I didn’t go into work this morning. I meant to call them but I don’t remember if I did. I think I passed out, but I don’t really know. It’s like I don’t know the difference between being awake and sleeping anymore, but I haven’t had a real night’s sleep for days, I don’t think. I don’t think I was asleep but I sort of came to this morning, lying on the living room floor. My clothes were gone except my shirt, which was all pull sideways. I think I had sex with somebody but I don’t remember. Shit, I was speedballing, kinda like, with the Jack Daniels, and I just lose track. The front door wasn’t all the way shut. I hope nobody came down the hall and looked in and saw me like that, naked from the boobs down. I looked at my body and it seemed like somebody else’s. It’s like it wants things now that aren’t good, I don’t know it anymore. Six months ago I felt like I was getting a little poochy belly, like. Not too big but just enough to worry about. For awhile I thought I might be pregnant. I can never keep track of those things. John is never here, still always out at the oilfields, so I don’t know how I could have. I would have to be lucky. But I couldn’t remember when I’d had my last period and I thought I might be pregnant until I had my period and then I realized I wasn’t. I just kinda forget things. With Craig gone and my schedule at the C-store changing like every week it’s like the days just drift around and back and forth and I can’t hardly remember when it’s the weekend or not. I can go out and drink any night I want to, or get high whenever I want to. I don’t have to wait for the weekend. That’s as long as I remember to go to work in the morning. Crap, I hope I left that message. The light on the answering machine is blinking, a whole bunch of times real fast, which means it’s a bunch of messages. Somebody called last night, which was probably John calling from out west but I was so fucked up then and we had the stereo on so loud I couldn’t even like get the sound turned down and people to shut up so I could answer it, so he started leaving a message and I thought I can’t deal with listening to this right now, so I turned the volume off. I think he called again later, I don’t really remember. I feel like something is wrong but I can’t even deal with it to try to fix it. He didn’t come home last weekend and I don’t even know why and I feel bad bugging him about it because he’s like five hours away and that’s a long way to drive and I should be grateful that he’s driving so far every weekend just for me. He’s living in little trailer outside Garrison, I think is where it is, with his buddy Rich, and I think I’m glad I have an apartment, even if it is just a rundown place where the old people and the Mexicans live. Some of them are cool, those guys, they know how to party. John, I feel bad because sometimes I don’t call him because, I don’t know, I’m just sitting here, or I’m at the Uptown and I’m having a drink and I don’t want him to know if he calls my cell phone. He was a fun guy, before we got married, kind of mysterious in a fun way, but now he’s off where he can earn money and I’m here and I probably should have gone out there with him, but, I don’t know, I didn’t want to. And now it’s like I’ve fucked everything up. Like I’m sure some of those messages are from work, probably I’m fired now. Or they’re from my Dad. He came into the Uptown last week, totally embarrassed me. He said, “What are you doing to yourself?” I said, like, “Dad, what are you doing in here? This is totally not your place. You should go.” He did, and I don’t even know what he was thinking. He said, “John’s going to leave you if you don’t get yourself together.” I don’t know why he’s going on about that all the time, like John is leaving. Maybe John is calling him up, but I don’t know why he would. It was always us against the world. But then he went off to the oilfields and I’ve just kinda fucked everything up here. I hope I didn’t lose my job. I might have to move out to that trailer in Garrison if I did. And it’s February and I’m sure it’s fucking cold. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters any more is getting high again. That’s like the only thing that gets me up anymore. Sex, it’s like I don’t even care, I don’t even feel it. My body craves other things. I’m looking at it and my skin looks yellowish and pale to me, and the skin hangs a little. Is this me? How did I get like this?