After I left my girlfriend of six years in ’12/]13, I lived in a hotel for a while. One day I was in front of a full length mirror in underwear, high on cough syrup, and had a twenty minute internal debate on whether or not I should punch the mirror in order to have a perfect copy of Captain Williard’s mirror-punching/bleeding knuckles moment.
I was, and still am, a complete idiot.
Okay, so I didn’t punch the mirror because I didn’t want to explain the broken mirror to the nice people who ran the hotel, or the felon down the hall who I gave my key to. I think he said something about being worried about me doing too many drugs and dying in my sleep or something…so, after knowing him for approximately three days, whilst sober, I threw my room key at him. Like, at the time I had no clue how weird it was for me to do that…I swear I wasn’t trying to hit on him, either..I do remember him looking super confused, though. Maybe “completely unable to formulate a response to what has just happened” is a better phrase.
I guess my train of thought at the time was “oh, you have anxiety about me. okay, well, I’m not going to stop using, but like, in case I actually die you could probably deal with seeing a corpse, and this way I won’t stink up the hotel.”
Not dissing the guy, really, he checked up on me a couple times…he knocked first, though, lol. Probably didn’t help that I spent most of my time holed up in there alone blasting the same depressing Cowboy Junkies song for hours…
PS: HOW AM I STILL ALIVE.