And now, on with the rest of my life... which is passing by me at a ridiculously distorted rate, sometimes too slow, sometimes too fast.

I dreamed about having to feed chinese food to an inchworm. About all my teeth falling out, Tommyknocker style, except they were rainbow colors. About dressing up in garb. About that damned couch... it seems to be a theme in my dreams today-ish.

Scott was on it once... and then it was a fuck-couch for a large chunk of portland... and then it was where the inchworm was hiding... and then it was flying...

...I think ~I~ am flying, somewhat...

...but really, I know what it is. It's happiness and lack-of-pain in little white pills, and I understand why there are drug addicts in the world.

I promised myself I would ration them carefully after tonight - tonight is my 'binge', my few hours of bliss. Tomorrow I have to be sober and go cope with the people at the OHP office - not about health care, I am not that lucky, but about the strictures and structures involved in food stamps and the procurance thereof.

I am drowning in words...

...and I would much rather be drowning in fruit juice, but the closest thing we have are wine coolers and I know better than to try one of THOSE with how much codine I've taken today.

My body is already trying shutdown - I am refusing to let it, but I know that the coming-down process from tonight is going to be hellish indeed. I am not looking forward to it.

I've gotten some sleep. It's been full of dreams. I dream a lot differently when I am drugged... less rational than usual and more coherant than usual. Odd. But amusing, after the fact.

And Angel... she's not IN my dreams tonight. But I can feel her tonight. She's up late... reading something. I have no idea what. But she's reading, and for a moment she thought of me, and she was... angry? Or just upset? Something.

I really do not like the thought of her being upset with me.

Why am I deleting the earlier entries? Because they were written with more anger at the System than anything else and were not honest. They were just depression and rage, and not even the good kinds of it. I am... ashamed... of the fact that I let myself slip that much.

Maybe I should keep them in.

Maybe not.

I don't know... do any of you?