Hopita (hopita) wrote,

hopita enters hour #13

Well hello there chickens. I trust everybody understands how much I want to rip something apart with my bare hands, or maybe my teeth. My not-so-secret stalker is sending me messages on MSN Messenger (yo, dickhead: timing is everything), and, as I told Karl a little while ago, I'm on a one woman mission to be pathologically busy: I've washed the dishes, emptied the cat boxes, taken out the trash and the recycling, vacuumed everything twice ... I'm currently in the midst of a big load of laundry, and who knows what the fuck else I'll find to do next...

And then Karl decided to be lazy and telephone me from the laundry room to ask if I wanted everything in the dryer or not. And now things are drying, Hobo Ken is waxing poetic, and Opie threw up half a houseplant on my kitchen floor. I want to climb out of my skull. I want a bouquet of flowers ... no, I want a bouquet of Vicodin, so I can sleep through the worst of this withdrawal and wake up smoke free ...

And I'll let you in on a secret: the more Avi waxes poetic, the more I just want to sit here and cry and cry and cry. I know emotional upheaval is part of it. I know that I'm doing really well. But still ...
Tags: avi, crying, freaking out, karl, opie, smoking

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