When I was younger I was pretty much convinced that once I made it out of high school, I would become a junkie. I figured that I would buckle under capitolism when I realised I couldn't go on working 40 hours a week at $6.50 an hour. I figured I'd live the rest of my days in a crowded, delapitated house with a bunch of cracked out useless musicians and we could create some stability in the chaos of sex, drugs & rock'n'roll. Exert control over our powerless lives. Perhaps this was a silly goal for a teenager to have. But look at it from my perspective- I didn't have anything to live for. My life seemed carelessly devoid of meaning. As if someone had put me here to aimlessly run around the planet for their own amusement. There's is where it all makes sense. Being a junkie gives your life meaning in a sick & twisted way. Addiction gives you something to focus on. If you have a goal of always trying to get your hands on that next fix.. you've got something to live for.
Maybe that sounds sick.. but slowly killing yourself sure beats waitressing...or suicide for that matter.