I was sitting in bed at 4:20 watching TV. Today should have been a sleep day to make up for my recent awake binge. I had a good nights sleep from 10pm till about 7:30am but I need some more.  Instead, I snorted a bit at noon… possibly the line was wider than anticipated. I reacted as if it was a lot, but as usual the effects were not noticeable to me, except that the tired feeling went away.

It was to be another day of slack, rather than work. Usually, even on a bad week I get a productive Wednesday, because I’ve started my weekends on Thursday quite a bit. Another wasted week I suppose.

I have less to do of course, and a wasted week is fine with my existing customers, as long as I still react to their calls and questions – although if I am being honest with myself, I slack at that too. I am an employee that would have been fired if I wasn’t the only employee… plus I know I’d be horrible at firing anyway. It’s not a smile producer.

So in bed, I flip between guilt and content, all the whole ignoring the terror that is ahead. MY mind can’t figure out whether to let myself fail, or save it all in the last few minutes before the deadline… like my usual way.

I say to myself things work out if I let them, but in retrospect, the things were probably always me, doing what I have always been capable of, but never do – till tomorrow means worse.

Note.  Ar 5:07 I toked.  It is earlier than my usual routine, but … well, things are progressing. I can’t deny that drug are the problem, and a part of the solution.  My stoned mind cares more about the problem than my sober mind…

So… I probably won’t do the things I need to do today, which was probably part of the reason I toked. It’s an excuse to not work just in case my guilt voice was starting to win.  I know I should get off the bed, go to my office computer 2 metres to my right, and work.  Get the fucking invoices sent out.  I need … I remember one client has $1000 to pay me, and maybe…

“hey google.  How many days till February 1st?”

8 days.

Thank you.

I have 8 days to figure out how to get $1105 into my bank account.  Rent. February 1st rent.  Not having the money to pay rent would be a new low for me. A first. A realization.  How crap. I can’t pay rent.

I have put myself here with procrastination 3 months ahead of my schedule and at least a year or 3 ahead of what I had hoped would be the case when I inherited $15,000 such a short period of time ago.


I didn’t remember my trick.  My way of getting by.  I never do anything until something makes me react. I ignore the bad things because I can, until I can’t. Everything works out because I am content with whatever happens. As long as I don’t die, then I can be excited by whatever new happens. I live in the NOW and adapt. I even considered jail wouldn’t be so horrid… Just a new NOW to learn to adapt to and eventually love.

The current scenario in life however IS using my death as a pawn. I might die before everything works out. That’ll either be a new experience to learn and adapt to, or it won’t be. I tend to think it won’t be.

I will have no regrets AFTER the fact. I won’t be able to assimilate to that new NOW because it’s for the living.

— and the thing about death is, I can’t cram for it the night before.

Rent. It is the first time you let somebody else in on your secret.  I’ve had debt and  credit problems all my life, but not paying a phone bill isn’t the same. Not paying your $37,000 American Express bill isn’t the same. Not paying rent means you’re poor. You’re more broke than the 10,000 other times you told people you were broke and they say the same thing.

Everyone I know wishes they had more money, and to many, broke simply means they don’t get to buy the replacement dishwasher till October.

— so why the fuck am I now four months behind, not sending out the invoices that pay the bills I need to survive?

It’s like I bumped the date of the final exam.  I have to cram for that test NOW.  I HAVE TO SEND MY FUCKING INVOICES OUT


definitely tomorrow.


NOTE:  The title of this piece was inspired by the toke.  My mood swings enough to consider than Orange Jeff (high Jeff) is actually a different personality.  I toked, and my thinking process restored to the Orange Jeff things. Like opening up a new browser with my tabs open, instead of the thoughts Jeff was thinking.

I blogged this almost instantly, having paused in the middle of a tense moment of The Librarians (TV SHow)

End of this part.

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