New Life

Still struggling with Therapy Tuesdays. Although I'm not as "off" as I was last week at this time. Thank God.

Here's a picture of the necklace Gay Boyfriend brought home from his trip for me. There's a real butterfly in there!

Is that cruelty to animals?

The mother of all Birthday Parties was had at my house on Friday night. Sobriety birthdays are a BIG DEAL to people in recovery. (Mine's December 28th, in case you were wondering...) Actually, a much bigger deal than your real birthday usually, but alcoholics will use any excuse to have a party, so here's what we celebrated last weekend. S, real birthday of 62, sobriety birthday of 27 years; M, 3 years of sobriety; G, 4 years of sobriety; N, 1 week. (She struggles and that's a BIG, BIG DEAL TO HER.) T; real birthday of who knows how many years; B, sobriety of 8 years; R, sobriety of 3 years; J, 9 months of sobriety. I think that's it. Why people stopped drinking in September, I do not know. Me? I waited until after Christmas and would have made it through New Years, but you know, I couldn't. I was going to kill myself on the 29th.

Anyhooters, we had tons and tons of food, (10 lbs of shredded beef sandwiches disappeared in an hour) a bonfire, I think I went through a whole pound of coffee and at one point, B was making animal noises to see if the neighbors could guess what he was doing. Someone went through my cupboards and found old firecrackers and sparklers. I'll have to find out who that was because I think they went through my underwear drawer as well...Dirty alcoholics. The kids were all in the house watching cartoons at one point, until some 18 year old decides he wants to watch the presidential debate. Okay, there's about 40 people at my house of various ages and it's the EIGHTEEN YEAR OLD that wants to watch the presidential debate? Maybe there is hope for future generations because certainly none of the rest of us cared.

Oh, and on Sunday, I spent the day up in Waubay, SD. End of the earth, middle of nowhere, on the way to somewhere no one wants to be. Why? Because Motorcycle Mark, one of my good, good dirty biker friends bought a fishing lodge up there and I went to help clean while the rest of them used power tools. They wouldn't let me use the power tools. Losers. It was a great day out in the fresh air and sunshine; lakeside with lots of burly men. Apparently I'm supposed to bring FOOD next time. They were hungry, and I went to the convenience store three times for more grub. Men and their food.

Party at my house tonight! Yes, I am throwing a very large, possibly very loud party while Gay Boyfriend is away. Only I made him clean his house before he left, so he knows all about it. Ha! I told him to clean his bathroom and that I'd come in and clean it again before anyone came over to use it. His idea of clean is so very different than mine. His is, wipe the sink down and take any obvious stains off the bottom of the toilet seat. Sick.

I get in there? There's smelly, possibly moldy towels hanging up, dried boy pee surrounding the toilet, and there's hair all over the floor. He's got dark curly hair up top. Imagine my disgust when sweeping up dark curly hair, trying in vain to think, "It's hair from his head. It's totally hair from his head." Gag. So, I break out the rubber gloves and bleach. I scrub down every possible surface there is to scrub, all while trying not to think. Because thinking leads to gagging and gagging leads to throwing up - all because Gay Boyfriend has dark curly hair.

I do believe it is as sanitized as it is ever going to get. And when he gets home? We're going to have a lesson in cleaning the bathroom. Seriously.

Yesterday was a horrible, terrible, awful, gut-wrenching day. I had what I refer to as the mother of all hangovers - only I didn't drink. This medicine. This evil medicine is causing all kinds of withdrawl symptoms. Shaking hands? Headache? Nausea? Uncontrollable panic? Foggy brain? Thoughts of impending doom? It's all there and it feels so amazingly real that I have trouble keeping calm. I went to the 10 a.m. meeting and couldn't for the life of me even pull a smile out of my ass. I went to Tallgrass for some lunch and comfort and got both. A friend came and spent the rest of the afternoon with me because I just couldn't even stand to sit and be. Be me. Be in my own skin. Then I went to the 5:30 meeting and when I finally got home? I was able to breathe again. Silence in my head and silence in my body. Finally.

Today? Is much, much better. My thinking is clear. I can form rational thoughts and I'm not scared. AND next week I have an interview for a job that would actually use my education and skills. Which means I wouldn't be able to surf the internet for 8 hours a day. I might miss you.

I my friends, took the day off. Because I'm all that. Gay Boyfriend is leaving for Canada today and we're watching a movie right now. And I NEVER watch movies. Kingpin. So very stupid.

And I'm trying so hard not to cry.

How is it that when you think you're finally picking up the pieces and making a semblance of a life that you just might enjoy, your pieces start dropping out of the puzzle with alarming frequency?

I feel scattered and broken all over again. And somehow, I can't get it to stop this time.

Medication Change? Thumbs down. Not going well at all. Co-worker has mentioned that I seem more, well - "fragile" is how she put it. I'm prone to tears and the good doctor doesn't like it when you cry while he's yelling at you. Seriously. My Gay Boyfriend has said that he worries about me more for some reason and my sponsor keeps telling me to pray about it. Pray schmay. Phht. Two more weeks to go.

Mr. Internet? Thumbs up. He came over for dinner yesterday and I made some fabulous Mexican Lasagna. I am the queen of cooking, you know. If that truly is the way to a man's heart, I ought to have SOMEONE'S by now. The wild monkeys? Calmed considerably. I think we actually like each other too much to be that crazy already. So, lots of hand holding and kissing in the street as he's leaving. I like kissing in the street. Like, alot. How weird is that? And did I mention he has a big truck? I'm in love with big trucks. I covet big trucks and if I can get a man with a big truck? That's even BETTER. My mom says I'm turning into a redneck, but I love me a big ol' truck. Virile and manly.

The brand new car crash? Thumbs up. Technically speaking, it's a non-issue. The guy who sold it to me has a friend that comes and pulls dents out of cars on his lot, so when he's there next, I'll take it in. Estimated cost? About $50. I can handle that. The lowly blazer has been moved to a lot and is no longer on the street. If I don't sell it by Tuesday, I'll have to plate it and insure it. Blech. I just want this car business to be over already. Which is why I just should have gotten my own big truck. Then I could plow over things and seemingly not care.

Halloween? I'm thinking something like this...

Because my body is THAT rock hard. Or this...

Because we all know I'm lying to myself.

No seriously people. I'm actually thinking either bride (One wedding dress from Goodwill coming right up thankyouverymuch) or Medusa, 'cause I'm all about the wild hair.

Last night, The Drama ensued to wipe away any sort of patience I have built up in my year and a half of sobriety. The Drama is something that exhausts me and makes me very, very irritated and sometimes I say naughty words when faced with The Drama.

You see, I used to LIVE with The Drama everyday. That picture below? That's The Roommate from when I got fired from the church until I moved out on her dramatic ass last Christmas. Thank God for my Gay Boyfriend who saved me from her and let me move in early, because I could not take The Drama anymore.

What is The Drama? Let's see.... It could be when you pout on the couch, waiting for me to ask you what is wrong for the five millionth time, except that whenever I ask you say you're "fine." It could be when you take fifteen ativan because the first one didn't work - not to mention that you didn't wait even ten minutes before taking another one, and another one, and another one. Duh. It could be you went to the bar and ended up sleeping with some slimy stranger (which is a pattern for you, hello?!) and then want to call it date rape since you were so drunk you don't remember. It could be that you just want me to stop living my life because you have a problem and desperately want me to sit and talk with you but oh, you forgot to tell me. And most of all, The Drama is when you try to kill yourself and I find you, face down, unconscious and twitching and then after ICU and crazy hospital, you come back home and act like nothing happened and we're best friends and all that.

So, I feel that my patience with The Drama is about at it's end and when people in recovery want me to get involved in Their Drama, I run. But usually not until I've said something terse and pointed, which earns me the title of hardassbitch from some people at the club. But I tell you people, there's only so much I can take. No more drama. I'm begging you. And if you bring it to me, you'll get the smackdown faster than you have ever experienced. And if that means I have a reputation for hardassedness, then I'll gladly take it. Gladly.

Here's the thing about Mr. Internet. He's nice. And usually he follows through - the not calling on Sunday afternoon? My expectations were partly to blame for that. And no, he's not smoking hot, he's not all that and a bag of chips, he's not the kind of person you are dying to spend every waking moment with. And guess what? That's perfectly okay.

I talk about taking hostages in the past. I did. They met me and took me on a date and we were married with three kids and a dog the next day, and I treated them like that and acted like that. And they ran, hands thrown over their heads, screaming about an asylum. For me. Not them. That's how little I know about men and relationships. This time? I'm trying to take it easy. Sure, the third date rule (thanks Peder) applied, but now comes the part when I usually latch on and try to assimilate you and you depart quickly and with force. I don't want to do that this time, or any of the next times, so I let my crazies out on here, and to the people who know how in need I am of a brain transplant and are patient and kind. So I don't do it to HIM.

And so far? I'm doing pretty good. We're going to a movie on Thursday night. Because I haven't yet scared him away....

A dog ran into my car today. It was horrible. It bolted when it saw another dog across the street. Apparently it's not my fault, according to the police report, but it was pure awfulness. And apparently it's totally not my fault because there are leash laws here, but I can't seem to be okay with going to this lady and asking her to pay to fix the huge dent in my new car. I hate this.

There are no pictures. It was a super duper fancy pants dinner, and it would have been totally redneckish to pull out the camera and start snapping away. So.... sad to say, there is not EVIDENCE of how wonderfully suave I looked; you'll just have to imagine it. Although, can I just say that I HATE my hair? I hate my hair. It always lets me down. Every single time. I hate it.

Mr. Internet was appropriately awed by the sheer elegance of the whole event and also by the number of people that love and care about me and shook his hand and said, "We're watching you...." mwahahahah.

But here's the sad part, we came home, talked for awhile and then he left. He gets brownie points for calling on Saturday night, but then on Sunday when he said he'd call? NOTHING. NOTHING, PEOPLE. He was supposed to come to a bonfire with me, so I finally gave in and called him at 8, and he said he was just going to stay in. I reigned in the bitch and told him to have a good week and then I went anyway. Thank God I go and do stuff ANYWAY, or I might just take up drinking again. This dating shit is too hard.

Today is the day I get to dress up, wear my heels, do my hair and enjoy a fancy evening out. I LOVE to dress up! And I LOVE to go out! And I LOVE that Mr. Internet is excited about meeting my wayward friends. I mean seriously, I've warned him that he will be watched and grilled nonstop, but that doesn't seem to bother him. And for that? He gets even more brownie points. And perhaps prizes for good behavior....

Seven years ago today. I was blissfully sleeping in, snuggled up warm in my blankets, enjoying a crisp, blue skied fall day. My phone rang, startling me. No one calls me that early in the morning, but they did that day. All my friend said was, "I'm sure you're still in bed. Go turn on your tv and I'll be right over." in that ominous kind of way. So, as I pulled my robe on and tapped on the remote, the second tower was going down, bodies were flying through the air, confused reporters were crying to look away.

My sister lived in Manhatten and worked at the hospital just blocks from the World Trade Center. Where was she? On the subway? Safe at home? Stuck at work? And just as the panic set in, my friend showed up with coffee and a big hug. Then the phone began in earnest. My mother, hysterically yelling that if anyone was going to get through to my sister it was her, and don't I dare even try because I would just add to the mess of people dialing in vain. My brother called crying and I had nothing for him. Just silent shock.

I worked for the church at the time and I know this day was the day in which I lost all faith in organized religion. It pains me to say that, but it is so true. I lived in the parish house and wandered over still in pajamas for some comfort. The pastor was snappily dressed in his suit and tie and said, "You've never lived through a war. This is no big deal compared to that." And I shut down just a little bit more and slowly turned and left without saying a word. Somehow I managed to get showered, watching the tv footage replay the scenes over and over.

Wandered back to the church for a bit to sit with the secretary. Members were calling in all day, "Are we having a memorial service? Can we just come and sit in the sanctuary and pray?" And they started pouring in, wanting some sort of direction, some kind of peace to be shared in the midst of utter confusion. I spent the rest of the day, praying with parishioners, hoping against hope that my mother would have reached my sister, alternating between being strong for others and running back to my office to panic.

The day changed me. Hardened my heart to some things, opened my heart to others. My sister called my mother at 4 p.m. She had been at home, watching it unfold from the roof of her apartment building, phoning every five minutes to see if she could get through. She called me later in the day. She was softspoken and said all she wanted was to hear my voice. And I understood. Just to hear her voice. I was one of the lucky ones that didn't lose someone. And I remain blessed today by that fact.

I watched as the city workers put flags up all around town - the ones usually reserved for the Fourth of July. I still get shivers down my spine when I see a row of flags. Reminds me of that terrible day.

I'm wearing socks and shoes. It's September 10th and I'm wearing socks and shoes, and that does not make me happy. Remember when I shaved for spring? And I was looking forward to flip flops and painted toenails? Well, that time has come and gone my friends.

Today, I looked out the window and saw the sky spitting rain, the clouds dashing by and reached for a sweater. I like sweaters and sweatshirts. But do not like socks and shoes. My feeties are claustrophobic; they like the light. But they get so cold sometimes. Phht. Socks and shoes. I want to defy you, but I can't. It's Fall.

I hate therapy Tuesday today.

Let's see. Update, you say? I'm ubercrabby today. Lack of sleep (stupid medicine change) and my current mood (terrible) make me not so hilarious, so bear with me here.

No. He did not come over on Friday. He did however, call. So, he gets brownie points for that. He ended up having his kids. Saturday, he came over. Wild Monkey Sex ensued. I have not heard from him since. I mean seriously people, I am HOT in bed. He should want me all the time. And after a two and a half year hiatus, I've got some enthusiasm for the deal!

With that said, he's coming with me to a fancy pants dinner on Friday night for TLC, announcing a new campaign about alcoholism. I get to dress up which is WAY fabulous. Pictures of the dress and shoes to come another day when I'm not so bitchy. So, we ARE going on an actual date to make up for all the dateless sex.

Ummmm....... Let's just say that the rock I have lived under for nay so many a year now was quite large and shady. Just enough to develop in me a penchant for believing the whole world revolves around me, eh?

Yeah. NOTHING WRONG WITH THE BOY. Dare I presume that recent divorce+didn't get to see his oldest boy on his birthday for the first time = kinda into himself for a day or so.

Stop me now. I mean seriously. Before I procreate.

Okay Internet. I may or may not have scared off my new sex toy. I do believe that last Wednesday night I may have said things like, "I really like you." And, "Do you want to see where this goes?" And various and sundry things that make men run for the hills. I think I was whiny and pushy and in general, thinking that if I could whine enough, he might come over and sleep with me again. Sadly, it did not turn out that way. I may have entered the annals of dating as the psychocrazychickimetontheinternet.

So. Advice here. Last we talked, he was coming over tonight for a bonfire. But since that talk was a little crazed and confused, I'm not sure if he's ACTUALLY going to come over. And I heard nothing from him yesterday. Not certain if he's going to drop psychocrazypantsbitch just like that or if maybe I could/should e-mail him and see if we're still on?

Help me.

If you've been reading for a day or a month, I think it's pretty safe to assume that we all agree on my level of geekiness/dorkhood/special brand of silliness. Pretty high. And it follows me around - to work, to play and in intimate relationships. My co-worker sighs and says, "That's our Kate." when I suddenly break into the chicken dance on a quiet afternoon. My friends are all aware that the possibility of singing and dancing in public is very high and they've learned to accept it and not run away from me screaming. If you don't like these things, you can't be my friend. End of story.

So, when the South Dakota Public Health Bulletin showed up in the mail today, and I whooped and hollered and thanked the mail lady profusely, you understand why. Right?

To say that my job is not challenging me is the understatement of the century and after many afternoons of sitting around doing not a thing in the world, I decided to take this special, paid for, but not by much, time to learn some things. And lo and behold! The South Dakota Public Health Bulletin showed up that afternoon. Right in time for lunch.

I love this thing. It tells you how to prepare an animal for rabies testing (they will only accept whole heads or whole bodies, just so you know. If you shoot it, the head should be intact or they can't do anything with it. And if it's on the weekend, there's special procedures involving plastic bags and freezers and such.) It tells you how to prepare for disasters - ours are blizzards, the super flu, and nuclear holocaust. There's not much else going on over here. And my FAVORITE, it tells me how many of my co-state-inhabitors have got the clap. Yep. I've got all the facts and figures right here, my friends. Chlamydia is up by 13 percent this month and gonorrhea is down by 1. Syphillis? You don't want that one. It makes your nose fall off and then doctors like the one I work for? They take part of your forehead and twist it down and around to make you a new one. GROSS.

I like these facts and figures and most importantly, I'm IN those facts and figures. No! I do not and never did have the clapola. I had the meningitis; one of two people in South Dakota in the last five years. I have to keep my special status up, and no one will tell me who the other person was - something about HIPAA or some such crap. If someone else gets it, my stats go down. I will be less UNIQUE. And that my friends, would kill me.

Today, as my cats were pouncing on my head to get me out of bed, I snuggled in deeper under the blankets feeling the cold night air whistling through my windows. Fall has come to South Dakota and I'm not ready for it.

When I worked for the church, my life was lived and slowly died around the public school calendar. All my plans were based on those pieces of paper. Two years later, I've finally relaxed and let my BODY tell me when it's fall - not the principal. And I felt it this morning.

Remember last June when I was so frustrated that I wasn't doing "better?" Well, summer came and went in a flash, and it truly was my summer of freedom. The one I was complaining about before it even happened. Again, I'd like to point out what an utter dork I am sometimes. I beached, I camped, I played with kids, I reconnected with old friends, I made new friends, I enjoyed my family for the first time ever, I have a rocking tan, and I'm DATING! I mean seriously, that's a whole summer jam packed with new and fun experiences and I was thinking it was going to suck. Please remind me next time I am lamenting a future yet to happen, that I have no CLUE what I'm in store for.

Fall's coming. Wonder what will happen this year?

WARNING: I'm trying to wean off of my antidepressant. The one I've been taking for seven years? Yep. That one. The one that probably kept me alive when I was busy trying to drink myself to death? Yep. That one. The one that has the worst withdrawl syndrome in the United States? Yep. That one.

I am currently taking 25 percent of what I was taking in October of 2006. That's some major progress, but since cutting it to this level two weeks ago, I'm sick. I'm tired. I'm shaky, I've got the diarrhea all the time, I have killer headaches and I have that low-grade panicky feeling that I used to have ALL THE TIME. Last Sunday, I felt like I was going to jump out of my skin, I felt like trying to run from my own body, and I felt completely out of control. I hate that feeling. I called in the reinforcements and all was well for awhile, but as soon as someone left, the panic would return and no amount of praying, meditating, ice-water drinking or relaxation would make it go away. It was an awful, awful day which ended with me taking my sleeping medication at about 9:30 p.m.

And I'm still doing it today. I have to. I have to know that I have at least attempted to live my life drug-free. And if I go insane in the process, you'll have to come along for the ride. You're stuck. Suckers.