Here's a thing. Here's a random memory from my most drug fucked days - not the worst days of my life. The worst days probably happened then, but some of the best days happened too. Some of the most enduring friendships came from those days. Glad I made it through. I almost didn't. Really, I almost didn't make it. I'll tell you about it sometime.
But here's a memory from those days. A new friend. We're out. We're out and we're fucked up in the most wonderful way. I don't really know this person but I like her. I don't remember where we were or where we were going or what was going to happen next. I don't really remember very much about that night at all, except that we were enjoying each others company, this new friend and me.
She made a joke about being transgender, transexual, something like that. And in my fucked up state of fucked-upness, I noticed her broad shoulders, her height, her big hands, her square jawline. In the calm backwaters of my fucked-up mind, a question: shit- is she a dude?
I was in a state. Remember this. I wasn't sober. I was a long way from sober. I started realising that I didn't have a clue about anything.
And looking at her, this new friend, I didn't care. It's too late, I thought. It doesn't matter because I already like you. I absolutely want you to be my friend for a very long time, whatever the deal is.
And a very long time later I'm happy to say we are the very best of friends. She is married now to a lovely and cool guy, and they have kids, this tall, broad shouldered, large handed and beautiful, caring, intelligent woman and her husband.
So there. There's a thing. A beautiful memory from my drug-fucked days.
But here's a memory from those days. A new friend. We're out. We're out and we're fucked up in the most wonderful way. I don't really know this person but I like her. I don't remember where we were or where we were going or what was going to happen next. I don't really remember very much about that night at all, except that we were enjoying each others company, this new friend and me.
She made a joke about being transgender, transexual, something like that. And in my fucked up state of fucked-upness, I noticed her broad shoulders, her height, her big hands, her square jawline. In the calm backwaters of my fucked-up mind, a question: shit- is she a dude?
I was in a state. Remember this. I wasn't sober. I was a long way from sober. I started realising that I didn't have a clue about anything.
And looking at her, this new friend, I didn't care. It's too late, I thought. It doesn't matter because I already like you. I absolutely want you to be my friend for a very long time, whatever the deal is.
And a very long time later I'm happy to say we are the very best of friends. She is married now to a lovely and cool guy, and they have kids, this tall, broad shouldered, large handed and beautiful, caring, intelligent woman and her husband.
So there. There's a thing. A beautiful memory from my drug-fucked days.
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