That time we knew would come has come. It has begun, at least.

The pipe dreams are stacking up. In the last two days I’ve had one take place in Guatemala—though it was Nicaragua I smoked crack in–and another take place in some kind of circus-y university-ish math-intensive environment which included the music of The Arctic Monkeys and the presence of my old friend Sam—not an insignificant detail considering my disappointment in Sam’s non-reaction when I came out to on the email list about a dozen college friends keep tight on. It might be petty; we haven’t seen each other for a while and haven’t written directly to each other for that long either, but he was a guy that was important to me and who I assumed still was and vice versa. In fact, my whole Osterized inner life seems to be on parade. The crack won’t go and neither will my ex-wife. I also dreamed that I was in a van with her and she was driving me to tears and shouts by turns and in combination. I ended up asking my mother to buy me a flight out of there—a very not insignificant detail considering the role ol’ Mom has played in rescuing me from the clutches of crack. Clearly I’m running back to mommy in hopes that she’ll rescue me from the clutches of that woman, too. Pathetic. It’ll be nice to see them leave my life. I don’t need to be haunted no more.

The dreams are old hat, sure, even if they are intensifying in quantity and quality, but the scary thing is that crack has lurked in those weird no-man’s lands between full sleep and full wakefulness when I’m thinking, not dreaming, but not thinking quite right, either. I’ve thought more thoroughly and in detail about that last week at Joe’s, the moment of loading and lighting and holding that first one and the sudden relaxation it brings. I’ve thought about the dealers I liked, Rich and Sparks, and meeting up with them again on the street for a handshake. I even considered, in the snoozy space after my mom left for the doctor’s and then babysitting grandkids and running errands leaving most of a day to me that maybe it was a day to get in the truck and find that trailer park again. That startled me a little. And then I made what seemed like the first actual no decision. The first time I really had to hold back. I thought about what it would mean and feel like—not thoroughly, mind you, but still—to go almost four months (I even guessulated how close to four months I must now be) and then have a setback, even if it was a one time thing, as I only ever thought of it being. It was all at least a little further than I’ve gone here in Arizona, but I was still in bed just shy of 100% cogniscient.

And then I was riding the bike back from Petco, lil’ buddy at myself. I start to wonder what it would be like—what I would be like—if there was really absolutely no God and I knew it. Sum totaled, I’m more or less an agnostic fellow. I say in sum total because bits and pieces of me scoff pure hogwash and other parts and parcels hesitate and hedge and worry and try to add up the coincidences and accidents that evolution has had to enjoy to get us where we are today. Of course, it has had time…

Anyway, there are temporal & terrestrial motivations for living clean and healthy, but if you were quite certain without even that shadow of a doubt that all the joy and pleasure you would ever receive you would get in this life and that thereafter would not bring punishment or reward of any kind, or even anything at all. I might just then be full-on hedonistic, perhaps selfish, maybe even evil if it served my happy purposes. Dogs have a contingency not unlike my hypothetical and many find it most advantageous and utilitarian to be good little doggies. And some of those have the life sucked out of them. It’s easier to be in a house and get your food for free. You do get heat and AC. But you’re stuck there almost all the time and when you’re not your at the end of a short leash that a big guy or gal feels free to jerk now and again.

It’s an interesting question and I think I’ll bring up the god<->dog analogy again next time, but let me get on to what happened after that. I reach the intersection and some cholo type with a beanie and a passenger make a right turn in front of me. I look at him and he looks at me. It’s too long a look. And I say to myself, if he stops, it’s a sign (from God!), and I’m asking. I thought that. But it was a longshot and the resolution was off the cuff anyway. I don’t think I would have gone through with it. I was awake, though, it’s worth noting. And it wasn’t a deliberation, note also. It was a giving up of responsibility. The kind that drug addiction hinges on.

This surfacing started Saturday (today’s Monday) when I was talking to a girl, Megan, at the dog park. She’s cute and cool as far as I can tell but that’s beside the point. Maybe… She mentions Pioneer park, the one I mentioned here and speculated about not long ago. I don’t even remember what it was in reference to now (which says something both about what life has done to my memory and where my mind was at the moment, what was important), but she was like, “you know, the one with the drug deals…”. I was right! I thought, and then, briefly, felt a draw from that very direction.

Time to dig in.