insanity

Note: I don't play video games. I don't even like video games, unless you're talking about Atari 2600 (Centipede remains my all-time fave arcade game). Still: when browsing Amazon.com, I had an urge to add this Nintendo DS Lite to my cart because it comes in pink. Which only intensified when I saw the matching-in-pink 17-in-1 Bundle Pack. [This was after searching for a pink netbook, pink snow boots, and pink curtains. Someone should just shoot me now.]

tomorrow

I don't recall whether it was a character in a Jane Austen novel or Scarlett O'Hara who said it, but I always try to remember what a friend told me in high school on a particularly tough day: "Tomorrow is another day." 

I'm 1,000% percent better today... leading me to believe that I just needed to hit an emotional bottom to get it all out of my system. It's still terribly tough, but the situation doesn't feel hopeless anymore, and I got the first good night's sleep in a long time last night. My priorities today? Getting work done, taking care of myself, going to look at a used car (maybe), and eating lots of chocolate chip cookie dough. Raw. From the freezer. Namaste.

what was said to the sober dad when he called and asked after me

"I've been crying since I woke up, J. called me twice to apologize for his relapse, I got in a screaming match with J.'s sponsor after he told me I should 'forget [I] ever met J.' with a smirk, my therapist thinks I should check myself into a hospital for a few days, I can't eat without throwing up, and Pandora keeps playing super depressing songs even when I check the 'I don't like this song' button."

pennsylvania dusk (shot on my way home from d.c.)

wednesday morning

I've been up since 6am, unable to sleep with the images of J. sprawled out on the couch streaming on the Jumbotron in my mind. This morning H. stopped by J.'s house -- he doesn't remember us stopping by last night; he says he's done; he says he's ready to be sober again; he says he wants to go to a meeting this morning. After H. called, the phone rang and it was J., apologizing and crying. I told him he doesn't need to be sorry; this is what alcoholics do when they fall off track. I don't need to ask questions about why or how, or think about what could or should or would have been if only, or anything else. It just as easily could have been me, and I know this. Many prayers are needed today, and I'll be the first one to say them -- from a healthy distance. Namaste.

yes

The only thing worse than suspecting the man you love has relapsed is walking into his apartment to find a bottle of vodka sitting on the kitchen counter, the smell of alcohol permeating everything, and the aforementioned man passed out in an drunken stupor on his couch in his boxer shorts. 

hanging in there

Life goes on, even with a broken heart that's been smashed further by the weight of addiction, anger, and hopelessness. No one's heard from J. since Sunday. He's not showing up at meetings, and both his door and his phone remain unanswered. And though I know this has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the choices he's made and continues to make, I find myself overcome with a penetrating and distinct sadness that someone I loved so much has fallen into such a deep, deep hole. I am asking for help, seeking out safe spaces, and praying to be changed in ways I cannot even imagine. Still, there are moments I wish I were endowed with godliness and could reach down and bring him into the light. I think -- I hope! -- this means I'm human and have the capacity to love despite the risk and fear of pain. Namaste.

advice from the sassy blonde

"Just go after The Blue-Eyed Boy. He's 25, thinks you're the most fabulous woman on the planet, and he'd have no problem with a short-term relationship based solely on sex."

occam's razor

Sometimes, the simplest explanation for an alcoholic-addict acting strangely -- and saying hurtful things -- is that said person has relapsed. After today's events, I'm 99% certain this is what has happened, and this is why J. has been acting strangely since Thursday. Tomorrow? I may or may not be participating in an intervention. As I get ready for bed, I'm sad for him but also at peace, because for once I am sure that this has nothing to do with me. Namaste.

???

J. showed up tonight and asked if I'd come over to talk tomorrow. Given how he asked --"I love you, and I would walk to the ends of the Earth for you, and I want you to know exactly how I feel and for you to come over so I can demonstrate that to you. I promise it won't be hurtful, and I'm going to try to set things right." -- I think I at least owe him that. It doesn't mean my boundaries have changed or that I'll accept anything less than what I deserve... but I'll grant him a conversation. Who knows? Maybe he WILL set things right. Whether or not he CAN is a separate question, and I'll have to leave that one to God tonight. Especially since I feel as though I'm coming down with strep, and I'm due to teach small children in the morning. Namaste.

this is how it (probably) ends

After these months, it ends not because of the chronic pain, the bad back, the sore shoulder, the old-man complaints, the lack of movement or spontaneity (a direct result of the aforementioned ailments), a disconnect in political values, or any particular absence of love. Instead, the final nail impales the coffin at the exact moment when, in a discussion about why he cannot perform sexually, he says, "You see, I gravitate toward thin women; your weight is a definite factor."

(She is 5'4" tall and weighs 135 pounds. She is aware that she is not supermodel material, but she isn't exactly obese. Or even overweight. Just not "thin.")

And she realizes that she can live in a world in which she's not having sex because of heart medication or spinal stenosis or even chronic pain, but she cannot be in a relationship with a man who pushes all of these things aside to imply that the problem is her nonexistent fatness. Perhaps that makes her a bad person or displays her lack of understanding about male psychology or proves she can't take constructive criticism, but at this point she doesn't care.

She concludes it is over while soaking in her bathtub at 1am, when she decides that she'd rather be alone than be with someone who -- for whatever reason -- believed she was anything less than fabulous. She might change her mind after a fitful night's sleep, but she seriously doubts it.

indiana time

I don't do well driving in the dark, much less when it's snowing and there aren't any lights along the highway and the roads haven't yet been plowed. So while I'm sure I could have made it to Toledo without killing myself (or anyone else) tonight, Renegade and I are instead holed up in Howe, Indiana, where I am preparing to go to sleep for the night. Namaste.

post-opera, a bit after midnight

a request from my son

Rebel -- the son who has transformed overnight from a Big Little Boy to a Small Big Boy (it's something in his eyes, or perhaps his jawline) -- has requested that I have a baby. To which I replied, "you can have your own in 15 or 20 years." Because I am so not going there again.

new year, new look

I thought it was time for a new look for this blog, so voila! The other one was nice while it lasted, but I'm feeling a bit lighter in my step and happier in my outlook on life, and I wanted to reflect that. Hope everyone else is feeling lighter in the new year, too. Namaste.

the highlight of my day...

...was when the owner of the thrift store by my house assumed I was a size six when she said she'd look for a dress for me to wear to the opera on Monday. Now, I am a size six (and have been for about nine months now, since I lost a bit of weight), but most of the time I walk around feeling like a freakin' elephant and it's good someone else can look at me and think that rather than "wow! what an elephant." And I will NOT use this as an excuse to eat more chocolate.

getting old

I went back to my super-cute podiatrist today to figure out why I'm still in so much pain eight months after surgery. Turns out I have a remarkably excessive amount of scar tissue in my right toe (and a not-insignificant amount in my left one), which will only be remedied by cortisone injections every 10-12 days for at least six to eight visits. (If it works well for the right foot, we'll do it on the left foot as well.)

But before that... I slipped on some ice yesterday and fell on my back, ending up in the ER at Swedish Covenant last night. Nothing's broken, J. and I got to watch a couple of episodes of The Office while waiting for my Tylenol-3 prescription, and they're thinking of naming a wing of the hospital after us (we've been there thrice in six weeks or so).

So, then: I'm spending my Wednesday in a considerable amount of pain, tempered by the fact that I have Tylenol-3, Vicodin, and muscle relaxers at my disposal. These are the days when I'm super grateful I am not (and never was) a drug abuser, because then I'd have to grin and bear it. And I'm not good at grinning and bearing. Namaste.

a repeating pattern

You know how in the movie Forces of Nature, there's a point where the Sandra Bullock character is responding to the Ben Affleck character, who's just said how wonderful and free-spirited she is, and she says something like "all the things you love about me now are the ones you'll want to change about me later"? Well, that's only one of the bazillion reasons I identified with Bullock's character in the movie (related to how much I disliked the ending), but it's cropping up again. Big time. I really don't understand why men are dazzled by me, bowled over even, and when things get to the six-month mark they begin trying to mold me into their version of The Perfect Woman (who, apparently, has fewer books, not nearly as many shoes, and a spotless bathroom sink).

an average saturday

Anyone who has 'tween boys can probably appreciate this scene. It's what my bedroom looks like on any given Saturday when the boys are visiting. It's good to know they miss me oh-so-much when I'm not around. Hah.

blog round-up, 2008

The purpose of which is to list the first sentence of the first blog post of each month of 2008. So, then, here goes.

January ("all is quiet on new year's day"):
Apologies to U2... but it's all I've got.

February ("five hundred..."):
This is the 500th post on my blog, which is kind of weird to contemplate.

March ("weather forecast"):
Partly fatigued.

April ("at least the sexy voice is something"):
I do not have a cold or the flu or strep throat or bronchitis or pneumonia but, rather, garden-variety laryngitis, which pretty much sucks.

May ("yay for green-eyed boys"):
The Green-Eyed Boy called me up this morning and asked if I wanted to see the Cubs this afternoon, so of course I said, "Hell, yeah!"

June ("what a difference"):
After waking up this morning with back spasms, I could barely get out of the shower and by the time I hobbled my way to the car to meet The Green-Eyed Boy at the 11am meeting, I could barely walk.

July ("this is my alley"):
When I walk past my alley, I see a small pile of cigarette butts on the ground far beneath my apartment, and I know they are from when he sits on my third-floor ledge with the window screen up, smoking.

August ("live from the kidz stage at lollapalooza"):
Seeing Jeff Tweedy perform Wilco songs on the Kidz Stage -- including What Light, Hummingbird, and I'm the Man Who Loves You -- has made me realize that, as much as I adore Rage Against the Machine, I'm going to see Wilco tomorrow night.

September ("careful what you wish for"):
This morning The Philosopher and I headed down to a psychiatrist's office in Ravenswood to get the results from nearly six hours of neuropsychological tests said psychiatrist performed on Renegade while I was in NYC.

October ("conversation"):
"Are you trying to make it difficult for me to go home?" he asked.

November ("busy weekend"):
Friday: Picked up The Cute Carpenter's car (which I borrowed for the day), drove to Hyde Park, found dominatrix garb at MM's house, almost brought home a stray kitty, headed to Boystown for the finishing touches on my costume, dropped off Renegade & his friends at the Davis so they could see High School Musical 3, took a short nap, went to J.'s house, dressed and got myself all corseted up, headed out on the town as a dominatrix with slave (J.) in tow, went to the sober Halloween party, ate dinner at Garcia's, went back to J.'s house, got undressed and uncorseted, went to bed, slept well.

December ("feeling flu-ish"):
Today, I went outside for the first time since Monday -- I've been mostly languishing in bed and on the couch and at all points in between with body aches, fever-n-chills, a sore throat, stuffiness, sneeziness, and general malaise.

interview love

Nilsa, over at SoMi, is having this little interview thing going on, and I volunteered to be interviewed. You, my dear readers, are welcome to participate as well. Here are the rules:

1. If you want to participate, leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.” (And your e-mail address, please.)
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

I do believe Nilsa has asked all of her readers the same five questions, and I will do my best to answer them here, to the best of my ability. (And, oh, Happy New Year!)

(1) Name only one blogger you really respect and tell me why.
This is a tough question, and it will probably amuse many people, but I'm a big fan of Julia Allison. I know many bloggers -- including the folks over at Jezebel (whom I love dearly!) -- like to poke fun at her, and I know for many other people, JA is a big joke waiting to happen. But really? She's doing exactly what she wants to do, and she's getting paid to have a fabulous time. Other people may call it frivolous or meaningless or whatever -- but whenever I see someone enjoying her life with such aplomb (and in such an unashamed and unabashed manner), that's inspirational to me.

(2) If you had to pick a non-urban, U.S. destination in which to vacation for a week, where would you go?
I'd say the Outer Banks of North Carolina. And, yes, this desire and fascination are, just as with Charleston, S.C., a direct result of reading every single book Anne River Siddons has ever written.

(3) If you had $500 to spend on housing, food and entertainment for the trip mentioned in (2), how would you spend it?
I would bring CDs, food, and books from home (plus my laptop) and spend every single dime I had leftover on a place -- no matter how small! -- with as beautiful of a view as possible. And I'd even go in the off season if it meant having more privacy, less tourism, and a higher hurricane risk.

(4) Tell me about one person with whom you've lost touch. If you hope for a reunion, how would you like that reunion to take place?
It would probably have to be the person I considered my best friend in high school. I haven't seen her since August of 1996, when I visited my hometown with The Electrician, and she didn't show up for our ten-year reunion in 2001. Maybe at the 20-year? In any case, I'd love to sit down and have a cup (or pot!) of coffee with her, just to see how her life has unfolded.

(5) In 2008, what was your biggest achievement and your biggest failure/disappointment?
My biggest achievement was celebrating a year of sobriety. The idea that I could stay sober for an entire year -- even through some darned difficult times -- was incomprehensible when I began, and it ended up being a significant and real accomplishment. As for failures and disappointments? I suppose I could say it was when The Goofball and I broke up -- that was harsh -- but in retrospect it was such a necessary learning experience that I'm grateful for the hard times. It would be more accurate that the thing I regret most from 2008 was repeating past mistakes without being aware of it at the time -- but that's part of being human, and so I just roll with it.