I want drugs.

Addict.

Hooked.

Some days, I really hate myself. Not today, though. Too busy wondering how and where I can get more vicodin. Pathetic.

Fortunately for me, I've no intention of buying the stuff. And I'm not in enough pain yet to go to the hospital, although it wouldn't surprise me if I end up there in a week or two.

So for now, I wait.

Stress.

Crave.

I'll be fine. I'm always fine.

Besides, I have pickled ginger.