I haven't really done coke since I was pregnant a few years ago. Don't judge me. I'm not a bad parent. I killed the baby right away. Getting an abortion was the only logical decision. That is a story for another time.
I've never been heavy into coke. I do it maybe twice a year when all the factors play out right. Or if I'm bored and it’s going around. I did it a little more while I was pregnant but only because I was drinking so much and my judgment was clouded ... and the guy in the parking lot had a trusting face. Hard times, I tell you.
Since I barely dabble in it, my body isn't used to coke at all and it was exceptionally potent when I did it this weekend. I was in control and it was a lot of fun. I was at a party with good friends and good strangers. I dressed up in an “Alice in Wonderland” costume and pranced around in good company.
Other adult workers were there and the stuff was in no short supply. Fat rails sat on mirrors like hors d'oeuvre platters. We gathered around with our own straws (sharing is dangerous as it can spread disease) and partook of the party favors. It burned hard when I breathed it in and left an icky taste in my mouth. It was much like eating nail-polish remover.
It was getting late so I excused myself to go to work. I stripped out of the puffy pastel blue skirt and white apron and left. I arrived at the campy strip joint, signed in for my shift and quickly realized that the coke made me too reactive and that I should never work while high. I just feel like I might have been violent with someone if they crossed me. I couldn't even start talking to people until I started coming down several hours later. I should have stayed at the party.
The next day when I woke up, some time around 6 p.m., I went to the bathroom and blew my nose. The snot was plentiful and swirled with blood. It looked like that pre-mixed creamy peanut butter and jelly stuff you get in jars but sprinkled with sugar. I suppose that will be enough coke for me this year. Blacked-out drunkenness is more my speed anyway.