ASTROGLIDE.

Isn’t as good as Tucker Max makes it out to be. I think ID Glide works a lot better. Too bad I wasted that shit on fucking dried-up Abigail, that whore! Hahaha.

I don’t talk to Abigail anymore. She’s probably still getting high.

Gus got high the other night. He went to the Hard Rock and rolled.

This girl at work said I have pretty teeth. Gio told me that the other day at the beach, too. I think I brush my teeth compulsively because when I was little, the kids in the neighborhood used to make fun of them and say I had gingivitis and that my teeth looked like butter.

Smoking crack causes so much insanity and frustration because of the manner it is smoked. Smoking hard is an art. It's very easy to waste; a good crackhead can apply the perfect amount of flame and pull. At first, when you slam a slab in it and post your lips, there’s no other feeling that compares. The flame hits the glass. I turn the pipe over and over, rolling it and getting the glass hot first. The noise, the crackling. I pull and slowing the flame taps the rocks and I remove it immediately, puff a few times and then I go in. I rip the son of a bitch. My eyes open and I wish my lungs were bigger. The smoke seeps out the side of my lips, my eyes bulge. I hold in the smoke, watching the crack sizzle on top, hating myself for letting that chunk go to waste. My ears ring and I search the room for people who don’t exist… then I would walk back to class.

Hahahaha. I really used to do that shit, too.

February 17th, 2009

I’m sitting in the auditorium. Everyone’s here waiting to donate blood. I wish they would let me put the needle in… This one lady passed out, turned white and started twitching. It was sick.

I felt like getting high last night. That crack cocaine obsession is fucking intense. I hate it, I don’t anticipate it to be so strong. I need to stop writing about that shit. I shared a burning desire and repeated the “Just for Today” on the drive home. Britney came by last night. Her friend died in a motorcycle accident and she needed someone to talk to. I held her while she cried and we hung out for a bit. She probably helped me as much as I helped her. I feel like getting high a lot and I can’t talk about it with people who aren’t addicts, but a lot of times, people help me without them even knowing. I guess people hurt me without even knowing too, though. I don’t know how to communicate.

I don’t want to use and I’m just starting to enjoy life, but my disease tells me, “Just one. You can get clean again, one more.” Well, fuck that.

Didn’t go to a meeting yesterday, haven’t worked on my steps in a week... I need to do more.