AFTERMATH: It's Hard Being Wise When You're Bored

Above is a song...

Hello, as you might know, the first 22 episodes of this blog are the text of the ebook, 'How To Become A Crack Addict' (from Jan to April 2013), which you can also buy on amazon, if you have three pounds to spare.  From then on, the blog is the frequent emissions of the servile blogger, who aims to please you daily, Benjamin of Turnham Green.  And here is today's attempt to please you...the above is an old song, but you might like it, if you believe in the link between love and garbage...

IT'S HARD BEING WISE WHEN YOU'RE BORED

Addiction's a social-life in itself.  You don't need a diary.  You can just be assured that every day, and any ensuing days, will be related somehow to drugs.  It may be a using day, or it may be a day after a using day, or a day before a using day, or a day where you just hide in bed, and wait for something to drop into your bank-account, counting down the hours and days with Time Team and Hitler documentaries chuntering away in the corner.  Odds on, even if you haven't used for a week or so, this is probably because you're broke, and so who needs a diary just to write in it 'remember to stay in'.

But today is a bank-holiday, which, in case you're reading this somewhere other than the UK, is a kind of extra Sunday, nailed on to the end of the week as a treat for those whose lives are impaled on the stake of the working week...or something like that.  Yes, just when you've got through a weekend, there's another day of semi-blankness to consider, confronting you with extra helpings of Time Team, and family-friendly films all through the day, messing with the schedule you'd got used to punctuating your day with.  Everything is set adrift, and all you can find, if you're lucky, is Jason and the Argonauts, toppling that giant, and slaying those skeletons and the like.

It can be as paralysing as any snake-venom, a bank-holiday, once its got its fangs into you.  You might rise with noble intent, hopes to write this letter, that poem, win that game of scrabble, ring that friend, write that song, do that exercise...and then, come four o'clock, with only a few Jaffa Cakes consumed, your mind strays towards that 'spare' £80 in the overdraft, which is already spoken for...but what the hey?  You stray a little further, picturing, as if in a cinematic dream sequence, your good self wandering down the road to the cashpoint, getting out forty, pottering along to your friends round the corner from the pawnshop.  Yes, ok, you're going to use, but at least you're also doing it because you want some company, some human contact, some stimulation, interaction...is that so bad?  Is it wrong to want a pick-me-up, the personal touch, a little pepper on your pasta?

Who wouldn't want when their life was so wanting?

It's so hard holding on with fingernails chipped and flimsy, rainwashed rockface...oops, I've gone again...

And that, as I splash down into ravenous rapids, is all I have to say today...

AFTERMATH: Autumn Eventually

Hello, as you may know, the first 22 episodes of this blog (Jan to April 2013), are the text of my ebook, 'How To Become A Crack Addict', which you can buy on amazon if you want to.  From then on, it's the daily emissions of your faithful blogger, Benjamin of Turnham Green, edutaining you with words, some addiction-related, some not, music, and pictures, like a child's scrapbook, with no overseer.  And here is today's emission...

AUTUMN EVENTUALLY

Today, I am dreaming of mutilating Richard Curtis, author of films such as Love Actually, Two Weddings, Notting Hill, and the recent one, About Time.  The idea that a character in a film can time-travel to any middle-class setting in history, is a remarkably original idea, and I commend him for it.  As for mutilating Curtis, I think I'd probably do it, go back, do it again, and perhaps do this up to ten times.

I also have a film coming out this season, entitled Autumn Eventually.  In it, I, the protagonist, am seen initially kicking my way down a leafy mews somewhere in the Kensington neighbourhood, dressed in Doctor Martens, naturally, some kind of bookish jacket, the sort a librarian with attitude might wear, and probably bootcut jeans from ebay.

Later, I stop off at a coffee-shop, ask for a latte, and sit down, noticing as I do the woman with ringlets and a book, sipping a tall tea at the table in the window.  The book is probably by Hermann Hesse, or some such, and I comment on it unobtrusively.  She smiles, and tells me what she likes about it, and how she loves his use of water-related imagery.  I concur, and buy her a teacake.

When she leaves, her perfume, a non-animal-tested fairtrade fragrance from a festival, lingers in the air at my table, almost making my muffin taste slightly medicated.  I smile a goodbye, not wishing to seem too keen.  She thanks me for the teacake, and parts the scene.

Then, because I'm depressed at another too-fleeting encounter with a woman, I ring up my crack-dealer, who meets me outside and slips two-and-one into my waiting fist and shimmies away.  I return to my table, and order another latte, pretending I work in publishing, and am reading a manuscript from a possible author I'm going to represent.  Then, when it comes, I ask if I may use the gents'.  The polite waitress says 'of course', and lets me know it's just behind the counter, down the steps.

I pop to the loo, and, because I thought to bring my pipe out, I lay me a chunk of white on the gauze, and light up very nicely thank you.  I sit there on the loo, wanking for a minute, cursing the woman for leaving, and not obeying my desires, not knowing my desires, and acting in exact accordance with them.  Then, when the high subsides, I have another, but the gauze burns, and I choke badly.  Then the fire-alarm goes off, and I panic.  So I try to load up another pipe, thinking to dash...but then I remember I have to pay...I'm shaky, and I begin to sweat, and I can't load mi pipe.

I shove everything in my pocket, resentfully and flustered.  I go back into the eating-area, and offer to pay at the counter, but we all have to go outside.  I follow the herd, about eight of us, and two staff.  The chef comes out saying there's smoke in the toilet, and they all know it's me.  I'm sweating even more now, and can't think of what to say to appease them all.  I apologise profusely, and say I did light up a cigarette in there, and start crawling and fawning like a fuckwit.  There's not much sympathy, and the chef points out that there's a no smoking sign in the very toilet I was using.  I go even gaucher, and start swivelling about like some tweed-elbowed English teacher in a tizzy.

Then the lady with the book returns, a little astonished to see us assembled so.  She's forgotten her notepad, and indeed, it's there, open on the table she was sitting at.  The words on it read, 'I recognise the man who's just come in, but I'm not sure where from...'

I then realise I recognise her.  I once shared a twenty with her in a bin-chute near Acton Central.  She asks me if I'd like to go and discuss Hesse's use of the semicolon in another café.  I say I would, and press a tenner into the clutches of the calming waitress, which she accepts.  The alarm stops, and we wander down the mews in slanting golden sun, warm, yet with a winter-crispness creeping in.

'I'm sure I know you,' she says as we meander towards the alternative tea-room.  'What's your name?'

  'Acton, I say, Acton Green.'
  'Oh,' she says, with turtle-eyelids, 'don't think I know an Acton.'
  'There aren't many of us around,' I say, and we enter the tea-room.
  We sit down, order, and I pop to the toilet.

And that is all I have to tell you today.

AFTERMATH: Money Days

Hello, as you may know, the first 22 episodes of this blog are the text of my ebook, 'How To Become A Crack Addict' (Jan to April 2013), which you can buy on amazon if you wish.  If you do, or have, I would really appreciate a review - there are two good ones already, and all are welcome.  From then on, the blog is the almost-daily reflections of yours truly, Benjamin of Turnham Green.  So here are today's profound reflections...

MONEY DAYS

Well, today has been a money day, which has been hard.  I had no plans, and I've heard that if you fail to plan, you plan to fail.  The morning was hard, because I'd hardly slept, so, after a few cups of tea, and a bit of youtubing, I lay on my beanbag (one of the lovely things I've bought for my little cabin since putting the crack down), and listened to England vs Australia playing cricket, and it was quite a nice experience, even though Australia were doing quite well.  I then buried myself in finishing off the first song I've written in a while (with my new keyboard, another gift of recovery).  I got money today, so I often felt like appeasing the boredom by going out and using, if only for the company.  But, luckily, I managed to complete the song, and although it's a bit rusty, I'm glad I've got it done, and put it on youtube with a little video filmed with my webcam (another reward of recovery).  And it's above, if you fancy a listen.  It's called Autumn Blues.  Turns out there are about two hundred songs called Autumn Blues on youtube, so it needs all the support it can get.  I hope you quite like it.  There are other songs by me on there too, under the name of Benjamin Lo-Fi.  I shall write more tomorrow.

Thanks for dropping by.

And that is all I have to say today.

AFTERMATH: Counsellor Warns Of Slippery Slope

As you might know, the first 22 episodes of this blog are the text of my ebook, 'How To Become A Crack Addict' (Jan to April 2013), which you can also buy on amazon, if you're into that kind of thing.  From that point on, it's the near-daily meanderings of Benjamin of Turnham Green, your happy blogger.  And, on that note, here are today's meanderings...

Oh yes, I'm also Benjamin Lo-fi, apparently, so here's a song of mine from youtube...

COUNSELLOR WARNS OF SLIPPERY SLOPE

  'I just can't get settled,' says Darrell in the study-room, halfway or so through his life-history, to be read in a week before all his damaged peers.
  'If you're going to kill yourself, at least do it with a degree of style,' quipped a passing keyworker on his way to the yard for a Camel.
  Then Greta, Darrell's counsellor popped her head in.  'Remember what I told you, Darrell...I had a client who had a Baileys ice-cream, and that led to a whiskey, which led to heroin...'
  Darrell nodded as if listening.  Then, as Greta passed, he thought, 'Better not have bay-leaf in my stew...'
  But that night there was a bay-leaf in dinner, served up by a recovering bailiff.

And that's it for today.  Come back for more Rehab, tomorrow...oh do?

AFTERMATH: Post-Mortems

As you may know, the first 22 episodes of this blog are the text of my ebook, 'How To Become A Crack Addict' (Jan to April 2013), which you can buy on amazon, if you're into that kind of thing.  From thereon in, the blog is the almost-daily meanderings of yours truly, Benjamin of Turnham Green.  I am also Benjamin Lo-Fi, if you'd like to sample a few songs on youtube, but I respect your prerogative not to.  So anyway, here are today's meanderings...

POST-MORTEMS

I think I've performed more post-mortems than Quincy.

And to date, every time, I've found I'm still alive  He died, she's dead, he's as good as dead, and she died some years ago now.  So why am I still standing, albeit not in the clothes I'd like, in the midst of this decay?  Not through want of trying, I've abused myself as much as I've seen others themselves, and still, albeit not in the boots I'd like, I find myself lumbering still, faltering over the embers of those who lit the fire for me.  I've almost got survivor-guilt.

I see an ashen mask, looking up at me, the one who struck the match, a face a kiss could crumble, a too-close sneeze, or the gentlest of breeze.  Now, made new in age, she speaks like a sage.  'Go on, go forth, with a guiltless heart, the crime you carry the guilt for was done to you, not by you.'

'By you,' I reply.

I hope whoever gave Jack Klugman his final going-over had a quiet smile to themselves as they signed him through.

And that is all I can say today.

AFTERMATH: Triggers

As you might by now be aware, the first 22 episodes of this blog are the text of my ebook, 'How To Become A Crack Addict' (Jan to April 2013), which you can buy on amazon, should that appeal.  From then on, it's the daily movements of yours truly, Benjamin of Turnham Green.  So here, as promised, is today's movement.

TRIGGERS

  'What else makes you want to use?' asked the drug-worker.
  'Sex, man, women,' said the bloke in the chair next to me.
  The drug-worker was happy with this, because it was honest.
  'Being angry,' said a woman across the room.
  Worker liked this too, and was writing the list down on his whiteboard as we all coughed up some virtuous self-perception.
  'Having money,' I said, and this too was jotted down.
  A couple more suggestions, and we all began discussing how to see a trigger coming, what to do when it's 'on us', where to go, who to call, how to breathe, be, find the right tool for the job.  Suggested coping methods ranged from 'knock one out' to 'phone a friend' to 'write an affirmations list' to 'get to a meeting' to 'go to bed', the last of which didn't go on the whiteboard, for some reason.

  Drug-worker drew a human person on his flipchart, which he placed on the floor, and we were required to label the parts of the body affected when a trigger hits.  I labelled the pocket, where the cash-card would be, just waiting to be wasted, without a thought for the consequences, first bloke drew an arrow pointing at the region of the groin, and angry lady put steam coming out of its ears.  The figure cut quite a caper, down there on the carpet, peppered with body-parts and cartoon-eruptions, and looked like a prime candidate to be stuck in a two-dimensional world for ever, knowing only long, languishing lows, fleeting highs, flatness, fear, and the smell of black marker.

  Drug-worker facilitated a very, his words, 'honest and constructive' discussion about what triggers are, how they're different for different people, and how we can find ways to sit them out, help them pass, etc.

  Then I went and scored with cock bloke and angry girl.

  And that is all I have to say today.

AFTERMATH: How To Spot A Relapse

As you may know, the first 22 episodes of this blog are the text of my ebook, 'How To Become A Crack Addict' (Jan to April 2013), which you can also buy on amazon, if your morals allow it.  From thereon in, this blog is the daily inspirations of yours truly, Benjamin of Turnham Green.  And here are today's inspirational speculations...

HOW TO SPOT A RELAPSE

The doormat cannot be seen for letters
The washing-up smells
This evening's episode of Family Fortunes seems familiar
You stop buying normal things, like food, you can't checkout on ebay, and you begin making out it's time to start saving
You're playing Pac-Man online, and actually putting your name in the high-score chart
You haven't seen anyone for a few days, even though you could have
You may get up, but you don't eat until your ravenous, late afternoon
You're entertaining the possibility that a bath with Radox may change your life
You're wondering how much the hoover might be worth
You're reading the blue book for the first time ever, in search of loopholes
You find many loopholes
This morning's episode of Family Fortunes looks even more familiar
You make it to the shop, but you're walking slowly and obviously, in the hopes you'll be spotted, which won't be your fault
You've bought milk, but you're walking away from home rather than to it, even more slowly and obviously than before
You're dialling variations of a number that you think might be someone you've used with
You're going down a street you remember scoring on
You dredge up a grudge that hasn't bothered you for weeks
You study passers-by to see if they look dishevelled enough
You ring a bell you think might be the one
You're thinking it's as good as fate now, so you may as well just get it over with
None of the above has anything to do with you

And that is all I have to say today.