New Life

Two years ago, I had just entered a treatment facility for my slight drinking problem. I had the shakes, I was having hourly panic attacks. My HAIR hurt for God's sake. How is that possible? Basically freaking the fuck out every waking moment, crying and begging please-give-me-my-klonopin-it's-prescribed-I'm-telling-you-it's-PRESCRIBED!

And guess what? I'm going to play bingo tonight. And I've been looking forward to it for a whole month! A WHOLE MONTH, people! Because if we can't laugh at our pathetic addictions, I think we'd crawl back into that hole that we came out of. Happy New Year!

Okay. Enough of the doom and gloom around here. Today is a new day. AND it's my birthday on Friday. I will be old. I will now be able to say I'm in my mid OR my late thirties. Before, it was just mid thirties, but when you hit 36, then you're technically in both categories for a time. When you turn 37, it's over. You are officially in your late thirties then. It's just how it is.

And I am rather hot for a soon to be 36 year old if I do say so myself. Which I just did.

What shall a 36 year old do on her birthday? I have the day off. And you all know I don't drink - or I would just stay wasted all day long. I need some suggestions. There's always the money booth at the casino - because we're in the land of Indian Casinos. They're everwhere. Or I could go dancing at David - the gay bar - which is what I did on my 35th birthday. But that's just making a habit and 36 year olds don't need habits.

Or I could sit at home and pout, but that is so very unattractive.

I miss you sweetheart. I miss your easy smile. Your deep, dark eyes. Your shock of thick, black hair. I miss the music that gave you such pleasure. I miss the conversations when you forced me to have an opinion and not make yours my own.

I miss your hands. One hand could cover both mine in an instant - to stop their incessant fluttering and my nervousness at facing any of life's challenges. Your hands that traced my face, night after night as you promised me that you were memorizing it to take with you wherever you went. Your arms that held me in a desperation I can't describe. That yearning to be close. More close than skin would allow. How we could melt into one another and be safe. For just a moment.

I even miss the infuriating question you had for me every time I was afraid. "What's the worst that could happen?" And you'd repeat it until I smiled nervously or laughed, then I'd put on my big girl panties and go do whatever it was I had to do and come back and report to you that "No, it wasn't THAT bad." And you'd take me in your arms and tell me how proud you were of me. Only I didn't know then, that the worst meant that you would die and I would be left here. Alone.

I didn't know what the word ache meant. And I didn't know that losing your soulmate is the price you pay for opening up your heart and giving them everything you are.

Darling, I am rising up from your ashes. Three years ago today, all I wanted to do was to join you on that cold, hard bed. I wanted to crawl into the ambulance with your shell. I wanted and indeed did, slap the policeman that told me you were really gone and instead of slapping me back, he handed me over to your father who took me in his arms and held me as I sobbed. Three years ago today, my life ended in a way that I didn't understand. I crawled into myself because to share myself with anyone else was unfathomable. And I raged inside like a caged animal because I couldn't quite get the job done in joining you.

Like the phoenix, I am forced to fly. And today my wings are clipped.

Today is my second sobriety birthday. I celebrated by getting up and leading a meeting out at Tallgrass, going to my sponsor's three year old's birthday party and then speaking at a young people's meeting.

I feel strangely apathetic about it all. But I do know that by staying sober today, I have a chance at this life.

One I never dreamed was possible.

Merry Christmas to my feet! New socks, by God! And good thing I knew I was getting socks of some sort and wasn't wearing any when I opened presents so I could put them on right away. Santa gave me some great big monies. It was in the socks. See? Happy, happy feets!

Merry Christmas!

The turkey is in the oven, I'm waiting patiently until my mom and dad get here to open my presents. Gay Boyfriend loved his Collector's Edition Wizard of Oz calendar and Ruby Red Slippers greeting card. He is so very gay, it warms my cold, hard heart. Ha!

Enjoy the day!

Happy Christmas Eve!

Here's the low-down on the day's festivities in my world.

Work until noon. (I'm hoping the little old lady that has an appointment today will bring me cookies. She seems like the type.)

Go to Tallgrass and scarf down all the goodies they have for lunch today. The drunks currently incarcerated there don't need all that chocolate. I'm going to help them by eating it all. Plus, I'm working with a new gal there and I'm sure not being with her kids today blows. I didn't make it to treatment until December 28th. I missed Christmas. In more ways than one. I don't recall much of Christmas 2006. I was more or less insanely drunk the whole week. (And maybe that whole year. I might have had a slight drinking problem.)

THEN, I'm going to my recovery dad's house to take him and his wife a sappy Christmas card that tells them how much I love them. They may or may not feed me.

Grocery store. Mom and dad have decided to grace me with their presence. I will be cooking tomorrow! Yippee! I LOVE cooking! The turkey is thawed and everything.

Recovery meeting. Because you know, the Christmas Depression comes upon me quite greatly since Jason died. That may or may not have had something to do with the drinking.

Then I'm going to church. Somewhere.

Then I'm going home to get drunk.

Just kidding. I'm going to light candles and turn on my tree and my stained glass houses that light up and drink cranberry juice sans vodka, listen to Christmas music and wait for Santa. I'm hoping he comes down my coal chute.

If you got that joke, I love you more than ever.

Love,
Kate

So, I've been trying to find a church service to go to on Christmas Eve. All those years I worked for the church, I had to go where they paid me. It wouldn't look good for the paid staff to go somewhere else, you know. The year that I quit the church, I went with Jason's dad for awhile. The pastor there had done Jason's funeral so there was a connection there that I held onto for no good reason for a couple of months. Last year, I went to visit my mom and dad for Christmas, so I went where they go. Off and on, I've gone to worship with friends, but there certainly is not a place I would call my church home. And I don't really want one. Look at all the resentments I've built up in the four years I've been here.

Peace Lutheran. They fired me when they found out I had a drinking problem. (Imagine that. Ha!) I will not set foot in there - the shame and the anger still burn brightly in my heart.

Good News Deformed. Jason's dad's church. They had a Thanksgiving worship service once where you wrote on a post-it note what you were really thankful for. The next Sunday? He read some of them aloud. Totally anonymous, but one of them was mine and I was horrified and disgusted at the same time. I never went back.

St. Michael's Parish. I love St. Michael's. In fact, if there was a place I'd go - it's there, but psycho ex- roommate goes there and running into her on Christmas Eve would ruin it for me for sure.

Celebrate. I enjoy worship there if I close my eyes and don't look at the ego maniac pastor and the woman that leads the songs. It's like going to a rock concert or something. I want to sing along, I'm not there for a show.

I know that I'm a bitch when it comes to church. I know that my history as a church worker and it's subsequent wreckage is what contributes to this horrible attitude. I know that if I could just let some of this resentment go, I'd probably really enjoy attending worship somewhere on a regular basis, but for now? I think I'll just show up at some random place on Christmas Eve and hope that I don't run into anyone I know. Because it really is about me and God and no one else.

So far, I have nothing to say.

Proceed as you will.

It's a snow day! The plow has not come by, so I'm not leaving the house - there's no way my car would get through. My recovery dad picked me up this morning in his big truck for a meeting then lunch. I took a nap and now? The day is mine.

I have no clue what to do with myself.
Because I sure as hell am not helping with THAT.

You've seen these socks before, but the shoes? They're so incredibly cute, I can hardly stand myself. They make my huge feet look almost petite! Well, to me at least...

Tonight I'm going to see this. It's their farewell tour, and I'm glad that I get to go. This will be year three. Jason's dad took me three years ago, and I've gone ever since. Just another ending for me.

It's snowing today, and that's cause to celebrate. I have no plans for Christmas, and strangely? I think that's okay. I don't want to get in the car and drive home. Might be selfish, might not be. I'm just not sure. I can picture myself drinking hot chocolate and listening to Christmas carols on Christmas Eve and then making monkey bread and drinking way too much coffee on Christmas morning while opening my presents. Just me and the cats. I can see it in my mind's eye, but I'm not sure how it will feel.

These are the things that make me feel better when I'm sick. Please note the number of products whose SOLE purpose is to make me better and keep me that way. I was shocked. Really. That's some serious commerce there.

My bed and all it's pillows and my dog. Yes. I'm 35 years old and I sleep with a stuffed dog. Don't judge me.This is Dax. Yes, he's in the sink. None of you are invited over for dinner. Ever.

Whoever invented antibiotics?

I want to make out with him. Nibble on his ear, nuzzle his neck, bite his lips and shove my tounge down his throat (but not quite yet, because I probably still have some germs) because I FINALLY FEEL BETTER!

In fact, I'd like to give him a life long pass to have sex with me. Because that's how much better I feel.

Thank the sweet baby Jesus that is coming soon. Praise the Lord. And whatever other sick gods there are out there, because I might just make it.

It's snowing today. Which more than makes up for the forty below wind chill we have going on. I love, love, love the snow! It matches the winter in my soul. I am not doing well with the anniversary of Jason's death coming up. Last year, it was all about my one year sobriety birthday. I know that's still important, but it's not as big a deal to me this time. I'm very confused about how I feel about pretty much anything. I know very well that I am okay and I am going to be okay through this whole season. I just don't like the way that I feel. Not one bit.

It's Therapy Monday this week. My therapist is going on vacation for two weeks. I do not remember giving her permission to leave me for fifteen days. AND during December when I have Christmas family angst, my sobriety birthday and the anniversary of Jason's death all within five days. I mean seriously. If I'm going to have a major meltdown, it's next week.

Doesn't she understand that I come before her grandchildren?

Well, I DO.

But strangely enough? I'm actually perfectly fine and do not plan on falling apart anytime soon. It's amazing what eight years of therapy can prepare you for.

For those of you still sticking around for the not-funny, I am insanely sick. Still. Anyone who is healthy can go catch venereal disease. That would make me feel much better. Shared misery is always better.

My friend J, a woman who was almost always insanely drunk every moment of every day last year (except for when she went to Betty Ford - that thirty day stint ended when she ordered a drink on the plane home), and who started treatment on December 19th of 2007 at Tallgrass, and became one of the first women I sponsored in recovery, got her GED diploma last night. She's 36, married and has three wonderful little girls. And she humbled herself enough to walk across that stage with a bunch of 18 year old high school drop outs. And I was so incredibly proud of her, I cried. She has since started college and will become a hospice nurse. Because that's the kind of gal she is. Tough with a heart of gold. And I love her. And if I'm dying of Alzheimers, I want her to take care of me.

There really is no limit to what we can do. I tell myself that every day. But sometimes it takes days like yesterday to remind me that it's truth.

No. That's not how my feet look this morning. I'm just reminiscing over the summer. I miss my flip flops.

So, I don't think I've told you that I've still been talking to Mr. Internet 1.0 on occasion. He calls about once or twice a week and we just talk. He called about two weeks after I thought it was over and said I had alot of good things to say about loss and healing and wondered if we could just hang out and maybe just support one another (have wild monkey sex on occasion). And I agreed. Is that the smartest thing to do? Hell, I don't know. But he is a nice man, and it's not keeping me from meeting or talking to other guys, so I figure it's just nice to have another person to do things with. And with that said, we're going to a hockey game tonight. I don't think I've said how much I like violent sports, or how much I like to see blood on the ice. I do. I like it alot.

So here's to a bloody Friday night.

Have a good one!

I have never claimed to know anything about money. I can explain the inner workings of the mind of a serial killer (which is why I started my master's degree. I was obsessed with the minds of psychopaths), but I can't balance my checkbook to save my life. So when all this stuff about the economy started trickling through the news, I just ignored it. Ignoring it works, right?

Um. No. The more time that goes by, the more I understand that this is a Big Deal. But I don't know what that means for me. So I make quiet inquiries to my recovery dad and other trusted friends about what I'm supposed to do and they give me small actions to take that make me feel like I'm doing something about my precarious financial situation. And for that, I'm very grateful. They understand that this is NOT my area of expertise, and they don't make fun of me for not knowing. That in itself, is priceless.

One of the best things about recovery is that we don't talk about money or politics or the economy in meetings. It's as if we understand that we are not ever going to agree, and to bring that kind of controversy to the table makes it not a safe place to be anymore. But we do talk about fear. And lately, that's been the primary topic that comes up. Fear. Insecurity. Our meetings are deadly serious sometimes, as they should be. Almost all of us were near death at some point in order for us to get there. Usually there's lots of laughter in the rooms, but recently, there have been alot of tears. So we gather around each other and provide for what each of us needs.

More and more, we spend our evenings playing cards, eating soups and stews and oh, someone got a ham from their work and suddenly we're all invited over. I even sent someone home with a few rolls of toilet paper one night - they just didn't have the money until their next paycheck. And damned if someone is going to pay me back for toilet paper! We exchange books and clothes and hand-me-downs for the kids. We make sure that the woman from the Saturday morning meeting gets flowers or chocolate every time she has chemo. And someone's always there with orange juice and chicken noodle soup when I get sick. Which apparently is quite often.

This is what the American spirit is about. I really believe that. Don't you? None of us may like these economic times, but somehow it's allowing us to pull together and provide for what each of us needs. Toilet paper or blankets. Clothing and food. A small gift, just so you know we care. It's all there. And somehow? I think we're going to make it.

Please go see http://www.rudecactus.com/ if you want to make a difference today!

I have The Great Irritation today. It happens once a month. You figure that one out. Everything anyone does or says? Makes my blood boil. Makes me want to do things like hit. Or yell. The good doctor was using MY computer ALL MORNING to search for new race horses. And used MY phone ALL MORNING to talk to his guys in Kentucky about all the new colts. AND he was talking so loud, I couldn't even hear myself think. I tried and tried to calm the fire by sitting in the file room reading a magazine, but nothing worked. He's got a huge, brand new large screen Mac in his office with a phone line of his own, but he doesn't like going back there. He gets too LONELY. There may be a bloodbath today.

Here's the update on my dating life: Version 5.0 is e-mailing and calling me. Version 6.0 is e-mailing me. Oh, and army guy who will not get a number? He's back. I met him online about five months after Jason died when he was home on leave from Iraq, and when he went back, we e-mailed daily - many times a day. I figured I was doing my duty to God and my country by communicating with a service man that I'd never met while he was on active duty. Shortly before he was to come home, I lost all contact with him. It's been almost two years. He found me again a couple weeks ago. It's been fun to catch up. We might even meet after all this time.

So, Carolyn says to me right at the end, "You know, you're a very neat person." And I burst into tears. She knows right where to dig. I guess that's why I keep subjecting myself to her. And then she said, "What would your life be like if you believed that of yourself?" And I had nothing. Just more quiet sobbing.

Last night I went with my friends T and M to a church service in a barn. It was the whole "recreate Jesus' birth" kind of thing. It was pitch dark except for one small lantern in front of the pastor. We started with some prayers, he read Luke's account of the Christmas Story from the Bible, stopping along the way to explain some things and to sing some carols in between verses. Then we had communion. It's been a long, long time since I took communion. And somehow, doing it in that casual kind of venue in the dark with strangers was just what I needed. We ended it with singing Silent Night while holding hands.

I had to admit after it was done that I had not gotten into any sort of the Christmas Spirit. But this? It helped. It pulled it all together for me, reminded me of why I choose to celebrate Christmas in a non-stuffy, non-traditional way. It was beautiful. So very beautiful.

And then we went to see THIS! Yes, it's in South Dakota. You're all jealous. I know.

And if someone knows how to actually get the youtube video on this page without a link, let me know. I'd love to have it right here.

Oh Internet, I'm going to whine. I'm SICK. AGAIN! I don't feel like I ever got better the first time around! I did my best by a meeting, lunch and then meeting with a super depressed newcomer at Tallgrass, but then I crashed big and bad.

I want a magic wand.

But there's a new post coming on the Basement Cook, I'm making pumpkin bread. Stay tuned.

The Brand New edition of Awesome Socks My Mom Makes. I got them for my Thanksgiving "treat!" Aren't they pretty?

Now back to the news.

Usually people wait for those silly memes to talk about what's weird in their life. I need no such thing. I'm weird all around. I wear perfume to bed. I was just pondering this fact last night. I rarely wear it during the day - it kind of annoys me. But for some reason, when I'm washing my face and brushing my teeth in the evening, I find myself reaching for it and putting a little spritz here and there. Now, this might make more sense if I bathed at night, but I don't. And I usually don't stink. I just want to put some on. And I do. It's a comfort smell or something. And when I wake up in the middle of the night and roll over? I can still smell it and it makes me happy.

I'm a strange one, Mr. Grinch.

SPAMALOT was hilarious! The references to the gays and the Jews made me snort laugh. Alot. And when Lancelot "came out," all I could think was, "This kind of singing and dancing happens at my house all the time!" As I've said before. The singing and dancing? It follows me wherever I go. And this was no exception - what a treat. Oh, and there was confetti and glitter. Yep.

Here's the rundown for the rest of the week. Tonight is ladies night at the local Harley Davidson store (I'm a redneck according to my mom) - free food (and booze for those who want it), lots of drawings and giveaways and tons of people watching. Friday is the recovery dance which I'm taking two little urchins to since their mom has to work, Saturday is turning out to be a day of rest and Sunday night? My friend Tiny is taking me to something called "Stable Communion." It's a church service out in a barn in the country, followed by a chili feed.

Christmas? It's exhausting.

For God's sake! Enough of the melodrama already! This is what I'm going to go see tonight!

SPAMALOT!

And it better be funny. God knows I need some laughter in my life.

On Sunday night, I went to Tallgrass to hang out for a bit. It was a dreary day, I had been working with a new gal out there and the food is fantabulous, so I volunteer around mealtime. I'm selfless like that. Plus, I'm fighting off the deep depression and anger that the holidays seem to bring to me. I needed my posse.

As I walked in the door, the Walking Dead was coming up the stairs in his coat - getting ready to go out and have a cigarette. I followed.

WD has been through treatment five times I think; twice through Tallgrass, and can't seem to get more than six months strung together. I found out last week that he'd gone back out and finally gave in and went to county detox. When the DTs were over, he headed back to Tallgrass. I took one look at him and said, "You know you're going to die, right?" And he said, "Yep." So I gave him a big hug and held him just a little longer than I should have. He looked just like Jason did right before he died. Gray skin; pasty and sweaty. Red rashes on his hands and neck. You can tell his body has started to shut down. But then I looked in his eyes and saw what really killed my soul. He's given up the fight.

Some people get beaten down by their alcoholism and become willing to do anything to get better. Some people have been beaten down so much that they're just done. Done fighting. And they give in to the disease and they die. I remember the night Jason sat on my couch and told me he was done fighting. And he never lost that look of utter defeat in his eyes until the day he lay in his coffin.

The Walking Dead are among us and it hurts my heart.

I wanted things to be "better" this December. I wanted to put more of the past behind me. I wanted to be able to listen to Christmas music and not have my heart ripped out. I wanted to put up my lights and see joy in them instead of death. I wanted to wake up and think, "Yes!"

Instead, I wake up and I'm already crying. There's already an ache in my heart so big that the Grand Canyon's got nothin' on. When does the pain stop and the living just happen? There's already a disdain of anything joyous for the season. I don't miss Jason so much as I think I might hate him this year.

Oh my God. I can't believe I typed that.