Seaside is always a vat of emotional maybes for me. For a sizable chunk of my addiction, I survived in Seaside. Sometimes when I think of my best friend Jen and I stalking the boardwalk, being more rageful than any youth should ever feel necessary; there is the possibility of nostalgia.
On the other hand, being homeless there was while nursing a habit is another serving all together.
Yesterday while letting the dogs run on the beach, Matt had asked me if one was able to walk under the pier and I answered that you could. He began to guide our dogs in that direction, when I asked if he was going under, he said he yes and I told him I was not comfortable with that; he said no problem & meant it, one of his canonizing qualities, and we evacuated the most dope needle cap ridden beach I have been on in a long time.
Shooting dope under a boardwalk is not news for an junkie: active or in recovery, but some instances are better not relived.
I had a terrible day that segwayed into beyond contentment and was cosigned by Billie Holiday Standards all the way to Art History class.
