lucky number 84.

Well hello there #84.  I've been waiting for you.  I've spent quite a lot of time with your buddies...everyday, twice a day, for 42 days.  And we've formed a bit of a love/hate relationship.  I remember #6 in the hospital when Ryan was getting ready to give her and he didn't even flinch, I think he even smiled a bit, and I stopped him mid-shot and said "I'm nervous that you're not nervous" (this man has never even touched a syringe before, yet alone injected someone with one).  He told me to quit being such a big weenie and shoved her in my arm.  It was the first and last shot he gave.  I remember #12, as I hurled him across my room, cried, and yelled "I am not doing this!".  It was a Hadley size tantrum. I remember #24 that made me bleed like a stuck pig.  He wrecked my favorite shirt.  And I remember #75 that I gave publicly at a party, a lame attempt at a cool party trick, or just a junkie that had too much to drink.  Oh, and the best part, I freaked the host out by leaving my drug paraphernalia behind.  Yes, we've been through a lot together.  You no longer give me the sweats, I don't shake anymore when I touch you.  I've actually grown quite fond of you.  I know exactly the perfect places to stick you in now, I've mapped out the spots that hurt the least.  I've learned the proper tempo to inject you so it's a nice steady burn instead of a horrific stabbing sensation.  I've learned that you were only trying to help and I thank you for that.  I will never forget you, I have 84 nice little poke marks all over  my abdomen and thighs, and I have bruising the colors of the rainbow, to remind me.  So little shot, thanks for the ride (that's what she said).  Stay sweet.  Don't change.  Have a great summer.  And enjoy your sharps container, you little bastard.