wash the dishes, contemplation

i find humor in the jobs i hold down.
I scrub metal trays of dried mutilated animal all night sometimes, and spend hours on end teaching children in an animal rehab how to treat an injured pet.

bits and pieces of tender meat sauce sprays into my white white hair. then i let them dry, pick them out during class and go to teach the children about dying breeds of mamals, and what they should do to preent it. I even show them how cows are butally slaughtered.
thats sick.
since i spend hours upon hours slouched over a large sink i think a lot about my life and self. The many different things that happened to me on my journey through this life of mine.
Like how at one point i had decided that i was really living in the 16th century, but just in modern times nd i walked around in a costume dress and bodice and all for 4 days pissed that i waasn’t getting the kind of respect that the queen of italy should after being kidnapped by a gang of pirates for 14 years. I hissed and boo-ed and “Ha-ZAR!’-ed my way around the bay area till finally i crashed and woke up sick and angry and in need of a fix.
Or when i followed a socar team in a green mini van because i was also wearing green and we were on the same team. “GREEN TEAM GO!”

Or when Jesus sold me dope and in return asked for a place to stay for a few days. “wow” i thought then, “Jesus Christ himself is gonna give me 22 grams of dope just for a place to stay”
THE LORD WORKS IN AWESOME WAYS as said in the bible. is scrawled across my bedroom wall.

I stope washing the dishes every 30 minutes t smoke a cigarette. I use to just smoke in thre, but it’s winter and we don’t have the air conditioner on anymore so it doesn’t vent as well, and besides this is supposed to be a family returaunt.
When i go out for my smoke i sit on the curb and watch the people rush in and out of the glass doors that i need to clean after we close.
I pick dried pig bits out of my hair and scrach my eyebrows and eyelashes. working with those chemicals in that room seems to make my hair stiff and itchy. i could scrach my face forever if i had the energy.
When i finish my smoke i stand up, my body cracks like that of an elderly man, and i walk, stiffly, back to the back room.

Tonight a kid a little younger then i am got a cell phone, he’s in charge of my work, and the line of customers has grown.
“yeah… uhh huh… I know i wish i could be there too baby…”polly make ood for these people!”…i know… well i’m working… i know i love you too… no you stop.”

“KYLE!” i hear comeing from my mouth like vile spew in a deep anry voice, “i swear if i see that fucking phone in your hand one more time then i’m gonna put it in a bucket of mayo!”

“oh, thats just polly…..yeah she looks just like their girl madison and sounds like her too!….isn’t that weird?”

i jump the 4 foot counter onto his back, knock over bowls and platters all over, breat and lettice and tomatoes and knifes of plasticwear tumbles to te ground. I’ve got him around the neck with my legs wrapped around him, and i am not a small girl. this isn’t cute.
I swipe the cell phone from his head and speak loudly into it “KYLE IS BUISY, BYE” then release Kyle and slam my fist into a large jar of mayonaise, The slime goes up to my elbow and i leave his phone at the bottom.

“i’m almost done with the dishes back there”
then i go back to my room and rinse the white nastyness off my arm. A little while later Kyle came back in with a pair of toungs and a ball of mayo at the end of them. The mayo was ringing.

“You don’t wanna know where it’s going next.” i said not looking at him.

You see, Kyle is a bitch. He’s been working the same job for over a year, his parents give him stuff, feed him, clothe him. I’m lucky if my parents leave the light on. I find that i tend to not like people who’s parent love them.

I was in an NA meeting one day, this girl looked like hatred. She just looked angry, she had that messy hair crooked glasses and pouty face. I stayed to talk to her after the meeting. She complained about this and that, all these things are wrong bla bla bla. She was 23 and still lives at home with her parents, who didn’t bye her the food she liked, and wouldn’t give her more then 20$ at a time for shopping unless they went with her.
the last time my parents gave me 20$ was to leave so they could screw and i wouldn’t wail on the door screaming bullshit words at them for fucking.

Another girl i know didn’t like that her mother insisted on saying “I LOVE YOU” every time she had to say goodbye.
Look and princes Di. She died. I bet she told her kid “i love you” on her way out the door. Even in an argument, you never know when your gonna die.

One guy goes to meetings all the time he’s been going to the same weekly meeting for as long as i have, most likely longer. But he always addresses himself as a newcomer. See, he like beer. But when he stresses too much about it he doesn’t let it control his life. Then he stresses about it controlling him bcause he relapses. I figure if you can control yourself and still consume drugs and booze, then more power to you. You’ve broken the code that so many of us fall short of and just end up dead and wishing for it.

I wash dishes every night and think hard each night. About how i feel about my feeling about things.
it’s hard to not be a junkie.
it’s weird too.
Speed is the only drug i have ever done that makes you feel like you belong to everything.
Heroin is the only drug i have ever done that feels like it belings in you.
It feels weird to feel apart.

1 comment

  1. hey polly. I feel this story…I relapsed…my parents are dead…didn’t love me anyway…write me soon…i need someone to talk to…
    Always Ill,

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