If I stop moving, stand still for more than ten seconds, the ants are on me. Brisbane, in the rainy season. They seek out sugar sources and form lines. As I notice one I remove it.
But standing still hasn't been an issue. Cold chilling a - a what - maybe a four month run? Daily shots? Maybe a day off or two here and there. Well, never two. Maybe a day off. Maybe.
And amongst this, family from OS. Duties to the dependents of siblings. Entertainment value I offer up in lieu of monetary goods. Luckily they're okay in that respect. Somehow I muster a little enough energy to get across town in time for dinner with the parentals and the three energised bunnie rabbits. And I swing that little energy into piggyback rides and tolerance. Though last night even that was short on. I ended up putting the ball that I'd been hit over the head with half a dozen times in a minute on the top shelf, out of reach, and suggesting that I'd posed them a problem they needed to solve. Solve it they did, calling in a higher authority, mumma.
I know my pale features and general exhaustion confused them, even with the true cover story of the three day runs I was having, meaning I wasn't eating, not that I'd have eaten anyway cold chillin.
Being a banker I used my methadone stores to get me through. Withdrawing a little from tomorrow's stash (no need to entertain tomorrow) to stave off today's withdrawal. And when at home twisting and curling with the metro a foot away, banked against the next day's entertainment needs. If only the metro bank paid interest.
But nobody pays no junkies no interest.