I have almost zero memory of doing this 30 day beer fast.


I remember I used to frequent a bar called Crossroads and I became one of the weird regulars who came in around 7 pm and stayed all night. It was a 24 hour place with video slots and keno on the bar. Once I hit a royal flush and won $1100. I bought a round and then another and I think I woke up the next morning with about $50 left. I was living on $300 after I paid my rent. I’d lost my keys one night during the beer fast and had to kick my front door open. I busted the frame so the door wouldn’t close or lock and if it was windy it was very likely that I’d come home to an open door and a cold apartment. I remember going crazy toward the end of the fast and taking a shopping cart from the old Safeway in the same shopping center, now a Grocery Outlet (GroceOut for short), and rammed the fucking thing into a glass wall but I’ve no idea what happened. I was in a dream state and I thought I broke into a bank vault and was arrested but 10 or 12 hours later I woke up and was safe in bed. My bed was a futon that had lost its batting, so essentially, I slept on the dirty carpet. One night I got some speed from this guy at McDonald’s and hung around this sleazy monthly motel all night talking to the other tweakers. I met a girl named Chris who was missing a front tooth. She said she was raised, adopted, by a local TV news guy who did regular “white glove” inspections. I was happy that night. The next day I read in the paper that they were hiring for a new Chili’s within walking distance. I did the rest of my speed and went to the interview, at a hotel. I was very personable and impressed them despite not having any waiting experience, I got the job. I remember the hiring manage said, “You’ve got something natural that you can’t teach and that’s your easy outgoing way.” Needless to say I am a hard-shelled introvert unless I’m on speed. I went to Chili’s and tried but I couldn’t figure out the damn ordering software. It didn’t make sense to me. People much much stupider than me had no problem and could handle five or six tables at once no problem. I’d switched to buying Oxys from a guy named Pete, who showed up once at Chili’s with his black friends and ignored me. Everybody there was on some sort of drugs. Same with the Starbucks warehouse where I worked for about two weeks until I couldn’t take it any more. I was the only one at either place who had a college degree but I was the worst employee. I couldn’t figure out the stacking methods at the Starbucks warehouse either. I just sang The Coffee Song and picked up huge boxes and out them on the slapper. There was a kid at Starbucks who worked the graveyard with me and then went to Tahoe and worked construction another 8 hours. I don’t know how he did it. Well, I do. He did a lot of speed. Those Bukowski jobs are the worst. Contract labor. I didn’t even officially work for Starbucks but was a temp for the Manpower service.

Around that time, Darla and I met this kid from Wisconsin named Travis. He was a rich kid who had lost his girlfriend and best friend to overdoses in the past year, so he was just the kind of stable we required. Eventually he went broke. Once he gave these two tweakers $400 to score some oxy and they just took off with it. When he ran out of money he called his mom in Dayton and cried until she agreed to pay for him to check into a $5000 a day rehab.

So many years, so much of my life has been killing time, waiting for something to come along that never did. I don’t know why I accepted shit but I really did. I had confidence and success when I was 25. And then it disappeared.

Always waiting for some sign saying okay, now is the time to write the book. Or, now is the time to start the business. Or now is the time to quit putting poisons in your body. I was terrified of dying but apparently I was all set for it.

What do I have now? A blog that got 130 visitors last year? Hardly a success. Now I’m stranded in Mexico with a huge habit. I’ve got to stop finally and then get out the beginning of next month. I have no choice. I’ve put off everything.

Never do I feel so comfortably uncomfortable than when I have my rent paid, owe my connect no money and have no other plan but to lie in bed for three or four days until I kick. It never comes off of course. After 48 hours I give in. Once in December I made it almost 80 hours. Just about done. But the boredom is the worst part. I don’t have the life skills necessary to live without knocking myself unconscious for 12 hours a day. It’s no way to live. Being well for 12 hours. Sometimes as much as 24. Then being sick. Then taking tramadol trying to beat it and now having narcotic induced gastroparesis. It’s the worst. The day after I do tramadol I vomit. I have these horrid sulphur burps and nasty diarrhea and then I’m fine for a day and then I wake up and do it again. I sit in front of the toilet, my eyes streaming with tears, my stomach torcido, twisted, trying to wring itself out. It hurts.

All of my clothes smell. I need to take them to the lavanderia today. I need to do a lot of things. I will probably wait until the last minute and then make my decision, as usual. I don’t know what happened to me, my life., my potential.