She’s a mystery June 26, 2013

 

 

One of the many unanswered questions about this whole scene at our office and our poet’s relationship to the owner is the question of drugs.

Our poet uses alcohol moderately, and yet her mood swings and paranoia remind me of those I witnessed when I dated Peggy all those long years ago – and Peggy was a hard core cocaine addict.

I have no evidence our poet uses it, although Peggy also struggled with keeping her weight under control, mostly because she drank far too much in association with her drug use.

My friend Burger King John – a cocaine addict himself – said alcohol and cocaine go together better than love and marriage or a horse and carriage.

“Alcohol is like a gear shift that puts everything into high gear,” he once told me during one of the many times he was on the wagon.

I’ve often suspected our male owner of being a coke head.

But our poet always seemed too intelligent to get too deeply involved with coke, even though with her life on the road with the band, she more than likely indulged.

Cocaine also goes hand in hand with intense sexual experiences, which may be another reason why I suspect she might still getting a taste – supplied perhaps by RR and others, including our owner.

Cocaine also has another scarry side effect. It makes people feel successful, even when they’re not, an illusion of power that wears off with the drug and usually leads to heavy depression.

Thoughts of suicide are a common side effect of cocaine.

Peggy, who was the second love of my life, killed herself as a result of her addiction.

But while our owner might use cocaine to supplement his sex life, I saw no indication of drug use in our poet’s apartment – though like Peggy, she might have hidden the implements and her stash. Unlike Peggy, who often suggested I buy cocaine for mutual use, our poet never dropped such hints, leading me to believe that she is a casual user if at all, and that her depression comes from something else in her mental makeup, although her paranoia might suggest otherwise.

If she was so engaged in the past as part of her party girl life in local bars, this may have come to an end with her diagnosis of cancer, launching her into a healthier way of living, and may well save her life, and could go along way to curing her night fears and her fear of gaining weight.

As with Peggy, our poet constantly fights against weigh gain, a strange phenomenon since the only thing I’ve seen her gobble up were oysters, and those likely as an aphrodisiac.

The scary thing about all of this supposition is just how little I know about her really, despite knowing her history going all the way back to her apparent affair with the arts professor in high school.

As with the Roy Orbison song, “She’s a mystery to me,” and most likely always will be.

 

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