Blog post

Greetings, comrades and misfits alike! It’s been a few days since my last missive, and let's face it, nobody said I'd be writing every day. This isn't “Dear Diary,” after all. But guess what? Today marks 73 days of being sober! 🎉 If I managed not to drink, I'd say today's a success. But let's not sugarcoat things – it's been anything but easy.

Imagine trying to keep the inner asshole at bay while being cooped up in the same house, day after day. The urge to lock myself upstairs and throw away the key is real. My financial situation is so dire, I can't even afford the luxury of paying attention. Jobless and penniless – yep, that's my current reality.

The next influx of cash doesn't arrive until my wife's monthly SSDI direct deposit hits on the 15th. Until then, we're surviving on fumes and wishes. And to add fuel to the fire, we're out of cigarettes. Vapes, you say? Pfft, they don't cut it. My blood pressure’s rising just thinking about all this crap. Heck, I don't even have two nickels to rub together to buy a drink. And, boy, do I wish I had one. The cravings? Let's just say they're a motherfucker.

Earlier today, I embarked on a perilous journey to the Linn Community Food Bank. Humiliation aside, I did what had to be done. I trudged back home laden with 60 pounds of canned goods, one loaf of bread, two precious rolls of butt wipe, and a pound of frozen ground turkey. A feat of herculean proportions, I tell you! After stopping to catch my breath at least 12 times, I finally crawled through the front door, utterly exhausted.

Fred and Ethel, the chihuahuas, have been out of dog food. And let me tell you, never again will I buy canned dog food. The cost rivals my former alcohol and cigarette expenditure – just ridiculous. Life's been tough, and yes, I'll admit it, I'm feeling depressed.

But tomorrow, the mission continues. I'm heading to a nearby food pantry, hoping to score some meat, eggs, or dairy. Who knows what the haul will be? Stay tuned, fellow warriors.

Good night, misfits. Dave M. out.