This morning would have been perfect for staying in bed and telling the entire day to walk the yellow line, but I got up because my toe started hurting again. Imagine a toothache, but in your toe. It’s awful. It’s slowly getting better. I think maybe my toe was cold because I tend to stick my feet out from under the blanket when I sleep.

I needed to take a pain pill, although I try not to take one so early (8 am.) I have to be in some really wretched discomfort to pull that shit.

Yeah, I watched an episode of Intervention last night about a man in Canada who was addicted to pain pills. He was snorting copious amounts of the stuff up his nose with a jumbo straw.

It stoked my fear of them, yet I need them in order to function somewhat properly. What a fucking conundrum.

I’ve got some anxiety percolating, so I took an extra Special K. (Klonopin.)

I also decided to smoke some pot. I’m getting a reprieve for a bit from feeling like an exhausted sloth with chronic pain and an unpleasant disposition.

And I’m tired of cleaning up yours.

I walk a fine line from being dependent on narcotics to being addicted to them. It adds insult to injury to the disease that I am trying desperately to battle. A sense of humor only takes you so far.

I suppose I don’t really care sometimes, I mean, what other choice do I have?

I am missing out on a life that I cannot have anymore. My life now is fuzzy socks, heating pads, drugs, naps and trying to get back to some sort of normal again, to feeling like maybe there are still good things left for me.

Do you ever feel like you’re missing out on life?

Are you a fan of sloths?