2006. I had just come back from my cruise and had begun drinking regularly. It was easy to get away with it because I was in Rochester, and my family had never come to visit me there. I could simply not answer my phone when I was drunk and call back when I wasn’t. It was easy until I started using meth.
Less than a month after nearly a five-year period of sobriety, I started hitting the hard stuff. I skipped the usual, “only on weekends” routine and got myself into a good daily habit. My job at the ice cream plant paid well. I had thousands at my disposal, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough. I made the decision to start selling.
When you are a dealer, the drug is always on hand. It has to be in order to have any level of success. I was able to be on the clock 24/7 with little naps here and there. For my own benefit I cannot get into detail about any specific sales.
During what would become my last weeks at the plant, I decided to take a week off for my birthday. I had been up for seven straight days when my birthday arrived. I had a sudden feeling that something was wrong. I looked around and everything was sterile-white and there was a huge pile-up on Line Two at the plant. I ran toward it and began removing smashed boxes of ice cream and throwing them on the floor, trying to get at the main problem which appeared to be a reflector covered in ice cream. Suddenly there was a horn, and the light shrunk down to two headlights staring me down in the night. It was 4am and I was out in the middle of 6th Avenue, across from Soldiers Field. I can only imagine the look on my face. I casually walked back to the sidewalk, and the car drove away. I decided it was time to sleep.
I slept through the entire weekend. I don’t remember having any dreams.