Hotel Massachusetts

Some days I just can't. Things have been going good on the new antidepressant for me this past week of them, but today I just crashed. I'm physically exhausted. I need some me-time. I can't work a straight week anymore. Not the 8 or 9 days in a row I promised. I feel like a failure. Like I'm letting my co-workers or worst of all my boss down by being out today, but I really need some time. It's not just for mental health, my kidneys are killing me. I'm not drinking enough, plus the heat and the physical aspect of the job and I'm putting myself in the danger zone again.
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I've decided to ascend onto another platform to chase away the things that haunt my dreams. I need to be able to see everything clearly and edibles help me do this Today, I'm trying another new product! Gild's THC infused caramels! I was expecting soft caramels, but they're little hard ones that you suck on. I popped a few into my mouth at the same time, not wanting to sit and suck for ages in order to get a decent high. They're amazing tasting. They taste like those little creamy sweets my nan always used to have in the bottom of her purse. I'm worried that it will take me longer to get high, since its a candy that you suck on, but it really didn't make that much difference.
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One day I will be dead. All these experiences, all these people, all these moments that I've lived through will become dust in the wind. What if we're all dead and we just don't know it yet? OH MY GOD....No, I'm an ice-cream cone, slowly melting in the early summer sun, melting into the bed in which I lay. I want to vomit out every good memory and watch them endlessly on repeat so I can get through that what attempts to bring me down. The air tastes of warm apple pie with hints of an autumn sky. I can taste the creamy, apple cinnamon in the back of my throat. I can't get enough of it. I want to roll in golden light that radiates off the walls of my room...my room, my cell, my lair, my entire world. I taste my future in this treat.
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It's misting out. Grey overcast skies bringing seductively cool wins on a humid day. Hotel California by The Eagles fades into Donovan's Atlantis and I begin to sing. Waaaay dowwwwwn below the oceeeaaaannn, wheeeeeerrrrreee I waaaaannnnaaaa beeee...Winds saturated with colours swirl around me as time flows backwards. Months of the year attach themselves to the wall calendar.  I'm caught up in the love and passion of progressive rock. The desire to hug and kiss, crawl against another human being is stirring in me. 

From under a thick blanket of trees, I explore my fears through my fears. Following underneath star-speckled skies, soft sands beneath my feet and the tasing adventure in the back of my mouth, I danced along littered paths. I daydream of a better past time, a moment of time where my numbness becomes arousal and I feel like I can breathe once again. Through symphonies of vibration and sound, I found the emptiness that speaks to me in my private moments. The moon is stagnant in the sky, it's light hiding the only mysteries worth exploring. And somewhere in the waves of human bitterness is the truths that we all seek.
I want his hands all over me. The softness. The strength. The experience. I need it. I'm screaming for it. I want that warmth to spread through me. I want to feel it in every centimetre of my body. I'm throbbing with anticipation. I don't want anything to keep us apart. I feel the tension, the desire swelling in my chest. I need to do something to release everything that's swelling up inside me. I roll over on the bed and scream it all out. These needs are suffocating me. Being high is only magnifying that of which I want. I can imagine his hands all over me, I can image me licking that slight bit of stubble he always has that drives me wild.
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My mind circles back to the one day I will be dead thought. And it occurs to me that everyone has a birthday. I mean, I've always known this, but every day of every year, every minute, every hour, someone is born. Wild. I could share the exact same day, time, year, down to the second as someone else, yet I will never know them. I'll never know it it will be a boy or a girl. I'll never know what their life is like. Are they happy? Are they depressed? Are they successful? Are they a failure? Are they like me, barely able to hold the miserable strings of their lives together? And I was doing so well too. Why are these thoughts creeping into me again? Maybe this is just my default setting and I'm going to combust if I keep messing with it. Operator error.

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I always see the light pole in my head. The one that used to be in my front garden that I would often swing around as a little kid. Once again, the memory of eating a strawberry ice-cream cone and watching the purples and greys of the mountains behind my house swirl as I swung around on the pole comes swimming into focus. I don't know why I focus on this when I'm high; probably because it's a memory of true innocence and to some degree, I want to go back to that level of innocence. I want that freedom of inexperience that's socially appropriate. I want to go back and have that devil-may-care thing about me that I used to have before anxiety sunk its claws into me.
The memory swirls around me, making me want strawberry ice-cream and hot dogs. Why am I like this? The two couldn't be further from one another. Ah, light life weenies. So good, so wholesome and no pig anus in them.

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In need of hot dogs, I hitch a ride to the grocery store where I get distracted by freshly baked muffins. They all look so good. Red Velvet, Lemon Poppy, Mocha Chip, Blueberry. I want to taste every single one of them. Fuck hot dogs, I want muffins. I want to jump into a bin of muffins. That's when my workmate and his wife show up. They catch me with 3 trays of muffins trying to make a swift get away. "Hi Dan, we were calling you!" I take my headphones out and swim back into some sort of reality. "Hi guys!" "What's going on?" "Oh, just a little high getting snackies." "I see that." He eyes the 3 boxes of muffins I'm clutching to my chest. I'm paranoid that he's making fun of me, though in reality he just made a simple statement. I know he's messing with me. We talk for a few minutes before I run off with my muffins, grab some weenies and make a dash for the door. Once home, I dive into a thicc red velvet cupcake with cream cheese icing. It's out of this world. The only thing that could have made this muffin any better was if they put little mini chocolate chips inside of it. 

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I look at my body in the mirror. There is images and words all over it. I can't believe this is me. This is what I have done to my body. I've changed it so much that it no longer resembles what it once was or what it should look like without all of these modifications. I take a deep breath in. I have animals, lettering, faces and ideas scribbled all over my neck and arms. I look like this every day to everybody. I have no idea what possessed me to do this to myself. I love it, it's so strange. I wonder what really drew me to it. It had to be more than my role models all had sleeves of tattoos.
And when I die, I will be cremated. All of this ink, all of these memories will go up in flame. Everything will become nothing more than a small amount of ash. Everything gives way to something. One day we all will become dust in the wind; nothing will matter anymore.

I have some other things to try, so keep an eye out for those blogs!
There's a new book in the works as well, so stay tuned for the updates for Danny's High Flying Adventures.