The Last Chance Texaco

Seriously. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit. But I have to admit that even in their early-late thirties, a couple of these boys are undeniably hot. Bachelor numbers 1 and 2, specifically, whomever they are. I was never a fan. But if, at this advanced stage of boyhood, these guys can slap some lipstick on their pony and take the show back on the road, then I think there is hope that I can, too.

One of the items on my after care plan from the Walker Center was that I should go back to (and finish) college. So while I’m taking some time off my regular job and trying to cure this persistant sinus infection, not successfully yet in spite of the netti pot, etc., I thought it would be a good idea to make some progress toward that goal.

I went over to BSU yesterday and renewed my application for admission. I originally thought of simply doing one of the technical programs. A welding certificate would nearly double my income inside of 9 months and not really occupy any of the particular type of mental energy to continue really persuing recovery. It seemed like a good intermediate plan.

I may have to retool that plan, though. It seems that the last 2 semesters I tried to go, thinking that school would get me sober, I did such damage to my academic record that I am no longer eligeble for financial aid, aid which will be absolutely required if I am to be able to go back at all. I’m optimistic that things will work out.

That is really one of the most amazing parts of 12 step recovery, particularly after one has taken the steps. In taking each of the steps, one gains understanding of and experience with what we call “spiritual principles.” The could just as easily be called ethics or virtues, but they seem to be universal to every spiritual path and most secular plans for living. And by enumerating and naming these principles they are easier to identify, both when they are being practiced and when something isn’t working out right and I need to do something different.

Principles that are intuitively operative in the series of flaming hoops I currently have to jump through in order to reach this longer term goal are

• Honesty (1st step) - You can’t believe how much the people at BSU want you to be able to get an education. Telling them that I was way too high to be attending school and that in the last 2 years I’ve taken significant action to fix the problem has really opened doors to getting the schools support in finding a solution.
• Hope (2nd step) - I did great on the placement tests and my previous academic record show that I am capable of doing well in school, and with a path opening up for me to return there may be the possibility of reaching my goal.
• Faith (3rd step) - If it is part of my Creators plan for me that path will clear itself.
• Courage (4th step) - This would never happen if I didn’t take action.
• Integrity (5th step) - I have been able to have my actions (showing up, making the application, taking the tests) match what I say I want to do.and without going into totally obvious detail about the others,
• Willingness (6th step)
• Humility (7th step)
• Brotherly Love (8th step) not super in operation here, but maybe I’m not seeing it.
• Justice (or Accountability - 9th step)
• Perseverance (10th step)

So it seems that in order to solve the “academic progress” hoop, I have to return to an academic program. That could easily be the hand of my HP letting me know that welding is not in my future. And it seems that academic counseling will be required. I was directed to the department that helps returning and non-traditional students and I have an appointment on Tuesday. I am taking the writing placement test again because I missed the cutoff for testing out of English 101 by ONE POINT. I need to take a non-credit math class, but thats no surprise. And finally, the financial aid counselor got me the paperwork to appeal the aid decision, congratulated me on getting sober, let me know what they needed to override their decision, and congratulated me again.

So I’m optimistic. I will get to school. And I may get to school sooner that later. So I guess you’re never too old to start again. Even if the dance moves have changed.

Lame I

This is Grace. Gracie.

Grace saved me from getting a dog. Sort of the same way I was delivered to grace when I was broken, Grace was delivered to me broken. You’ll notice her right leg is kind of at an odd angle. I’m thinking it’s just dislocated because there isn’t significant swelling, but someone obviously stepped on her. She’s a little shy, especially of feet. And it obviously hurts her to put pressure on that leg. So I have to get the kid some medical care.

Lame II

I just left an AA meeting where there was a newcomer and someone who has struggled with relapse, who’s struggling still and who brought up the topic. A friend of mine has pointed out that we don’t call on ourselves at meetings. For the most part I tend to agree. If the meeting is going to hell I’ll call on myself but otherwise? God can work it out. But a part of embracing that paradigm is remembering that if I’m called on I should be willing to share my experience, strength and hope. If we don’t call on ourselves then when we are called on it is for a reason. And at this meeting, with the newcomer and the struggling retread, three people were called on in succession; three people with multiple years of sobriety and who have all worked all 12 steps.

Three times in succession people with the solution were called on and each of them passed. “I’m just here to listen.”

You’re just here to listen?

Fuck you just here to listen. That is not a reason to go to a meeting. Don’t say that we don’t call on ourselves and then when you’re called on refuse to share. When you’ve got the solution and when there are people who need it. Carry the message. Practice the principles or get the fuck out.

Lame III

The imaginary future ex-husband was arrested the other night. Birthdays. Mother’s Day. He has amazing timing, huh?

Misdemeanor DUI and felony possession of a controlled substance. Those of us who care about him have seen this coming since late November. Considering the effort that was put into ‘being there’ for him, something I have never enjoyed, I am disgusted that so much time and energy can go into a lost cause, throwing the message away on a “cannot or will not” rather than simply carrying the message to men who are sitting in that meeting, looking for the answer, willing to show up.

IFX has been paroled 3 times on his original charge, possession, and now he’s violated on a new possession charge. Imposition of his original sentence will mean he is gone for a minimum of 5 years.

I’m truly happy to not be my cat, to not be a newcomer in that meeting, to not be one of the ‘old timers’ in that meeting, to not be the IFX and to not be involved with the IFX today. And I am grateful that for all my kvetching today that I have a solution; that I don’t have to continue to be dragged down spiritually by such things. I’m grateful that the lame like me can walk again the minute they are willing to.

Well we’ve lived through Mother’s Day. I bought cards and planned to visit some of the women who have been most important to me in my recovery. I visited Nikki, obviously, who was there for me in spectacular ways from the moment I got out of treatment and without whom I would very likely have ended up on the street. I talked to Jill on the phone, the friend and former employer who, against her better judgment, took me into her home and let me detox in her guest room while I was waiting to go to treatment. I visited my wonderful aunt who’s moral support and understanding of my family of origin have helped me feel so much less alone. My sister was kind enough to call and rouse me from my transient vegetative state and remind me to touch base with my step-mom, Linda.

I don’t know how exactly I almost missed that other than the fact that I spent a good chunk of the day stressed out. I wasn’t stressed about anything meaningful; only about deciding whether or not to include my real mother in honoring the women who have filled the role of mother in my life.  The last time I spoke with mom I was still in treatment.  She phoned there on a Wednesday.  She phoned, drunk, to tell me why she had been unable to come visit the previous Sunday as she had promised.  Of course she didn’t realize that I had seen her pull in to the driveway of the center, pause, then turn around an leave.  I may, of course, be wrong about it being her car, but the fact that she didn’t call for 4 days seems to bear out the idea.  None of her excuses made any sense and when combined together they were not only nonsensical but impossible.

That was a tremendous turning point for me.  It became impossible for me to continue maintaining the fantasy that I had what could be in any way construed as ‘a good mother’.  Suddenly I understood that when my siblings and I ended up spending a year with my dad in Sweden it was because we had been abandoned.  I understood that when I was trying to get sober and had asked mom to take me to the grocery store, the fact that she simply wrote a check for $1000 was another form of abandonment.

Last Mother’s Day I called mom and was fortunate to have gone straight to voice mail.  I conveyed my wishes for the day.  And I have never called her again.  This year after careful consideration and a chat with my sponsor I decided to pick up a card and drop it by her house.  90 seconds.  In and out.  Not give her my phone number.  I stopped at the Hallmark store on my way to my aunt’s house and asked the clerk where the Mother’s Day cards from angry, ungrateful sons were.  I thought she was going to faint.  In the end I found something kind and neutral.

After spending some time with my aunt I drove over to mom’s house.  Approaching the door I noticed that the drapes in her room were drawn - never a good sign.  It has often meant ‘napping’ and at 5pm it would be hangover napping.  Rather than interrupt that I decided to slip the card under the door.  In that state there isn’t anything that I can bring to the table to be helpful.  One of the products of doing the work is the ability to take a kind and compassionate view of those who’s symptoms disturb me even if there are times that I can’t be helpful. So is guess in some small way that’s growth.  Today I can honor my mother and I can honor those who have filled that role in my life.  And I think that’s pretty cool.

Just a couple of housekeeping notes for anyone who is subscribed to the rss feed. I have changed the feed address to be delivered through FeedBurner. You’ll need to update your subscription in order to stay connected. I have activated AdSense on individual posts and on the feed. If this were to make $25/year it wouldn’t cost me any money - which would be awesome. The occasional click would be appreciated. But only if it’s something you have an interest in. That wasn’t the motivating factor, though. I wanted to offload the bandwidth and I wanted to conserve a streaming permanent record housed by Google - and this was a good way to do it.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Wow.  I’m glad that’s over with.  Now aside from burping up fish oil, which, if you’ve never experienced it, I really think you need to, and the minor annoyance of 14,000 people trying to cure breast cancer blocking the road to my aunt’s house, I am feeling like myself again.

I don’t often have episodes like yesterday.  Actually I’ve never had that specific kind of episode.  But there are others.  There are times when I feel overwhelmed.  There are times when I seem to notice everywhere I go I travel past somewhere I used drugs, bought drugs, sold drugs, suffered the consequences of my drug use.  There are times when I experience new and uncomfortable knowledge of the extent of the unmanagability of my life and my powerlessness over mind and mood altering substances and behavior.  I don’t often have episodes like yesterday anymore, so when I do it is incredibly disconcerting.  I think I should be better now.  I seem to suffer from the delusion that “restored to sanity” means I never experience the symptoms rather than that when I am symptomatic I have a solution.

I’ve heard over and over, and it’s been my experience, that mistaking remission for cured precedes a return to active addiction.  People stop going to meetings and stop carrying the message.  They stop working with other alcoholics and addicts.  It’s easy to see that brushing your teeth once doesn’t keep them clean forever.  Practicing the principles of the program in all my affairs is ‘mental floss’.  It keeps the decay at bay.

There are areas of my life, one area in particular that I haven’t written about yet at all, that are troublesome right now.  Since writing has been the most important tool I have for shedding light on my flaws and promoting healing, I know I’m going to have to start writing on the mystery topic soon.  There is one thing out in the world I need to do first before I dare start writing, since an occasional reader is directly impacted by this problem and deserves to be addressed directly, and I plan to take care of that on Monday.

So, oh, barf!  Fish oil, again.   I have no more control over burping fish oil than I have over any other part of my life.  I do these things, fish oil, recovery, that are good for me because the benefits outweigh the discomfort.  I care enough about me to do it.

My mother, on the other hand, I’m torn about.  I haven’t spoken to her in over a year.  Last Mother’s Day I called and left her a message.  My sister had her on the phone at the time so I went straight to voice mail.  It’s a brilliant strategy, actually.  But I wonder if I shouldn’t drop by her house tomorrow with a card and some flowers.  Just so she knows that I actually do think about her and that I actually do care, even if I’m not willing at the moment to be involved in her life or to have her involved in mine at the moment.  I need to write about that some and talk to my family and my sponsor.  And pray.

I’ve been trying to get over a sinus infection for over a week now. A couple of times a night I wake up and have to find a dry patch of bed to go back to sleep on. My face hurts. My teeth hurt. I’ve felt weak and tired, and of course I’ve had the beautiful nasal symptoms. I’ve been taking antibiotics since Monday and last night I finally got more than 6 hours of sleep.

I got up at 10 this morning, made corned beef hash and eggs for breakfast and jumped back in bed to watch Regis and Kelly. I thought about going to a noon meeting and suddenly it was 12:30. I took a nap, sort of. I watched a little TV. I dicked around on the internet, wrote an essay over at The Second Road. Took some more aspirin. Briefly considered a 5:30 meeting and dismissed the thought. I’d go to the 8. Didn’t go. Retagged all my mp3 files. All 4,000 of them. Ditched the 10, too. I haven’t even showered today. Time just slipped away the same way it did when I was crashing after a runner on crystal meth.

I wonder if it’s just that crashing from crystal meth and fighting off an infection for so long both just make you spacey.

Then I watched TMZ. I’m afraid it’s my newest guilty pleasure. Popular culture only interests me to the extent that it makes me feel superior. I am deeply indebted to Lindsey Lohan for boosting my ego. But I think it’s time for more asprin and bed.