No. 2 - 0.25
It is Saturday morning and I am sitting still (stuck) in my dimly lit apartment despite my discomfort. At the end of their life, Lauren Berlant said: “Hell is other people, if you’re lucky.” (see: Sartre).
A magnet with a picture of an empty lot on Gottingen St. is holding a prescription for 15 pills (0.25 mg) of Ativan (lorazepam) to my fridge door. Of the countless things I left in Winnipeg, Manitoba: fridge magnets and a tooth. There are more social scripts for replacing teeth than fridge magnets. I am grateful in part.
I am 361 days “sober” today.
I am today convinced that I feel more fear than I have in 361 days. I am caught up in the slow of Friday to Saturday.
I am also convinced that one of 15 lorazepam would fix this.
Earlier in the week while eating chips and cheese out of the hatch of a CommunAuto SUV, I brushed off a friend’s offer to celebrate my milestone because at some point I had way more than 361 days sober. At some point, I didn’t count days.
Until then: 361.25
Read more: plans for 2215 and 2183 Gottingen St. here (2009)