waf-fle
Christmas morning hangover. What else can I say? The wine and rum combination was a bad idea. I should say the rum and wine combination was a bad idea.
I guess it was all a bad idea. Poor Crystal was worried about what people thought. I don’t know if I worry about what people think anymore.
It’s an onion world and I look through different layers on different days.
The things people think, or the way people think, infuriate me sometimes. So I guess, yes, I worry about what they think. Otherwise I wouldn’t hate what they think. Hypocrites.
Crystal makes breakfast. She’s a good sport and a good assistant. She usually plays along and doesn’t complain too much. I drink tomato juice right out of the jug. I can’t stop slugging it down. Damn, its good stuff. It’s a waffle house breakfast. That’s good too. I can’t go to the waffle house anymore, so Crystal makes exact replicas at home.
Someone barfed under a table at the waffle house and didn’t tell anybody. Then later on I came in and sat there. One thing leads to another you know, and pretty soon I was kicked out of the waffle house.
Every time I ride by I smell barf. I don’t think I’d go in there even if they allowed me to 🙂
It is a quiet Christmas morning in our household. We don’t celebrate in traditional fashion. I normally get drunk and Crystal takes pills, smokes weed, or snorts coke or speed. Sometimes I combine the booze with drugs of different kinds. Actually that’s exactly what I am pondering as we eat our waffles in silence.
“Do you have any of that vidocaine?”
“It’s Vi-co-din.” she is a stickler for proper pronunciation.
“Do we have any? I have a bit of a headache.“
Crystal gets up and leaves the room. I’m getting hopeful. She returns with a little gift, bow and all. I open it slowly. I guess I should have gotten her something. It’s a little box of assorted pills. My heart soars with joy. I truly can’t imagine a better gift.
“Thank you honey!” I recognize the Vicodin and pluck one from the box.
Vicodins are better one at a time. There was a time I would have taken four, but I’m learning to enjoy more subtle pleasures. I examine the contents of the little gift box. I identify Valiums, Xanax and Vicodins.
There are other pills which will have to be researched. I smile at Crystal.
“Merry Christmas Crystal. Your gift is coming.”
Crystal smiles sweetly. “You don’t have to get me anything.“
Yeah, right.
The Vicodin takes the edge off. That’s what it does. I don’t hate so hard after taking one. I’m not a lunatic. It’s just a matter of a few degrees this way, a few degrees that way. Shit does have a way of finding me. This goes without question.
Crystal starts some laundry and I rummage around in her purse. Just enough for a gift, forty dollars. That’s what I take. Manna from heaven, that’s all I need. I believe she’s got weed, but no coke or speed. She isn’t moving like she has any, and I doubt she would have bothered with breakfast if she was wired. I slip out to the garage and do a few bench presses, then
ramble down the street to Big Jim’s place…
—
PROMISE KEEPER
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