Mornings

For the last few months, a good portion of my time has been spent at the Southwest Behavioral and Methadone Clinic.  In fact, every morning except for blessed Sunday, when I get to sleep in, I grace this "Hope Inspiring Place"(That's their slogan) with my presence. It has definitely given hundreds of people a new chance at life, both heroine addicts and crazies alike.
I show up six days a week at 8:30, which gives me plenty of time to wait in an unpredictable line in order to receive my medicine for the day (Methadone, not Goofballs, though some would say they're one in the same.); I have Spanish Class at 10:30, and therefore have to take the bus from the East side Safeway shopping center, to the lower West side of town in order to get there.  The line is unpredictable for two reasons: The first is that there are no appointments made to collect Methadone in the morning, the doors are open from 7am to 11;30am, which means that sometimes when I come in I'm the only one in the building besides Julie, the sweet nurse who pours our methadone and provides us with Jolly Ranchers and a reassuring smile to start the day.  Other times, there is barely even standing room available in the waiting room, and it takes an hour of wait time, before you can score your drugs and be on your merry way. (Its still much more efficient than waiting sick all day for the dope dealer to return from Mexico though. And much much cheaper... Healthier too!)
Anyways, the second reason why this crackhead line is unpredictable is because of the people it is compiled of.  Please don't think I am acting a snob- I actually don't mind the wonderful characters this place can sometimes provide.  Not only are half the people grumpy ex heroine addicts who have a severe dependence to dopeamine, which makes them grouchy as hell when they don't have it.  But the other half of this daily clusterfuck is added to by the "Crazies".  Southwest Behavioral also offers mental help to low income families.  So you have the rockers, screamers, laughers, and catatonics added to the loud and angry ex junkies, and it makes for a cocktail of in-credulousness  mostly just because of the fact that it all works together with almost no problems!
Last month when I showed up for my dose, there were two cop cars parked out front. They were committing a schizophrenic patient to the mental institution. She was this tiny woman with wild gray and gold hair and a fiercely disillusioned temper. "Fuck you Ramona! crack an egg on my head see how it feels you devilbitch Fuck You! Its Gramps whose hiding something GET HIM! Fucker stole all the Twix! Call me Lucy- Short for Lucifer! And YOU my dear, ARE GOING TO HELL!"  The poor women dug her feet into the muddy snow, trying her best to keep from getting in the cop car- kind of like a scared wild carnivore, one that is sick and starving  and needs help but won't risk capture.  It was heart breaking really.  I guess it really makes you realize how lucky you are to have a fairly sound mind and capable body.  Whenever I get down on myself for my addiction and depression issues, I think about this women, or others like her, and then I think about how I could Have been born some kid with a cleft palette and cerebral palsy, born in a cardboard box to starving parents who live in some third world country.  Yes- in the lottery that is life, you and me definitely win.

The Ice Man Cometh

The First Weekend In February...

So there I was, minding my own business, watching Netflix and eating Eggos with my boyfriend, when we heard it- That optimistic singsong chime that has forced parents to handover their spare change to tiny begging hands for the last fifty years- The Ice Cream Truck! And it was right there on O'leary st (our street), just jingling along, just audible over "My Cousin Vinny" so that my boy friend and I looked at each other with pie eyes before lunging out the door with our pocket change.  Our driveway is really long so we were panting by the time we got the the street (we smoke, a lot.). We were also quite puzzled, since the brightly painted vehicle spewing loud music just seconds ago was now no where to be seen or heard.  It was rather chilly outside and in our lust for sugary treats we had forgotten our coats, so, laden with disappointment, we trudged back to our barren apartment.  For a few minutes once we got back, we sat in silence, contemplating the reasons behind the disappearing ice cream man. 

"Fuck that! Lets go find the bastard. Get your coat." My boyfriend, who, in all honesty is kind of a candy fiend, grabbed the keys to our crappy blue ford truck and walked out the door, Superman sweatshirt in hand.  I, not one to turn down what will surely be an adventure, grabbed my black leather jacket and hopped in the "Blue Menorah". 

We didn't have to drive far, actually we just followed O'leary st two blocks down before we saw it, full of sweet sugary goodness, parked in the driveway of a run down house, that was brimming with trash and rusty nails.  We parked inconspicuously across the street, and waited for the truck driver to return. The side door of the house opened, and a skinny Mexican-the Driver, followed by a fat Caucasian probably the owner of the slum, stumbled out.  The white guy handed the Driver a wad of rolled up green bills.  The Driver smiled and disappeared into his truck.  He came out with a small brown bag (what it was full of, we'll never know. But I'm guessing it probably wasn't ice cream.) and he handed it to the chubby man standing in the doorway.  They exchanged niceties, before the driver got back in his truck, careful not to turn the music back on until he turned onto another street.  My boyfriend and I just giggled to each other as we drove to Safeway.  We were still smiling about our adventure on the way home, and that night we ate a pint of Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream... each.  What a wonderful way to spend a Saturday 

Why Not Minot?

Decisions, Decisions, Decisions...
Some times it is difficult to make a decision about what to write because their are so many choices out their.  At least I can rest assured knowing that no matter what I write about, it won't be a stupid as some of my past decisions.  For instance, Let me bring you readers back to Christmas, 2011.
I used to be an exotic dancer, and though I had pretty much gotten out of this profession, I would go back to it every once in a while, when I was low on cash , or I if I was out of town on vacation somewhere I would stop in at a club to work for a night an make some extra fun money.
Well, my boyfriend and I were considering where we should go for Christmas, and at the same time I was stressing about $2000 worth of court fines I had because of a DUI I had gotten five years prior and never taken care of.  He suggested that we go to Key West, Florida, where we could both relax in the sun and I could work to make a few bucks to cover my fines.  It seemed like a great plan until our roommate put the ca-bosh on it:
"Dude, if you really wanna make some dough stripping , you should really go to North Dakota! I just read an article somewhere that boasted girls up there were making three grand a night! If you went there for a week you could potentially come back with ten grand!"  Though North Dakota was definitely not my dream vacation, nor was it my boyfriends, he agreed to join me on this potential gold mine of a journey.
Since it was for my court fines, planning the trip was my responsibility   My boyfriend offered to pay the way there and I agreed to pay the expenses for the trip back.  I thought I had planned it all perfectly, we would arrive in Minot, North Dakota, and from there we would take a bus to the strip Clubs, which I had researched slightly online, and had found out that you don't need a license to dance there.  I also got the phone numbers of several clubs but every time I tried to call I got a voice mail or a bust signal.  I didn't think too much about it, since I had danced in seven different states and every place had hired me on the spot, after a brief audition.
So, after a very long and hungover plane ride to the great white north, we arrived in Minot, ND, broke yet full of excitement; I was already spending the oodles of cash I was going to make in my dreamy head.  We checked into a Super Eight Motel for a hundred bucks, which was the cheapest one we could find, and then once we were settled, we pulled out the I Pod so we could make arrangement to leave for the strip clubs that night.  I called "HeartBreakers" once more, half expecting to hear nothing but another voice mail   Instead I got crushing news.  They told me that they would love it if I worked for their company, and the soonest they could book me was in March, three months later!  So hear we were, stuck in Minot North Dakota, penniless, without a plane ticket home and barely enough cash for another night in the hotel.  We were fucked.  Why not Minot? Now I know!

CHLOE

For my cousin it was a cuddly golden retriever named sam, and my neighbor mimi, a sweet kitten named Snowball.  My old baby-sitter even owned a goldfish named "Peppe" who lived to be twenty-six years old!  Chloe, my first pet, was neither sweet, nor was she especially cuddly. In fact, her image brings about word associations such as tyrant, horror, snarl, and teeth, just to name a few...

                 We got Chloe when I was five years old.  I had just moved into my grandparents house after being taken away from my mom by CPS.  My grandparents, in an effort to console a motherless child, thought it would be a brilliant idea to get me a puppy.  They found a rancher couple in Montana who raised Australian Shepard puppies, and requested that their last female pup be sent to our home in Tucson immediately.  So, one day after school, my Nana picked me up and brought me to the airport, so I could be the first to meet my new best friend... or so we thought.  The wait at baggage claim seemed an eternity. I counted fifty seven pieces of mono-chrome luggage before the grey plastic puppy carrier appeared on the conveyer belt. My eager little fingers reached out to grab it, and I was almost whisked away with the rest of the unpicked luggage, or I would have been inf my nana hadn't come to my rescue. Once we were safe on solid ground, I peered inside the breathing holes to find a giant dustbunny; gray and white fuzz, with two of the palest blue eyes I'd ever seen.  I immediately fell in love and I sat next to the pup in its carrier and sang to it all the way home from the airport.  

When we got home, we took the carrier outside in the backyard.  I was March in Tucson so the weather was perfect- sunny and warm with a slight, refreshing, spring breeze, which carried about the aroma of orange blossoms from our surrounding trees.  I opened the cage, and excitedly awaited my introduction to its captor.  After a few minutes, out she came, even more adorable up close.  She looked up at me with her mesmerizing swimming pools for eyes and for a second, she just stared.  Thinking that this was sign of bonding, I reaching out my hand to pet her.  She snarled at me, flashing two rows of very teeny, VERY sharp, teeth. I retracted my hand, only to have her follow it before quickly lashing her head out to bite me.  She didn't bite hard, but those monstrous teeth were so sharp, they drew blood.  I ran inside screaming, and she followed me, panting and nipping at my ankles.  We couldn't be in the same room together without her lunging and my blood curdling screams for a year and a half.

SNOW DAYS AND DAYDREAMS

Today is Sunday, February 10th, 2013, and a very cold day in February it seems to be!
We happened to be blessed last week with a few beautiful sunny days, which you learn to cherish this time of year.  But of course, it couldn't possibly last - Not with this schizophrenic Flagstaff weather anyways- and once again, our sweet little town is quiet, everyone bundled up inside while the tempestuous  frigid wind smothers our seasonally drab surroundings with snow.  Please don't get me wrong, I love the snow...

That first night in late October/ early November when a pink blanket encompasses a usually clear star-studded night sky.  The blushing clouds stifle the immense cold with an almost supernatural warmth.  Then, its as if the whole town get set to mute, the streets so quiet that you can almost hear the puffy snowflakes dancing, finally to rest on their unsuspecting targets.  After three hours, the whole town becomes camouflaged; dead trees turn into something out of a fairy tale, and streetlamp light casts a soft glow over a sparkling white wonderland...

Yes, the snow is majestic  for the first month or two.  But by February I find myself yearning for Creek Trip.  I dream of making that dizzying dazzling drive down the switchbacks, feeling humbled by the enormous red rock edifices, where the sienna colored floor is sprawling with green trees and blackberry bushes.  I imagine making the journey past Oak Creek Village, past the Sedona High School, to Chavez Ranch, which is one of my favorite places in the entire world.  Just two more months, and I will be able to bask on a sun drenched crimson boulder, while I listen to the abstract babble of the sacred creek.  Until then, I will just have to be content with day dreams.

Fun Times on Bus Number 7

Friday Februrary 1st

        Usually, my wonderful boyfriend brings me to the methadone clinic each morning, and then he picks me up and takes me all the way to school, which is in the opposite direction.  Well, lately, this routine has been slightly altered because he got a job in the waste management industry.  I was thrilled for him, as he had been out of work for a hot minute and his money he had saved from his last occupation was quickly dwindling.  The only crappy thing- well i guess not the only crappy thing - about waste management is that you have to be to work by 5:30 am each day.  Therefore, I have started taking the bus...
           Every morning, I wake up, make my coffee, apricot jelly toast, and oatmeal (the breakfast of champions), and eat while I try to pull a brush through my dreaddy hair.  I would swear under oath that little elves come and dance on my head and muck up my otherwise silky tresses, while i sleep.  Then I brush my teeth, wash my face, and roll about ten or fifteen cigarettes for the day ahead.  I bundle up, wearing layers of pants, two sweaters, two jackets, three scarves, a hat, four pairs of socks, and my boots. Finally, once I am somewhat resembling a marshmallow, I grab my backpack, which feels like its loaded with rocks, and head out the door and towards the bus stop at Elden and Butler.
        The number seven bus is scheduled to show up at 7:31, however, I can pretty much count on it not showing up until 7:38.  The driver is a brunette man in his early thirties, and his glazed eyes portray him to be constantly stoned, which may account for his predictable tardiness.  The crowd on the seven thirty-something bus number seven is usually completely silent, that is except for one lady who sits near the front, so she can blather on the not so enthusiastic driver.  She works at the Safeway on West and Cedar, and weighs a good three hundred pounds. The name tag permanently glued to her chest calls her BobbyLuanne, and name which fits perfectly with her slow drawling southern accent.  BobbyLou has four chihuahuas, each named after Disney princesses even though two of them are boys (Ariel, Belle, Jasmine, and Pocahauntas).  She used to feed them taco bell every day because she felt that they deserved to be eating human food, but then Jasmine and Ariel developed stomach issues, which caused them to defecate on her carpet (Thank the lord Jesus her carpet is already a ruddy brown color!)  Keep in mind that, fortunately,  I have never actually met this woman face to face.  She just Likes to publicize her canine catastrophes loud enough for everyone on the bus to enjoy (I for one, do really enjoy her entertainment.)  Pocahauntas,  a male whose innate masculinaty has been persistently downplayed by the pink tutus "mommy" dresses him up in, has developed an obsessive compulsive humping issue.  He has a huge crush on Jasmine, which has begun to traumatize her as he will not leave her alone.  So little Pocahauntas' mommy (how bus lady refers to herself) has spent over $300 on dog obedience training to help him with his little problem, but it has been to no avail.  Pocahauntas just wont stop humping Jasmine! So, she, being the loving pet owner she is, is saving all her money so she can hire the dog whisperer.  At this point, in the one-sided conversation we both had to depart from the bus (the methadone clinic happens to be across the street from Safeway).  I was kind of sorry when the entertainment came to such an abrupt end, but no worries! I'm sure she will be back on the bus, same time next Monday.

It is the 25th of January.
I woke up this morning at five thirty AM, before it was even light outside.  I rolled over to find my boyfriend's side of the bed empty- he had gotten up at four in the hopes of snagging a coveted temp service job.  Seeing as though he hadn't come back yet i figured he had succeeded in doing so.  After a few minutes of pondering the day's agenda, I hopped out of bed and walked to the Conoco gas station in my blue fuzzy bathrobe and flannel pajama pants, which are donned with tiny Scottie dogs, and I purchased my morning coffee.  At 6:30 AM, after I had brushed my teeth and washed my face, and smoked approximately three cigarettes with my coffee, I called my mom.
"Hello madre! How is your morning going?"
"My morning is shit! I'm out of coffee and my electricity is about to be shut off and your sister is acting like a typical fourteen year old brat!"
"Well actually she's fifteen mom. But my morning is good so far, thanks for asking. I'm on my way to the clinic- they're bumping me up to 40mgs today. Anyways are you still going to the funeral? I'll walk with you if you'd like."
"Yeah. meet me at the Safeway Starbucks on Cedar at ten." Then she hung up.
"I love you too mom." I mumbled this into an already dead receiver   By this time I had finally found my only pair of black pants and matching tank,and was wearing this morbid attire as i ran to catch the elusive number seven bus to the methadone clinic.
The Clinic was empty when I arrived at 7:15 AM, which meant that i was immediately ushered into the dosing room, where the plump nurse sat behind a glass window, beaming up at me as she poured my 40 mgs of pink liquid into a paper cup. She inquired about my sleeping habits and reminded me of next week's "Coping Tools" class.  Then she sent me on my way with a genuine smile, which briefly alleviated my feelings of guilt for having become a junkie in the first place.
I waited across the street and pinged off of Safeway's wi-fi, using this three hour lull as a chance to tackle my exponentially growing amassment of homework. I had just repacked my laptop and was on my way outside to have a cigarette in the drizzling outdoors, when my twig of a mother came trudging towards me, hunchbacked and growling profanities under her breath.  We exchanged forced niceties and began our walk to the church in silence. The rain had slowly begun to subside and the clouds hung low on Mount Elden, modifying the usually barren lump of rocks into the likeness of Zeus'  Mount Olympus.  The sun re-established itself , its dominating presence emanating though silver clouds, and highlighted patches of the sidewalk where we traversed.
As we neared the church, I couldn't help myself from breaking the dreary silence. "God it's so beautiful outside.  I love rainy days in Flagstaff!" My simple observation seemed to snap my mother out of her silent reverie.  She turned to me and whispered,
"Yes, yes it is Bridget.  Thank you so much for coming with me." She winked at me with swollen eyes, and  big salty tears danced down her face. I grabbed her hand and squeezed.  Together, we walked into the church, finally ready to say goodbye.