Uneven Mod

Uneven Mod

My ode to the part of my life I can now move on from. Regardless of what brought you here I hope you leave with something to help you on you path.

How does it work?
  • Uneven Mod
    Published about 5 hours ago
    The Year of the White Rabbit (6th  Entry)

    The Year of the White Rabbit (6th Entry)

    My days have taken on an eerie repetition. First days, then weeks, and now even months are predicted with an accuracy that is unsettling. My soul aches, its cramped, even my dreams are poisoned with the monotony of this brutal cycle of repression and servitude. Coping with this was getting expensive, draining my pocket, and weakening my resolve. My freedom is an illusion, a quick and abrupt shift in psycho-chemistry to fortify my denial, to sedate the itch for liberation. It feels as though I have forgotten how to want, the very essence of desire siphoned from my heart. In an effort to avoid accepting my hopelessness I inundate myself with drugs. I feel a change within me, something violent trying like hell to alter my path. Any transformation would be welcome at this point as long as it shed my regret in the process. Regret and shame are terrible things to leave alone, they assimilate and cannibalize their host in a war for control. In its wake leaving something confused, twisted, and unmistakably insatiable. Eh.
  • Uneven Mod
    Published 7 days ago
    The Year of the White Rabbit (5th Entry)

    The Year of the White Rabbit (5th Entry)

    'My heart was racing and it was taking a while for the car to heat up. Panting, I could see my breath hang frozen in the air just before me. I really should get a jacket but that would take away from what I could spend on booze, pills, and smokes. I hadn't had a drink in a while and I noticed although the car was now warm my hands were still shaking. I felt a bit sick. I decided to visit the nearest liquor store when my phone began buzzing, it was on the passenger seat where I had left it. I never got any messages from people I actually wanted to hear from, those days were long gone. Instead I would have dozens of missed calls from bill collectors, and a few voicemails politley asking I return the call to discuss an “Important matter” It was my dealer though. He was the only person I willingly spoke to. I hated how I sounded on the phone sober so I decided to hold off on calling him back until I could secure a bottle. I always went to the same liquor store, it was convieniently located near my job, so I was able to be in and out, still making it back from my break on time. The cashier used to smile everytime I came in, jeering, and making obnoxious comments about various booze induced exploits of his. Lately he just seemed concerned. It was a pretty seamless transaction now. I placed the booze on the counter, paid, and then left. Next stop was a burger joint, I loved it. There was no free food at work so I was starving. The needy bastard probably caught on to the fact I was pilfering his stupid donuts. I hope he has a coronary. I got a large soda and a burger, medium-fucking rare. This spot wasn't all that great, but it was always empty, so I could get my order while having enough time to sit down and actually enjoy it. While they were preparing my burger I took my soda to the car, poured some out, then made up the difference in scotch. Black label. It was an insult to the scotch, but I wanted to eat inside. The place was right next to a strip club so on ocassion I could ogle a dancer and enjoy a burger. That coupled with the buzz from my soda is what got me through most days. Today I was the only one there. My order was done so I took it over to my favorite booth and started unwrapping the burger eagerly. It was like unwrapping the gift you knew you were getting. Just counting down the moments until you were able to tear its cover, and reveal the object you obsessed over countless times in your head. I slid the unraveled burger to the side, brought my soda just before me, stabbed the top with a straw, and slurpped it with all the energy I had left. I gulped it until it was about half way down and just leaned back. Light as a feather. My head tilted forward and a smile crossed my face. Calmly yet aimlessly I brought my burger up to my mouth and savored my first bite. I dont think it would have tasted as good if I didnt have some Scotch to wash it down with. I mechanically repeated lifting and biting the thing until it was finished, only taking breaks to slurp the remainder of my soda. Unfortunately a wave of lonliness washed over me. Looking down I saw the empty wrapper, the empty cup, and just stared. Beautiful moments are so short lived when you have no one to share them with. The rapture of the moment is almost like a snapshot of everything you dont have. Serentity and peace for a few seconds to show you how foul and broken you walk around at any given time. It wasnt the first time this happened. I doubt it would be the last. Never in my life had I dealt with these feelings healthily. So I did what usually worked. I slammed my head into the counter with terminal velocity. Smashing my head out of the sludge of empty feelings, and lonely thoughts. I was startled for a moment, a bit dazed, and in more pain than I had anticipated. I think I saw the cashier take a break from reading his book to see where the noise came from, but I left before being able to really be sure of anything. I walked slowly to my car and closed my eyes. For a while I found I was enjoying the cold air, my lack of layers wasnt such a problem anymore. As I continued to walk towards my car I began to wonder why it was so easy to ignore people. I dont think I ever really felt like a part of something, or accepted by anyone. The only thing that ever had me questioning my feelings or place in life was the come up or hangover of a lovely drug. I made my way to my car, opened it, started the engine, and just sat there. I still had enough time before the end of my break so I drank a bit more and scaveneged my car for some chewing gum, luckily I found enough to justify another few swigs. I would usually do that, just have a bite, and drink enough so that the rest of my shift went by like nothing. I found it was something like a fast forward button for my life. Getting back to work was always so depressing. What brought me back? I never found a good reason, but I had a place to live and food to eat so I guess thats as good a reason as any. I sat staring through the windshield. People started showing up in droves, I thought to myself and wondered if this always happened. I wondered if they were only empty when I was there, and if maybe they were a better establishment than I had ever given them credit for. There was a quick movement in my periphery snapping me out of the thought. I reversed and started the trek back to work. I call it a trek but I always found myself getting back to work noticablely faster than I had left it. I made my way to the office parking lot and still had some time before I needed to clock in. I looked at my phone and opened the list of alerts, just the same bill collectors. I checked through all my voicemail, yup just bill collectors. Time to give my dealer a call.
  • Uneven Mod
    Published 10 days ago
    Orange

    Orange

    Red? Yellow? I fell in love with orange...
  • Uneven Mod
    Published 13 days ago
    The Year of the White Rabbit (3rd enrty)

    The Year of the White Rabbit (3rd enrty)

    I snuck in, crouching below the low walls of the vomit beige cubicles me and my fellow slaves were confined to. I just didn’t want to deal with my supervisor. The lectures I had endured as a result of my slipping performance were no fun at all. He was always so damn happy. Projecting, and enunciating every goddamn syllable with that incredibly strong coffee breath. Gesticulating and showing me how much he “genuinely” cared for me by getting in close and putting his hand on my shoulder, the whole time blabbing away. I made it to my cubicle and powered up my computer, the only thing I would be looking at for the next few hours. I was feeling a little spark of sobriety catching wind and flaring up, so I opened my cubicle drawer and removed a pill bottle. As far as anyone else was concerned it was some generic ibuprofen, but I knew what gems truly rattled around in that bottle. If I was lucky there would be one or two more percocet in there. I blacked out on so many occasions sometimes I would legitimately be surprised at what was in there. Not the best thing to waste on a day at work but I had no social life to put them to good use. Whatever helped me to forget to be miserable would be ingested. With fervor. I rattled the bottle around a bit to listen for what could be in there. There was no sound, it was empty. Just then I felt an all too familiar hand rest on my shoulder.
  • Uneven Mod
    Published 13 days ago
    The Year of the White Rabbit (4th entry)

    The Year of the White Rabbit (4th entry)

    “I'm fine, just a bit stressed out. It was taking sometime to get things back in order. I can promise you an improvement in my overall performance. I almost hit a deer today, swerved and got a flat tire.” I said trying to be as convincing as possible.
  • Uneven Mod
    Published 3 months ago
    The Year of the White Rabbit (2nd Entry)

    The Year of the White Rabbit (2nd Entry)

    ...It wasn't that I could afford to be so carefree, I just found it more important to celebrate every second I wasn't at work. It would be so great to look back and say its all been a party, some hedonistic foray into debauchery. My nights were just spent getting high though, in most cases alone. My imagination would run rampant and the colorless, empty life I was living was no longer the focal point of my consciousness. Senses merging and trading roles would make music heavenly, poetry transcendental, and mediocrity opulence. It was fun at first, but now it was just what kept me going without having to think about how much I let myself down. It was cold outside, but I just wore a tattered black hoodie, an over worn white button down, my favorite pair of faded black denim jeans, and sneakers that were somewhat comfortable. I always loved the sound of my soles grinding against the gravel, it was almost crisper in the winter. I was lulled into an almost zen like state by that sound, accompanied with a new wave of euphoria courtesy of my liquid “breakfast”... or “lunch” rather. I would be hungry soon but some needy bastard at work would probably have some donuts available. I found my only motivation for going to work other than my measly paycheck was free food. Free tastes so much better. Not such a bad cliché. The cold air felt nice although it stung my nostrils, I took in a deep breath, exhaled, and felt fully awake. The frigid air was a nice contrast to the fire in my belly. I love scotch. Eventually I made my way to my car and eagerly unlocked it. She was my baby, my escape. For me it was like a spacecraft where I could be light years away from anything and everything. In most cases I was high as all fuck so the feeling was almost to be expected. It was mine though, all the moments I spent on the road were mine, and mine alone. With a new energy I revved the engine, and pulled out of the driveway as if I was actually excited to reach my destination. I wasn't. As much as I hate to admit it drinking and driving is… is fun. The road came at me way too fast, the traffic lines were like sputtering slides on a projector screen. The feature film? my cherished highway, the soundtrack? always subject to change. It was pure freedom. With the windows rolled down, the music blaring, and the high I was riding heaven wasn't just a concept. For a few moments I even forgot where I was going, I was just going. My line of sight deviated every so often between the skyline, the beautiful road, and the flood of messages my phone was receiving. The ride was a blur when I had arrived at work. I checked my breath and cleared my nostrils. There was no use in making my situation any worse. I gargled some mouthwash, threw in some eye drops, and took a deep breath too stave the eminent wave of anxiety. Within the confines of the work place I felt nothing but self-contempt and irritation. The walk from my car to the main entrance was always an exercise in controlled breathing. I would even mutter some stupid mantra on occasion. “I am happy.” “I am grateful for work.” “I love people.” Just bullshit really. Making my way through the parking lot I would sometimes try a car handle or two to see if someone had neglected to lock their car door. The rush I got from it would pull me out of any anxiety-loop I was in. I choose one that wasn't in plain view of the office windows. Three… two… one! Nope. I got a rush and figured I would just go to work and deal with another miserable day. As bad as it was, it wasn't anything a new cocktail of drugs couldn't take care of.