In a huff of disillusionment I spent part of the lunch hour wandering the sprawling maze of the Fulton Street station. Sat in a corridor on John Street where there is a bust of George Washington at the end. Bought a 7/11 Quarter-Pound hot dog for the first time since working down here. Boss is not in today so I have no one to grouse to. My genius hack got stolen by management, commandeered, made to look like their own when it was I who got castigated for deploying it just a couple of weeks ago.
Feeling similar mid-day anxiety as yesterday, or rather the day before yesterday. Not as intense, though, and I popped another quarter milligram of Lorazapam to get me through. This will not be the norm. Once the booze exits the system I won’t need all this pill popping. I can take a few months off the booze, stockpile the pharmaceuticals, give myself a 5 or 6 month supply, then go underground or take a no-insurance job with all the drugs I’ll need before my next big breakthrough. This job was, in truth, a breakthrough for me. A sea change. A game changer. Maybe it will continue to be in other ways. I don’t know but I need to take a dump and soon.
