Day 40.
Fuck the insurance companies.
Fuck God’s Country.
Fuck the detectives.
And fuck Mr. Spirituality.
No, I wasn’t angry.
I just felt I should take my meds again.
I had a good run. I got a script here, one there, and before I knew it, I had enough scripts to get off my face for the next month. Another bonus was circumnavigating NSW Health by having my Vyvanse script released in Western Australia.
I had to lie to Admin Joy, who knew I was stranded in Coffs Harbour with a broken-down car.
Just flew back into Perth, the message went.
And Shabang, the e-script was released.
Problem, the release Schedule II drugs in NSW, you need to be accessed by an approved 'stimulant' prescriber.
Where one chemist followed the law to a dot - 'no, we can't release it, until you get the green light from NSW Health,' - another prescribed.
Being an e-script, clouded the judicial laws of Schedule II controlled substances.
If you didn't look carefully, as the second Pharmacist didn't, he wouldn't have noticed that the script was prescribed for a resident of Western Australia.
God bless chemists who put profit before ethics.
A quick email to my shrink, ‘hay Tony, I’m back in WA now, please release my script.’
Admin Joy who answers all of Tony's correspondence, bought my druggy lie.
I paid good money to be enrolled with Tony and I wasn't about to not get what I had paid for, access to kick ass stimulants, month in and month out.
A lie.
Scouts honor.
I was in Coffs Harbour, in NSW.
And I needed the drugs now. Laws don't apply to addicts. We break or manipulate them for a fix.
Once the script was released, I went shopping.
No, we can’t release it, said one pharmacy.
Kill joys.
That’s how I was referred to the good doctor, Dr. Crapper. And his sidekick, Dr. Sieman.
I wouldn’t be entering their sphere of influence until a week’s time. In the meantime, it was time to get fucked up and lose some weight. And if I didn’t lose weight, then getting fucked up would have to do.
‘You are good to go,’ said the chemist.
What.
I’ll take it.
Back on my meds, watch out fucking world.
I’m going to be dangerous.
I’m going to play crime reporter.
I’m going to be a player.
I’m going to fuck the whore staying a few rooms down.
I might even fuck that big Vanuatu picker.
‘She loves to get fucked,’ said Romeo, another picker from Vanuatu.
Fuck, on the meds, I had visions of spraying fresh come over her Polynesian face.
Off the drugs, I had visions of just coming all over her mammary glands.
None of it happened.
But the Japanese lesbian porn just got more crazier the more I topped up on the phenetamine.
I was ejaculating all over the place.
I had to try hard.
Bill Gates binged over code, shovelling Tang in his mouth.
I binged over porn shovelling nicotine lozenges.
They helped activate my saliva glands, much needed lube for marathon wanking sessions.
I’m still wondering why I was asked to leave.
I just thought I was blending in.
The Caravan Park had a reputation.
I just didn’t want the standards to drop.
I'd wake up and my face would be plastered in a white powder.
Niobate lozenges.
Did the job, that's what matters.
Note to self for next week's installment, should I tell Dr. Siemens about my waking session?
