Work hard, play hard. Those words have begun to rule my life.
The past month has been a frantic blur of deadlines, freelance assignments, added responsibility at the office—it feels like I’ve been working three jobs. At least. Somewhere, my father is loving this.
Oh, but we haven’t forgotten the play hard part of the equation. I’ve been burning through cocaine like Lindsay Lohan. Take the gram I scored last night, that was supposed to last me the weekend. I polished that off over an hour ago. Which is why I drove a half-hour to meet up with Mr. Dependable, my old tried and true coke dealer from back in the day.
For one, I just couldn’t hit up my current guy twice in two days. That’s just too cracky. A guy’s gotta keep up some appearances, anyway. But I also feel like his bags have been kinda light lately, and I’m pretty sure that shit’s mad diluted. I mean, I know I’m a cokehead and all, but I should not be able to snort through a gram that quickly. Famous last words, right?
*Excuse me while I do a line…
Oh yeah, that’s that craaaaazy shit. The stuff that smells faintly of olives. Fuck, just one rail of that shit and I’m vibrating over here. Nice.
*OK, here goes line number two…
Whew. But fuck it. I’ve been working like a mad person. I’ve been out every night this week. The weekend is here, and I’m not committed to shit. Except getting fucked up and watching “Orgy World Vol. 9,” which showed up in the post today. Good times.
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