Sahara!

Now begins a dry spell. Ran out of money for the time being and the magic tin has emptied. Still coasting on the tail end of last nights drunkeness, but everything is starting to become very real looking. I don't like it.
This has to happen or I would disappear up my own arsehole. I need to sort a few things out. Shopping today, then some proper housework. Christ, I need a spliff. How can I cope with normality? It's so BORING. No, no, must be strong. Shops, vacuum, wash up, tidy toys away.
These dry spells, as I've mentioned, are vital to the body, the finances and the state of the flat. And it's not as bad as it used to be. For the sake of my daughter I have been sober as a judge for most of the days, only descending into the netherworld of opium eating at night. Without the opium, that was a metaphor.
These daily waits for stupefaction are bearable as there is the prize at the end of the day of a long lounge on the couch, a telly, an xbox, and a few tins of beer. Add a touch of doobie and leave to chill. Maybe not a hellraising night out but suits me. I do get plenty of nights out, two or sometimes three a week. I love a pub. But the truth is it doesn't matter as long as you multiply the beer with the joints. Everything is sweet.
Now, there is no promise of these pleasures. The telly will still go on. The xbox may. There is no more beer or doobie but it can still be a pleasant evening. Maybe a movie, a few comedy shows on the Dave channel. It's just not the same. Why not? I will be more able to appreciate the evening, having fuller use of my senses. Just won't have that cloud of loveliness that settles above me as I lie sprawled on the couch, ash tray on my chest, tin on the coffee table and Radio Times open beside me.
Makes all the difference.
Before, in my younger years, freer of responsibilities than now. I could get stoned all day at work and pissed straight after in the pub. The weekends were a mishmash of whatever was available. Mostly lager punctuated with little trips somewhere to smoke a bit of weed. Often speed and coke, ecstasy and once a bit of temazepam nicked from a pharmaceutical warehouse I worked in, I was in charge of dumping the stock that only had 12 mths or less on the sell-by. (I jacked that in after a couple of months, even I knew it was a bad thing, would you let Olly Reed run a brewery?)
So the dry spells were BAAAAD! Skint and awake (shudder) work is murder, the clocks never move, the pubs seem to be taunting me as I trudge past, looking in the window for a mate who owes me a couple. And back in my rented room, in front of the same shit that kills me when I'm monged, I sit glassy eyed and bored as fuck.
They were rare then, evil but rare. As I've mentioned, the buddy system was in place with a few really good like minded mates and my room was only 50 quid a week all in when I was peeling off well over 200. Usually they came when I switched jobs through boredom or was being paid wages monthly (shudder again). They will me more common now but not unbearable.

Still, I REALLY want a spliff.

And a beer.
Pubs have been open half hour...