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lizblackdog Aug. 27th, 2006 10:24 pm)
lizblackdog Aug. 27th, 2006 10:24 pm)Ahhh, fucking wonderful. I suspected something last night when I took the dogs out at midnight and there were two men wanting to come in. I knew they didn't live here. They were polite enough, but they had... that look. It's like the fucking Dark Mark and I felt mine fucking burning.
I knew it for certain this afternoon. I walked down the hallway and there were two KitKat wrappers - the ones which come wrapped in actual tinfoil - and a small piece of crumpled, dusty plastic bag lying on the floor.
Reflexively, to confirm what I already knew, I touched the plastic to the tip of my tongue. I wished I hadn't afterwards... I was spitting in the bramble bushes and scrubbing my tongue on my T-shirt but I couldn't clear the taste away. I got back inside and spit and gargled, spit and gargled, spit and gargled again. It made my lip numb and my stomach churn in pure fear and loathing. I spent five fucking years scrubbing that taste and smell off myself, and now, here in my fucking safe space, one of my fucking neighbours is shitting it on my doorstep. I want them out of here, I want them gone, I want them fucking dead.
Small mercies. The Kitkat wrapper means whoever it is is smoking it and not fixing. That means there won't be dirty needles lying around the place... at least, not for a while. I hope.
Good stuff happened today, for which I am soulshakingly grateful. It helped take the taste away. I can't talk about it in the same entry as this. Two different worlds.
I knew it for certain this afternoon. I walked down the hallway and there were two KitKat wrappers - the ones which come wrapped in actual tinfoil - and a small piece of crumpled, dusty plastic bag lying on the floor.
Reflexively, to confirm what I already knew, I touched the plastic to the tip of my tongue. I wished I hadn't afterwards... I was spitting in the bramble bushes and scrubbing my tongue on my T-shirt but I couldn't clear the taste away. I got back inside and spit and gargled, spit and gargled, spit and gargled again. It made my lip numb and my stomach churn in pure fear and loathing. I spent five fucking years scrubbing that taste and smell off myself, and now, here in my fucking safe space, one of my fucking neighbours is shitting it on my doorstep. I want them out of here, I want them gone, I want them fucking dead.
Small mercies. The Kitkat wrapper means whoever it is is smoking it and not fixing. That means there won't be dirty needles lying around the place... at least, not for a while. I hope.
Good stuff happened today, for which I am soulshakingly grateful. It helped take the taste away. I can't talk about it in the same entry as this. Two different worlds.
