2002-03-26

Reality Motor Lodge

You know, I can load myself up on all the insight in the world as to why I became an addict, but it still doesn't make things easier.

I write. I write in my journal every ten minutes.

I carry this picture in my bike messenger bag. It's a picture of me and my brother and sister, circa 1976. I'm five years old, almost six, with matted, curly, pinky-brown hair, wearing a red-white-and-blue poncho and a smirk, one sticky little finger raised in a defiant "I'm Number One!" Every so often, when all I want to do is check myself out of the Reality Motor Lodge for awhile and drink about nine bottles of really good Scotch, I take that picture out and remind myself to not hurt that little girl.

That helps some.

I'm listening to the Slits right now, and that's totally distracting me in a good way.

lisamcc at 12:44 p.m.

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