to punch me. Fortunately, since he was so drunk and slow, it was easy to dodge his punch.

God, the ex is on my mind lately. He's not what I meant to be posting about.

But this kid won't leave, and it's sad. I want him to leave. He's just the type of stray that I adopt as well...he's really smart and sweet and interesting, and also really insecure and sometimes aggressive when he's drinking. Because he still lives with his parents and his parents live in Waxhaw, which is pretty far out of town, he's always looking for somewhere to hang out. We let him stay with us, so he'll come and stay forever.

He'll act as if he's leaving for hours and hours, but he won't really leave. He'll walk around, stand by the door, pack up his things, and then never leave. He'll start saying things like, "My eyes are going bad! If I drive now, my eyes will start crossing! I won't be able to see!" And, I'll feel bad kicking him out because he's drunk, and I'll feel like an ass if he gets arrested or in a wreck (It's not my bucket of shit. It's not my bucket of shit. It's not my bucket of shit...this is becoming my mantra.)

So I've just told him that I'd like it if he left because I want him to leave. I want my house quiet, mine, private, clean, sober.

I feel like it's a step.

I also am shuddering a little at my observation that my husband takes in strays in order to feel better about himself. I do it, too. My husband is a stray.

I should have spent more time alone in my life.