I’m tired. A 10 day stretch at work doesn’t do much for the wellness of my mental clarity. I need breaks, bubble baths, couch time, and book life for a sort of reboot into sanity every now and then. Otherwise I tend to stray away into a loopy, laughy, contemplative behavior that usually does nothing but make sleep more difficult and soundness nonexistent. So my schedule has been crazy, and therefore my mind has started a loop of “what-if’s” and “how come’s” and planning and worrying and overthinking and struggling for no good reason. It’s what I do. I really should sleep.
However, I cannot get these thoughts to bail on my brain right now. So, I share.
My past has molded me into the delicate lady I’ve become. The past was bad. If you’ve read some of my other posts, you know that alcoholism laced my 20’s and I’ve maintained clean and soberness for nearly 4 years.
Continue reading “Bloody Hell, I’ve Been Thinking Again…”
Sobriety is the absolute best thing that has ever happened to me in this life. I know that. I own that. I spread the good news. I share my story. If it weren’t for treatment, AA, sober allies, etc. I would surely be dead. My drug/alcohol abuse caused serious strain on my family, my health, my ability to function in society, my confidence, my motivation, my driving record, the list goes on and on. I will be 4 years sober in August, and it has taken that length of time to establish myself on the “right” track. It’s been a long road, but every moment that I have remained sober has been a fucking cake walk compared to where I came from. So in life, after having been hung out to dry by my alcoholism, all other issues are unparalleled to the straight up shit I’ve lived through.
This is not to say, however, that other problems aren’t there.
Sobriety has pretty much been a huge highlighter that’s outlined all the shit I covered up for all my years of drinking. Those character defects, as AA describes, are well engrained in my bones. That shit is HARD to shake, man. Change is fucking crazy difficult.
Continue reading “Faults in Sobriety: I’m Still Way Crazy”
I have turned 30. The newness of life slowly wearing away and leaving smears of lethargy, achy bones, repetition, and a general apathetic disposition in its place. At least more so than in my past. I’ve always been a bubbly, excited about nothing, obnoxious laugher who can charm the pants off most any man (or woman–yes that happened, BUT a story for another day) and live easy without plan or worry or fear for tomorrow. When I get gifts for birthdays or Christmas, I get so excited I cry. Again, I’m a feeler. So this turn of events into disinterested, unenthused funk makes me confused. This isn’t me. How did I get here?
(No one explains the absurdity of life better than the one and only David Byrne, man) Continue reading “Year 30: We Can Do This”
How, might you ask, does one who is surviving paycheck to paycheck afford to get a meaningful Father’s Day present for the men in your life?? Fear not, for I have MASTERED the art of gift giving on a dime, y’all.
I’ve never had money. I take that back, I’ve always had some form of income. I’ve been a slave to the service industry or sales jobs, or commission based bullshit for my entire “career.” There’s never been lack of a flow of moolah. The problem lies in the amount of money I made, the habits I had, and the bills. Oh, the bills. First of all, when you work shit jobs like these, you just don’t make enough money. HOLLA POLITICIANS, HELP US LIVE ABOVE THE POVERTY LEVEL!
Secondly, drunks and drug addicts CANNOT save money. Not a thing. I used to work at this fine dining restaurant a few years back. The kind of restaurant where warm hand towels soaked in rose water had to be given to every guest, and a palate cleansing sorbet served before the main course. Shit was fancy. Tips were sufficient, for sure. Every night I stockpiled my earnings, changed out of my tuxedo shirt and bowtie in the backseat of my car, and drove straight to the pub where I proceeded to drink too much Rolling Rock and buy too many rounds of Jameson for “friends.” Usually people I didn’t even fucking know. I would wake up the next morning (every morning after a shift, to be exact—I want to be clear about my drinking habits. They owned me) with a few ones or maybe a 5 dollar bill here and there. Do you think a girl like that had money to buy her Daddy a fancy new golf club for Father’s Day? Fuck no. He got a phone call and well wishes.
Continue reading “Dad on a DIME”
When I was a little girl, my Mama always taught me that life could unfold however I dreamed. I could write, I could act, I could do comedy or become a fucking surgeon if I wanted. Early on I knew that life’s potential was a garden that needed to be nurtured and fed, and eventually beautiful buds of success would appear in bright colors. I would get multiple degrees from prestigious universities and marry a rich man, drive a Volvo, and have glowing golden-haired children with pink bows in their hair. I would exercise for fun (because that’s what rich, successful people do, right?), have a constant tan and perfect skin, and be able to travel the world with the never ending prosperity and high cotton-ness I would experience. Little did I know in those younger years how life would ultimately tar and feather my ass and drag me through 4 states until I was left broke and alone with a drinking problem and no direction whatsoever. Funny story, huh? Continue reading “For Starters”
Today I was flipping through Facebook reading all the same shit that’s there every day. I came across an article commemorating the 10 year anniversary of Regina Spektor’s release of the album Begin to Hope. I was flooded with memories of the time in my life when Regina changed everything for me. Continue reading “Begin to Hope”