I just finished reading book number 40 for 2008: Beautiful Boy--A Father's Journey Through His Son's Addiction, by David Sheff. This is a tough book, full of tears and honesty, often raw but always truthful.
Sheff here tells the harrowing story of his son's meth addiction (from which only a single digit percentage actually recover). Meth is tough stuff, and most don't survive. Somehow his son did, for now.
Reading about Sheff's addicted son made me realize how tame a life I have led (I didn't even try pot in high school) and how much I miss Krispy Kreme donuts. When I lived on the southside I often stopped in every week for a box of hot glazed and a gallon of milk, since the KK bakery was two blocks from the house. Man, I'm telling you. Feeling sick never felt so good. I kid you not.
Every now and again I suffer from withdraw. Sunday mornings are the toughest, when I'm looking at the fellowship table loaded with treats. Can't eat donuts like I used to, but I can still chug milk with the best of them (skim only, of course). They should put me in one of those milk ads with the moustache. As gray as I'm getting, I wouldn't even have to drink any milk.
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