I sit with a stack of books to my right. I type on my trusted ASUS linux laptop. More like a mini notebook. Barely two gigs of memory and not much for keyboard use of mouse control. Regardless, it is all I have at this time.

Unwind, written by Neal Shusterman
Everything's Eventual, written by Stephen King
Punkzilla, written by Adam Rapp
The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul, written by Douglas Adams
Atonement, written by Ian McEwan

These books serve as some to help me sustain my sanity in a somewhat lonely world.

I do not have real friends. I lost those in the war of Becoming Who I Am.

I am also not to proud to admit(between me, you and this blog) that I sometimes ponder on what could have been life-long friendships. Good ones, had everything fallen into place. However, through my long seeming, yet short life span of nineteen years, I've learned things don't quite work like that.

There was a co-worker whom I always road home with whom I'll call Tammy. Tammy and I would ride past my house to her apartment and get stoned on the way there, while we were there, and then she'd take me home. We worked at a petstore together and mostly opened together or closed together.

Well at this same time I was in(though it was unbeknown to me) a horribly verbally abusive relationship. Tam tried telling me this and tried to get me to open my eyes to this concept. When she went off one day I stopped contacting her.

This is the only friendship I've lost that I consider a true mistake.

The second would be that of Shayna. I had been friends with her since we were both just out of diapers. Up until earlier this year, that is.

Shayna had always been an ADHD type, but as she grew older(twelve and up, really) she began a downward spiral into drinking, abusive relationships and failing grades. By earlier this year I'd had enough of the drama that trailed behind her and called quits, even having to change my phone number in order to get her to leave me be.

I miss times when days were more innocent but don't regret not having to babysit the co-dependent child she is.

The last of these is an older woman named Samantha. Sam had been my dealer and a good friend. Not afraid to front you if she knew you, and an over all sweet tempered woman. This all despite the fact she has progressive M.S, and is on a suicide cocktail of, unfortunately, necessary medications.

I always offered to be there if she needed me. However helpful I try to be, I make up for in clumsiness. The poor woman had a broken foot that I accidentally stepped on. Other such things that started to plague her, stains on couches from ink or cigarettes, scuff marks on floor, all these things she says were never there till we showed up. We being me and Ben.

Well one day, not so long ago, Ben offers to take Sam to the Doctor the following morning because she thinks she might have something wrong with her spine. Even with the Fetanol, Methadone, Klonopin and Alprazolam, she is still in chronic pain.

Now on this day Ben and I had planned with Sam that that day she needn't do a thing but sit in her recliner and we'd take care of everything from cleaning to loading the next bowl. Instead when we get there lo'and behold there are already some people there. Then more appear, all not purchasing anything from this dealer. Then some customers show up and it's getting late, and Ben has to wake up at 4 am to get to work on time so we tell her we're going. Ben makes sure to tell her to let him know A.S.A.P when she needs to go.

We leave her apartment and when we pull into my driveway I get a txt

S- Don't worry about tomorrow, I've got it covered. Thanks anyhow
Me- Alright, well if anything happens just let us no!
S- Yeah, right. I already tried that once and won't ask again. Thanks anyhow.
M- Sorry, did we do something wrong?

I never received and answer from that. I find this strange for a few reasons, or maybe only one big reason with many little reasons feeding on it.

We owed her money. Not a lot, but she isn't a big dealer. $55 and ten pills. Saying she needed them by next week before her clinic appointment or she wouldn't be able to go. Now if this woman was so desperate for this money why would she suddenly shut us out so? What had we done to offend her that much that she found our money not worth it, nor ourselves?

Things like this have me wondering, but as days pass and I don't get calls, nor feel the urge to make them, I worry less. However, in the back of my mind, drilling away slowly at the soft, grey tissue, these things pick along with another bag of issues wah-wah needa tissue?

Sam would tell me, "Don't burn bridges." Yet it seems she's done this very sin against us.

Ben works and I try to keep my sanity by keeping thoughts in their rightful place.