Quite possibly the best thing ever eaten

My favorite bakery is outstanding. I can't even tell you how outstanding it is. There aren't words to describe it. Literally everything I've ever had there is outstanding. It's so good. Beyond good. They have cakes, pies, everything, all kinds of novelties - you never know what they are going to have when you walk in. This here is an example of an all time favorite thing from this bakery. Two chocolate chocolate chip cookies (though I have to say I am partial to the regular chocolate chip cookie kind as opposed to the chocolate chocolate chip kind) and smashed between them is a giant blob of vanilla butter cream frosting. I've provided a picture for your enjoyment - though even the picture doesn't convey just how good this frosting is. I wish I could make this the actual size. I wish I could describe for you the vanilla/sugary goodness of this frosting. You can't eat the whole thing at once - you want to but you can't so you keep putting it back and then going back for one more bite and one more bite. Enjoy!

A photo mosaic

I'll spare you all of the boring photos (and trust me, there are a bunch) and just post a few from this trip home.

Here is Ellis with his cousins Holden and Bella on the right. And on the left is Ellis blaming my dad for something - not sure what.











This is Ellis offering me one of his crackers while I try to photograph him. He kept offering it to me and when I would lean over to take it he would stick it in his own mouth and then laugh and laugh.











And here is E playing with an appetizer (yes, those are penguins made out of black olives with a cream cheese igloo).

A photo preview

This is my nephew Ellis playing with my cousin's new kitty. It's an E size kitty - perfect size for him to pick up by a paw and swing around above his head - which he did try once. We had to watch him pretty closely around the two kittens. It was pretty darn cute. He was sort of getting the hang of the flat handed gentle pet, but you had to remind him. He seemed to like to touch the whiskers also - I think because he knows the sign for cat, which involves making a gesture like whiskers. They taught him some sign language so he could communicate before he could use words. He seems to know several, but his favorite is definitely more. That's gotta be his favorite word too. He uses it for everything. More food, more tickles, more chasing, more of everything. But he says it in this really cute way - sort of like a question, where his voice goes up at the end.

Anyway, more photos to follow - I'm just waiting for my brother to load the ones on his camera into Picasa so I can get them. Oh, and I'll post about why I don't decorate...those of you who are curious though, you are probably going to be disappointed when you hear the reason!

The bracelet my dad got me

This is the bracelet my dad got me. It's from the 1920s. I need to have one link taken out because my wrists are so small...I think I might be able to make that one link into a necklace, which would be cool.

My dad is so funny because every time I've talked to him since then, he asks me if I am sure I like it - am I sure, am I really sure, positive, really sure? He's pretty concerned about it.



Anyway, I'll make sure I wear it next time I see my dad.

230 miles to Chicago

My original plan was to head back from Michigan Saturday. Then I decided I could go Friday and still see everyone I wanted to see. Then I decided I could go on Thursday morning. Then I packed my stuff, haphazardly and sloppily, threw it in the car and left town. Four hours and 3 trips to the car later, me and all my stuff are safely in my condo on Wednesday night by 9 p.m. This is my house, in which I sit, happily.


I returned to a broken Airport Express base station - hmm - not sure what went wrong (good thing I am operating two networks here...long story) and a Tivo that doesn't seem to be downloading the program info properly. So what would have been a relaxing night of unpacking and sleeping has been 3 hours of freaking out about why my Airport is dead, and why my Tivo claims it downloaded, but is also telling me program info runs out Monday - not good. I'm going to have to let it go for the night. I just have to let it go. You know me though - I would sit here all night until it is fixed - but I really need to not do that.

So, to bed - I'll decide in the morning whether to go to work. Or whether to fix Tivo.

**Notice the absence of art work above the table - in my entire condo, I have only a single small picture hanging on the wall, right by the door - and I have a lot of big walls (really high ceilings). The reason why, is another post. It isn't that I don't want art or decorations, because I do. And it isn't that I can't afford it, because I can. It's for some other reason.

* Edited to add: Tivo righted itself while I slept. I did eventually get the program info to download, because I eventually got it to connect to my other router. I guess I was just impatient and while the program info loaded, it took a while for it to make its way into the To Do List, hence, my panic. Anyway, Tivo is loaded now for two weeks. Let's just hope the other router doesn't crap out also. I guess since Tivo is working, I am going into work today.

Mostly benign, and also sad

I just realized that all of the "clocks" are different. My phone is on Michigan time, my blackberry is on Illinois time, and my work computer is just on completely the wrong time - it's hard to imagine exactly how that happened and how I just now noticed - it doesn't even correspond with the changing of the clocks (the wrong computer time) - it's just wrong, not by a little but by an hour and 16 minutes. Anyway...

We went to dinner at my mom's today. It was mostly benign, and also sad. I can't really think of any other way to describe it. Nothing happened really. For the first time ever I'm hesitating to say very much about her here - she doesn't know about this blog - but with the quick click of a button she could find it because my brother and I link to each other's blogs. My mom isn't really Internet savvy enough to find it - I mean, you would think after almost a year and a half of reading my brother's blog and not finding it, she wouldn't suddenly go clicking on the links - but if she did, I can tell you that it wouldn't be good. She would probably say that I've embarrassed us all by posting the truth here, by talking about her and our childhood, by admitting the truth about the things that I feel, by telling the truth about me - because I've said the things that you aren't supposed to talk about. We are all supposed to pretend, remember? I've tried to only talk about her to the extent it is part of my story. She has her own story. But I have talked about her, and sometimes I feel bad about it. But why? I've only been telling the truth.

Like I said, the visit was mostly benign. Nothing really happened. There wasn't any inappropriate conversation, nothing weird was said and nothing really weird happened. She wasn't drunk and she hadn't obviously been drinking. I think she knows better than to drink before spending time with us, or at least me - because I can tell, even when she's only had a small amount - I guarantee, the next time that happens - will be the last time. For me to go there at all is crossing a line that I might rather not cross. It's been a very long time since I've been in my mother's house actually. I've only been there a couple of times since the time many years ago when I said I wasn't setting foot in her house again after she was drunk at a picnic that she hosted and embarrassed us in front of everyone there.

The house was weird - not very clean. She has 7 cats. Or is it 6 these days? It just didn't feel cozy and warm, it had another character. The house next door to her house is the house I grew up in by the way - and it was a dump. The whole yard, driveway, everything - full of garbage. I don't really have a connection to that house - but it was kind of sad and disgusting. The experience was fine - better than expected I would say. But it was sad - I feel sorry for her. I feel sorry that she made such a mess out of her life and that it all went so wrong. I feel sorry for her because it didn't have to be that way. My mom has this picture of her parents on the table in the living room. Her mother - the woman who started it all, in a way. The legacy of alcoholism and dysfunction and terrible childhoods. Actually, maybe she didn't start it all - maybe it goes back much farther than my mother's mother, I don't know anything about her or her family. Only that she was an alcoholic and a terrible mother and drank herself to death basically. My mother is 28 years into doing the same.

I'm upstairs waiting

I'm upstairs waiting for Christmas Eve to be over. Just waiting. Waiting for the week to be over really. I've been gone since Friday night, it's only Monday, I want to go home. I want to go home so bad that I doubt I will make it through the weekend. I had planned to - there were people I was going to hang out with, but I just want to go home. The family has left and my cousins that we are staying with are all downstairs drinking Belgian beer and playing cards. I just felt like being alone - like waiting it out up here alone. I don't spend this much time around people usually. I usually have a lot more time to myself, so I guess it's just getting to me - the constant interaction and conversation, the constant pretending. And, I feel like I'm eating way too much and I haven't been able to exercise at all, so I am starting to just feel gross.

The past couple of days of my holiday have been fine. There isn't much to report. I've been to some meetings, hung out with a few people, seen my dad a lot and spent a lot of time with my nephew. He's just so damn cute. Oh yeah, and did a little shopping for myself. I seem to have lost my Big Book which is a little disconcerting. I'm sure that I packed it. I never travel without it. And it's the one that I read with sponsors so it's all written in with the good/important stuff marked. Now granted it's not the end of the world if I don't find it. But where is it? Also, when I go out of town, I forget to pray. It's just not natural I guess when I'm not in my own house in my own routine.

So Christmas Eve is the day that my dad's family celebrates the holiday. They all came over to my cousins where we are staying and we did the usual. Which involves eating and opening presents, and for me, being uncomfortable. I know that my attitude is a choice and how I approach the situation is a choice - and well, I didn't have the best attitude going into this day and I'm not coming out of it much better either. I don't know if I want to go into the messy details of why this isn't where I wanted to be this Christmas Eve, and why I don't like it, and what is uncomfortable about it, or what is dysfunctional about my father's family or what happened in the past. But I've made an important decision - I'm not doing this to myself again. On many years I have said just that - I'm not doing this again. I know what it feels like for me to sit through these holidays and I don't like it. I just don't. I'm not doing it next year. The only reason I did it this year was to get to spend time with my brother and sister-in-law. Next year, we will have to find some other way to be together, or some other time to be together. Next year, for the holiday, if they come up here - I'll just go somewhere else - where I don't have to feel the way here for a holiday makes me feel. I feel something very specific, and I know what it is, and I could articulate it, but I don't feel like talking about it. Let's just say, it isn't worth it.

One nice thing did happen though (well, a couple of nice things, just one in particular that stands out) - my dad gave me a very beautiful antique bracelet for Christmas. I love jewelry - I wear different jewelry every day. I was expecting the usual (which isn't even necessary) - a check, written out right in front of me and not even necessarily put inside of a card. I always tell him, I don't need the money. This means much more to me than just getting a check. Granted he didn't execute on this gift himself - my brother and sister-in-law took him to the antique jeweler, but still - this is probably the most thought he has ever put into any gift he has ever given me. He even gave me a nice card. I wonder if he picked that out also. My dad knows that I'm unhappy. Not just because I told him when I told him why I don't drink anymore - but because he can tell I think. I think that he has always known, on some level, but denied it like he has managed to deny most of what happened during our childhood. Every time I do go to a family holiday, he always asks me what's wrong. It is obvious I guess that these situations bother me. I always lie and say nothing. He always says are you sure. I always say yes. He drops it. Anyway, the bracelet is beautiful. It makes me feel like crying.

Tomorrow we go over to my mom's for dinner. I don't know what to say about this. I am not looking forward to it. Everything about her and her life is sad and depressing, and weird. More on this later I guess.

This is a post about catalytic converters

I wonder how many people will read this post thinking it is about catalytic converters, or how many people will not read it for precisely the same reason. Or how many extra blog hits I will get by people searching for something related to a catalytic converter. Well, that would be an improvement over the other search hits that I get - if you search for things related to cat pee, a miserably horrible childhood, or death by alcoholism, I think you find me, among other searches. I need to broaden the range of topics - throw some random ones in there. This isn't really a post about catalytic converters.

Last night I was going to post - I want to make sure that I post during this trip to Michigan - mainly because I want a record of the visit - something tangible to remind me besides just the memories. I want to savor everything about it. My nephew - he's so cute and I want to be present for every second of it and remember it. Sometimes though I spend so much time worrying about whether I am enjoying something enough that part of the experience is lost.

The time I had last night to post I spent researching Massachusetts emissions law and the legality of removing the catalytic converter on your car. No, I am not planning to drive a car to Massachusetts and then remove my catalytic converter. And no, I don't just search for random things for fun. I was helping my brother with a legal question actually. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack - I'm still not satisfied with what I found but I am resisting the urge to do more research - even though I know I can find the exact answer to the exact question - with just a little more time. But - if you did land here because you had a question about removing your catalytic converter - well, basically, you are violating the law if you remove it.

I am trying to think about what free thing I can give away on my blog. I keep signing up to get free stuff from another blogger - so I think I should pass it on. My brother said I should give away free legal advice because everyone always wants that anyway. Ha ha - he was kidding of course. I can't tell you how many random questions I get and how many times a friend or family member, or a friend of a friend, or a friend of a family member, or a friend of a friend of a family member's friend, or even a complete stranger - has wanted to "run something by me" or flat out get some free advice. I don't mind - usually. Sometimes Id o mind. People assume you know everything about everything, and it isn't true. I do something pretty specific, and it will never come in handy for most of you.

Once coming through customs in Chicago the border patrol agent kept me standing there for 10 minutes asking me questions about his divorce and alimony and his pension. I was like uh, sounds like you got screwed. My mom once wanted me to research Indiana and Michigan law on cigarette taxes because she thought it was unfair that she has to pay so much more in Michigan for cigarettes and wondered why Michigan could get a way with that. I refused to answer such a silly question. A stranger at the courthouse (when I represented myself during my divorce from my "husband") wanted help with her child support. (The filing clerk did tell me that I should take on uncontested divorce cases for $500 a pop because my papers were in such great order when I filed). My favorite, for sure, was when my mom's friend called me to ask me this: "If your boyfriend dies, and he had a boat, and the title was in his name, would it be illegal to sign the title over to yourself and sell it so you could get the money? And, what if there is 500 dollars in his bank account, would it be illegal to forge a check to get the money? Because I don't want his mother to get it." I felt like saying, are you kidding? Did you really need to call and ask me that? The answer to any question with the word "forge" in it, probably contains "illegal." I said, "no, you can't do that. If you are asking me to tell you that you won't get caught - that I can't tell you." (Because you know that's what she really wanted to know. People don't really want to know the answer to the question, they really only want to know the liklihood of getting caught). Sometimes I wonder about people.

Anyway, this was supposed to be a post about day one of my holiday, not car parts and weird people. My holiday started Friday when I picked my brother up very late from the airport in Chicago (delays due to weather) and we drove to the farm in Indiana. We didn't get there until 1:30 a.m. Lise (sister-in-law's mom) made my favorite farm thing for breakfast, biscuits and sausage gravy. Yum. And I've also had a lot of cookies. Then yesterday we drove to Michigan - dropped my sister-in-law's sister and family off at her in-laws and proceeded to Ann Arbor. We got in at 7 p.m. had some dinner, my dad came over and we hung out. I guess all in all, there hasn't been much to report. I'll have lots of photos to post hopefully. I'll post about today, later.

I almost forgot to unplug the lamps

I'm leaving tonight - very shortly - to get my brother from the airport and then we are driving to the farm in Indiana (his wife's parent's farm - yes, it is a real farm). Then tomorrow we are going "home" to Ann Arbor, MI. I'm going to be gone for a week or a little more (I may not be able to post as much). This is stressful for me of course. Traveling to Ann Arbor isn't as stressful as traveling for work - but after about 3 days I just feel like I want to go home. Plus, we are seeing family, including my father's extended family and my mother - need I say more?

I keep saying my anxiety level is high and it is. Funny though that I almost forgot to unplug the lamps. I'm weird, didn't you know? When I travel for more than a couple of days, I unplug lamps. Not all the lamps - just most of them. (The toaster is never plugged in except during use). Actually, I might unplug them all this time. I rarely talk about this, though I have a few times here, but it's an OCD thing - obsessive compulsive disorder. I've had this since I was 7. It's pretty much there all the time - it's an anxiety thing, but it's more or less not really a problem. According to every doctor I've discussed it with - it basically doesn't impair my ability to live. This is subject to debate I think - but I can talk myself out of it. It kind of ebbs and flows with my level of anxiety and stress, and it's true, it has never been very severe. It was much more severe when I was a kid and living with my parents in the mess that was my childhood. Pretty much you would never know if I didn't tell you. It only manifests itself in a couple of pretty specific ways now.

Anyway, shockingly, I almost forgot to unplug them. I also almost forgot to pack a coat. Duh. (Actually I rarely wear one in Michigan - I wear those vest things for some reason).

Also - my trunk is completely full. I have a 2006 Passat - have you seen the trunk on this thing? It's huge. A couple of people said to me - wow - you could fit a couple of bodies in there. That's not quite what I had in mind. Anyway - it's full. What the hell am I taking? (Presents - but still).

Okay, gotta go. Wish me luck in surviving this holiday - I will need it.

The ever changing plan

I was all set to go to Michigan tomorrow - and then - my brother called to ask me if I could get him from the airport in Chicago and take him to the farm. Which of course I don't mind - I'm just a planner and I don't always adapt well when the plan changes. This is a good change of plan, just one I wasn't expecting. I took tomorrow off of work and I'm not getting him until 8 p.m., so, what should I do with the day? Get a car wash, go to the bank, get a manicure? I get to see my nephew E a few hours earlier than I would have if I go to the farm. I can't wait.

Anyway, this entire month has been in exercise in adapting to the ever changing plan and the ability to go with the flow instead of drowning in the current. My anxiety level is high - a lot higher than normal since I went home to Michigan - probably a combination of things. Going to Michigan for a week, the holidays etc.

And my sponsor pissed me off tonight to the point where I might get a new one. I generally don't believe in changing sponsors when they piss you off, but she pissed me off to the point where I just might. Or, at the very least, I'm not calling her for a very long time - I won't see her anyway since I'll be out of town. I can always just call my old sponsor in Michigan. So there. Okay, I'm feeling a little immature about this - but I'm seriously pissed at her.

Look at how cute my cat is. I stole the idea of posting cat photos from a fellow blogger that I read all the time. I took him to a friend's house tonight because I will be gone for a week - I miss him already - and he just can't be left for a week all alone. He's more like a dog than a cat so when I leave for this long, I have someone take him. He's recently taken to sleeping on the pillow next to my head. I sleep on one pillow and he sleeps on the pillow next to mine. Sometimes he reaches his little paws over and puts them on my pillow. Or he paws me on the head until I pet him at 4 am. The thing is, I like to switch sides of the bed - he doesn't. He's a left side of the bed cat. If I try to go to sleep on "his" pillow. He stands on it right next to my head until I move over to the other one. So cute and cuddly, except when he attacks me because I don't get up as early as he wants me to. I was going to post a photo of me and baby E from last year - but I am chickening out at the last minute. I'll get some new pictures of E soon. So, enjoy the cat photos.

The inability to concentrate

I have this problem lately - I can't concentrate. That's why I haven't been posting. I sit down to write posts and I can't do it - I either can't sit still long enough, or what I type is jumbled and pointless. I write posts and delete them. I owe people emails. This is the third time this has happened in 6 months - I just lose the ability to focus, and then suddenly, one day, I get it back. Blogging isn't the only thing I can't concentrate on - I can't concentrate at work. This just isn't like me - I don't know what the problem is. My attention span is about 15 minutes - at most, and even this is difficult. Usually, I can sit at work and concentrate and work for like 10+ hours a day, bill almost all of it and be really productive and efficient. The past two weeks have not been like this.

Maybe it's because work is slowish, it's the holidays, I feel no real time pressure, the partner isn't in, nothing is "due." I am one of those people that works well under pressure. When my work load goes down, my motivation and efficiency go down also. But I am also experiencing much higher than normal anxiety (ever since I went home to Michigan - maybe because of the holidays?) and extreme irritation and agitation at literally everything and everyone (damn all those green olives I've been eating - water retention...).

Whatever the problem is, my days have been more like this: try to read a paragraph, read a blog, read a paragraph, return to blog and post a comment, read a paragraph - maybe edit it, return to blog to read other comments, edit a little more, check email, edit more, IM someone, decide to switch projects because obviously this is the problem - the project just isn't holding my attention, read a paragraph, try to blog, read a paragraph, enter my old time, edit a paragraph, call my sponsor, type a paragraph, read a blog, read a paragraph, leave the office and go shopping for an hour (yes this did hold my attention for an hour yesterday), read a paragraph, shop more online, read a paragraph, check other email account, switch projects - because this one is boring too, read a paragraph, clean my office, give up and go home. I'm serious - this is what it's like lately. I'm managing to eek out 7-8 hours - slowly and painfully, .2 of an hour at a time.

Then I go home to cat puke on the bed (this was last night) and have to stay up late washing the sheets (and the mattress pad because it penetrated all the way through). The sheets won't dry fast enough so I rotate the mattress and organize the already organized closet late at night, all while thinking about how I'm not going to get any sleep and don't want to go to work anyway since clearly I'm not going to get anything done. I tried to read a book, but that lasted for all of three pages before my mind was somewhere else. I finally fell asleep and was woken up early this morning by my cat standing on my chest, which hurt, incredibly, thanks to all the olives I've eaten.

So - that's it folks. Now I have to go struggle through something else. I sure hope this doesn't last long.

Everything, a non-event

I haven't been around the blog world much this week - I was up in Michigan, at "home." Like most things, nothing was as I expected it to be. Be wary of your expectations they tell you - they set you up for, at the very least, disappointment - sometimes something far worse than disappointment. I tried to just not have any.

Breakfast with my mother, telling my father why I don't drink, my anniversary even - everything, a non-event. The thing about my anniversary is that on the one hand it means everything to me, and on the other hand, it's just another day. It does mean something to me though - the year starts for me on December 14th, not January 1, and not on my birthday. It used to be that I paid attention to the years from each birthday - you know, reviewing the year, assessing my accomplishments and failures. Now I just measure by a different date. It is a marker in time. There is my life before and my life after. This thing that I am living, this life that I have, it's like a different lifetime really.

My anniversary was nice though - I went to the noon meeting that I went to every day for the first 4 months, sat with some people who where there on that very first day, and the topic at the table was inspiration, and how we all inspire each other. I then went to lunch with some friends and spent some time with my first sponsor. My best friend Heather came out for the afternoon and we went to dinner and hung out with another friend. It was nice. I saw a lot of people, went to a lot of meetings, and saw a lot more people. I drove home a day early because of the snow storm that was coming - well, it's since come and gone here in Chicago, but it's snowing from Michigan all the way to Boston. Today, here - it's sunny and bright, the roads are mostly cleared, and it smells crisp and clean out.

So, the things I was stressed about - my mom and dad. Breakfast with my mom was literally 30 minutes. She acts like she wants to see me so bad, and then it's over before it even begins. She asked me to set up her vm on her new cell phone and show her how to use the address book. I got irritated and then apologized. She told me I have nice skin and then it was over. We left. She didn't even try to hug me in the parking lot like she normally does. She just said I'm cold and walked away.

The telling of my father - telling him why I don't drink - well, I should have thought about the fact in advance that my dad is a "non-reactor." Seriously - my dad could be having the time of his life - literally - the time of his life, and you would not be able to tell. My dad's reaction to fun is like my dad's reaction to the death of someone - it is the same - mostly flat. So my dad's reaction to why I don't drink - just that - a non-reaction. My brother's prediction was that my dad would react better than expected, but not as well as one would have hoped. I think my dad's non-reaction was even better than predicted actually.

He said nothing negative, only positive things. He told me that it was a wise choice, that he always worried about it because of my mother and grandmother, that he was proud of me. He mentioned some program people that he has met at the restaurant that he eats at twice a day. There is this woman there who has told him her story and told him about how the program works. He didn't really mention AA other than the couple of people he has met though. But anyway, there was nothing negative said, he wasn't upset or angry or disappointed. Is this the doorway through which my father and I will forge a more honest relationship? That I don't know.

My dad has surprised me a few times now though. I guess I would say he is less judgmental than I once thought, and less clueless also. I think he acts oblivious to his family's dysfunction, but it is sometimes apparent that the illusion he lives under isn't as thick as it seems. He always had this ability to let go his children - something my mom never had and still doesn't. My dad, once we were mostly adults - had this ability to say - you are going to do what you are going to do and granted neither of us have ever done anything completely outrageous - BUT - my dad has really been nothing but accepting of anything I've ever done. He hasn't always known how to show support (but he has also never been blatantly not supportive) - but he means well. I think he has always had the best of intentions.

Today is my two year AA anniversary

To thine own self be true.

I am a survivor

Today is my one year anniversary.

I choked on the words, at the least the ones that came out anyway

My mother called me yesterday, to make a plan to see me while I'm in town. I had half hoped she wouldn't. Sometimes I don't bother to tell her that I'm even coming into town. I guess I must have mentioned this a while ago. She said, "when do I get to see you?" I thought, I could think of a nicer way to express a desire to spend time with me. My mother is very abrasive and abrupt. Caring and concern, sympathy, empathy, love - these are not things that ever come across when talking to her. I told her it would have to be breakfast - all of my other time is all booked up beyond capacity. We settled on Sunday, 9:30.

Dread would be the wrong word. But the truth is, I don't want to go. I just don't. I'll do it, but I don't want to. And here I am again caught up in the pull between doing what I want to do and doing what I feel obligated to do. The time I spend with her is out of a feeling of obligation, it almost always has been. It isn't enjoyable, it's uncomfortable.

Every time I talk to her, she sounds miserably sad and unhappy, and half the time, she is drunk. Of course she will not have been drinking by breakfast - not noticeably anyway. She's been lying to me for a while about whether she is even drinking these days.

The conversation will inevitably turn to something I don't want to discuss, like breast cancer, my relationship situation, my fertility - her favorite topics. When these things come up, it is like being poked with a sharp, searing hot stick, repeatedly, and she just keeps jabbing me with it. Then the conversation will turn to her misery, it always does. And I will find myself unable to bite my tongue. Then we will be talking about AA and recovery and why she won't get some help. Just like I do every year, once a year, I will tell her again that to change our relationship, she will have to take responsibility. I'll talk until I turn blue in the face and then I'll leave and she'll go home and drink. Like I've said, there is nothing else I can do to help her. I know that.

I'm just afraid that one of these times, I'm not going to be able to control what I'm saying. One of these times I am going to tell her everything about how I feel - about our childhood, about the way she treated me, about how horrible it was, about how messed up I feel, about how cheated I feel. I could go on and on and on and on. One of these times, it's just going to come out. The only problem is, what's the point? She doesn't care. I've never even gotten an apology out of her, for anything that happened.

The most my mother has ever been willing or able to say in the way of taking responsibility is this, she actually said this to me once, a couple of years ago, "I know I was a terrible mother, but you are an adult so that's your problem now. It's your problem to deal with whatever issues you have because of it." Yes, on the one hand, that's right - my issues are my responsibility, most certainly. But she is not absolved.

At the end of the conversation, she said, "I'll see you this weekend. I'm looking forward to it."

There was a long pause. An obviously long pause. A noticeably long and misplaced pause. An uncomfortable pause. "I am too," I said choking on the words. I didn't mean them.

The nostalgia

Occasionally I am overwhelmed by an intense feeling of homesickness. I just feel this need to go home. Except home is here, where I live now, and the home I feel homesick for is just a figment of my imagination. This home that I long for is an idea - it's what I imagine a home that I would want to return to would be like. And this feeling - it's what I imagine homesickness feels like - though I can't say I know for sure. I am going "home" next Thursday - but by home I just mean to the town I was born and raised in. It's been a long time since I've had a home to go home to.

The home of my childhood is long gone - sold when my parents got divorced in 2000 - and the bits and pieces of my childhood that still remained there are gone also. My brother went to help my dad clean it out before it was sold. My mom had already taken everything she wanted when she left. She left behind more than one mess that needed to be cleaned up. I didn't show up to help. I can't remember why. Maybe I was out of town, or maybe I just didn't feel the need to show up. It was all thrown out - all the toys, all the finger paintings, everything. My childhood thrown away with the rest of the trash because I didn't show up to claim it. There are some photographs, my brother has those I think. And memories, that I would trade in for different ones if I could. But the tangible evidence is gone.

I was looking through old photographs today. Printed ones - before everything was digital. Now I don't even print photos, they just go onto my computer and never get printed. There were pictures of my best friend Heather and I. My graduation photos, my senior picture. I am almost unrecognizable. I used to look at that photo and see myself. Now I don't recognize the person.






And then there was this one, from 27 years ago - I was three. Little tiny me, before it all went so horribly wrong all around me. Knowing what I know now, my heart breaks for her.

Will I ever stop wishing it?

I know what my mother is like. I know that she won't ever be different. I get that. On an intellectual level, I get that. I understand that she lacks the capacity to behave any differently than she does. I don't talk to her much, and when I do, it's very surface level. I don't talk to her about anything real. But there is still this part of me, when something goes wrong, that feels compelled to call her. I don't know why. It's like that has never gone away. I call my sponsor instead. That part of you that would know to seek comfort there, from your parent - except that I don't actually get any comfort there and I never have, but I still know that's the right thing to do, if your parents are normal. I wonder if I will always wish, no matter what the circumstances are, that she were different. Do you always feel disappointed, or do you eventually get over that?

I talked to my mom on Thursday night when I was in the airport, waiting to fly back from North Carolina. She was drunk. I don't know this because she told me, I know because I can tell. I can tell over the phone within seconds of hearing her voice. She talks in a certain way and she says certain things. I can just tell. I didn't bother to mention it, because she would have lied. And what's the point anyway? She told me back in March of this year that she was stopping drinking - or that she had stopped, in January. She told me she could do it on her own and I told her she needed to get help - almost no one can do it alone. Never mind the fact that she has tried before, so many times. And she's been lying about it ever since. It's no surprise that she would lie to me. I have tried, everything I possibly can, to get her to get help. Of course I would be the last person she would want to admit that she was drinking to. So I can talk to her from a place of "sameness" when it comes to this disease, but it is more like a barrier between us. Because unless and until she gets sober, it will never be different.

I have given her a Big Book, with pages marked. I have given her open talks on CD. I even invited her to mine - the meeting I spoke at back in March that I have the CD of - I invited her to that. Even though I knew it would be painful to her on some level, to hear me tell my own story of my childhood, the pain and unhappiness, and my own alcoholism, she would also have related - there would have been understanding on a level that only those of us who have this problem can get. And there is hope there - in my story, and happiness, and miracles. There is a solution. She wouldn't come, so I decided not to give her the CD. I've given her phone numbers. I have offered to have someone pick her up and take her to a meeting. I've offered to take her myself. She won't go. My mother's mother died of alcoholism also. Mostly I feel sad for my mother.

Despite everything I know to be true about my mother, and the way things have always been, I find myself sitting here and wishing, that if just one person could remember what Wednesday is, I wish she would remember. It's silly, I know. Wednesday is the one year anniversary of me surviving breast cancer and I wish my mother would remember that and even just call me to acknowledge it. But she won't. She won't remember. My dad won't either. Neither of them probably even know the date. My dad forgot my 30th birthday this year. I usually remind my brother to remind him so that I don't have to feel embarrassed for him when he forgets. But this year I didn't have him reminded since my brother was living in Germany - and, he forgot. For some reason, and I don't really understand why, that date is significant, the date of me surviving. It means something to me. And because it is significant to me, I want it to matter to other people, but I know that it doesn't. I just wish that it did. I know, some people would just say I am being self-centered in wanting someone to care or acknowledge it. Maybe so. But I still wish that someone would remember.

Anyway, so, what should I do for myself for that anniversary? Send myself flowers to my office and pretend they came from someone else?

28 posts behind and really late to work, and sad news

That is what traveling for work coupled with monthly parking will do to you. I am 28 posts behind in my blog reading, thanks to being at a client for a couple of days, and I got here at 10...well, I needed to sleep cause my flight was late and I needed to exercise this morning. Anyway, whatever productivity at work I thought I regained by loading everyone into google reader, I have apparently lost as a result of the parking thing. Ah well. Keeping up on reading and writing blog posts is like a full time job. How do people do this? Especially when you have a life - in real life - which I don't, and I still can't keep up. I haven't been able to post either. Let's just say it is due to technical difficulties. I did post a rant about being stuck on a plane last night - but have since taken it down. I just needed to vent. Anyway, I believe I have resolved the technical difficultly, but we will see.

On a sad note - a friend from the program back at home passed away last night. In the almost two years that I've been sober (woohoo - only 1 week until my anniversary) - about 15 people have died back at home in the program - mostly overdose and suicide. I knew almost all of them. This is just the sad reality. Maybe this number is higher than average - but a lot of people die from alcoholism. Even if you end up taking your own life, it is alcoholism that kills you. This one wasn't either suicide or overdose, but is just as sad and unexpected. I am grateful to be alive and grateful to be sober and tremendously grateful to Alcoholics Anonymous. I really believe that if it weren't for this program, I might have, at some point, been unable to keep going. I really want to go to a meeting. I wish I could be there - at home - with the people I got sober with all of whom know the guy who died last night. I sat at tables with him every day for all those months in the very beginning before I moved. He never could get it - he kept going back out and coming back in and going back out and coming back in. But at least he never gave up.

Then I burned the toast, twice actually

I realized this morning that there is definite value in having to be at work by a certain time, even if it is only to get cheaper parking. The value - it requires you to get there. See, I don't have a job that requires me to be there at a certain time. We all just do our own thing and set our own schedules and get our work done and it's a non-issue. I am a come in earlier and leave earlier type (in theory - the leaving earlier part), while the partner I work for is a come in a little later and leave a little later type (which is why me leaving earlier is more of a theory). The head of my group is a come in extremely early and leave... (uh, does he leave?). The guy down the hall is a come in really late, if at all, and then disappear behind a door not to be seen for what seems like days. So basically, I have nothing but myself to motivate myself to get there (except the occasional obscenely early morning phone call, and I used to have the prospect of reasonably priced parking).

I could have guessed the whole thing would go wrong when I hit that snooze button this morning...

I'm not a snoozer and in fact, I didn't even snooze. I just laid there, for 8 pointless minutes. Then I skipped praying, because I thought - oh, I'm "late" getting in the shower - I'll pray when I get out, which I forgot to do. See - I have this down to a science - getting ready for work. I do the exact same things in the exact same order every single day and it takes the exact same amount of time. Seriously. It takes me X number of minutes to get up, do what I need to do, get out the door and get into the parking garage by 8 a.m. - give or take about 3 minutes. It is precise.

But a funny thing happens when you don't "have" to be there for the cheaper parking rate (because you are, ahem, a monthly parker). Suddenly every aspect of "getting ready" takes significantly longer. Huh. That's surprising. I used to be able to do this in X number of minutes. I also seemed to have a bit of a snag with my breakfast. Normally I can pull breakfast off without a hitch (cause how hard can it be really?). But here I am doing things all out of order, neglecting to pray, reading a blog, wandering around aimlessly apparently, putting makeup on before eating, and then wait a second, I burned my toast. Crap, I hate burnt toast, let me make it again while I finish putting make up on. Crap, I burned it again. Seriously. I burned the toast twice this morning in just a few minutes.

Then I'm all ready to go - finally. I thought - shit I completely forgot to pray, and damn it now I have black pants on and I don't want to re-lint roll the cat hair off. This praying out of order thing doesn't work for me. I have to roll out of bed and onto the floor and pray immediately, or I won't remember. I know - I'll pray in the car, no wait - I'll pray in my office when I get to work, I'll just pray in my chair. No, no, that won't work. Go stand in front of the book shelf and pray (further delay in leaving). I did - I stood in front of the book shelf that I normally kneel in front of, coat, purse and all, and prayed. It sounds odd probably that I kneel in front of a book shelf - but - the books I read are right there - I do two daily readings and then pray - and I like to kneel in front of this painting that I painted that is on the book shelf (it's a painting of a lake and a tree and a sunset).

Anyway, it turns out this was all about parking all along. Going to work early I mean. I had this perfectly artificial reason to go to work. It was not that I love my job and that I just can't wait to get there to the piles and piles on my desk of projects that need to be done for clients that want to "achieve compliance" and I just can't wait to help them do this so I get there early every day (and, uh, stay late). No, it was about the parking. It's more like this - if I have to go there, well, I would like it to be as convenient as possible while at the same time being reasonably priced. But if I had the option, I would probably rather just stay home, at least lately I think. Now, don't get me wrong, I do really like my job a lot - I might even go so far as to say I love my job, but it was definitely the parking motivating me. I think I need a vacation. So now what am I going to do? I am going to have to invent another reason to go to work.

Monthly parking: I think I love you

Today was the first day of really bad weather we've had this season. I went out in it, and it sucked. I would be perfectly happy to stay in my condo until spring - if only that were an option. It was freezing rain/snowing/super windy and cold. All I could think was - why don't I live somewhere warmer? And how much would it suck to actually have to take the bus in this? I know, I'm lame. Lots of people don't have cars, and can't afford the luxury, and yes, I am tremendously grateful for my car and I do realize what a luxury it is. When I moved back to a big city, I never imagined that I would drive as much as I do.

It's official - I've been broken down - I'm a monthly parker (how embarrassing). I live two miles from my office and drive straight across downtown to get to work, and yes, pay a small fortune to park the car - all for the convenience of not having to go out in bad weather and so that it's easier to get home after a long day at work. In my defense, I actually walk to and from work about 3 days a week when the weather is nice - that's 12 miles. I know - we've been through this analysis at least two times before - are we really going to talk about this parking dilemma again, just so I can make myself feel less lame for spending money on this? Yes, we are. But this is the last time.

They jacked up the daily parking rate, as I mentioned before, resulting in a cost of $320 per month to park at work - and that's assuming you are in the garage by 8 a.m. That's pretty early to HAVE to be to work (when you have the option of getting there whenever you want) - but if you aren't there by 8 - it's $24 for the day - obscene. After some careful research (that my secretary did), I discovered that they didn't jack the monthly rate as high as the daily rate. It used to be about the same to pay daily and monthly, assuming you got there early. Now, suddenly, it is $30 less to pay monthly. $30 - AND - you can get there whenever you want. Yes, the scale tipped the other way.

BUT - I've been foiled - everyone else discovered this at the same time, just before winter, and suddenly there is a 6 month wait list to monthly park in my office building (when there didn't used to be any wait list at all). WHAT? I guess you can't be an on again off again on again monthly parker. It's all or nothing. You either are one or you aren't. By the time my spot comes up it's going to be summer and I won't want to monthly park anymore - I'll want to walk again. But what will I do - will I take my spot? Hmm. Did I previously neglect to mention during my prior analysis of the situation, that there is a parking garage across the street from my office? Yeah, I probably forgot to mention that - because it - uh - involves going outside to cross the street and walking half a block to my office. Okay people - it may not seem like it - but significant time is lost by parking across the street, or so it seems, equivalent to .2 of an hour on either end maybe.

Unfortunately though, I just can't justify paying $320 a month to park when I could pay $23o. That's right - it's only $230 to monthly park across the street. This is totally reasonable. So, basically, I've wasted a lot of money on parking. In my defense though, it used to only cost me $280 to park at the daily rate, so I really haven't wasted that much, only $50 a month. I waste more than that on other things easily in a month. Besides, I was saving a lot of money by walking. I am afraid that if I pay to park monthly all year round - I will never be able to convince myself to walk at all. I will feel obligated to park. So this is a short term thing - just until it's warm again. Don't think though that I wouldn't pay an extra $60, if I could, to park in my office building, just so I didn't have to walk outside and cross the street. Yes folks, I am that lame.

Now I am going to ponder the grocery delivery service. This I am quite certain is not worth the money. But still.

Lazy days

I seem to be having this problem where I can't stay awake. Seriously. I've never been someone to nap, ever. I have to be extremely sick to nap. I've never even really liked napping. My mother was always a napper - but I've realized why. Funny that I never connected these things when I lived there so many years ago - but she had to nap because she had already had so much alcohol to drink by 1:00 p.m., that it necessitated sleeping it off for a while. Anyway, I suddenly have this amazing ability to nap, on the weekend, whenever I sit down on the couch to relax and watch t.v., I fall asleep.

I can't figure it out. I know that when I don't have a lot going on - when my activity level is low, my energy level tends to be lower - and the more active I am, the more energy I have. I guess it is a little bit counter intuitive. It makes no sense though because I've been exercising for the past two weeks. My activity level has been higher than normal and here I am falling asleep for two hours in the middle of the day. I napped every day all of Thanksgiving weekend. I don't set out to nap, it just happens every time I sit down on the couch. And I am even sleeping fine at night - slightly more than normal even. And I'm not someone to need a ton of sleep at night. I'm still wondering if it is due to a low level of vitamin D.

Anyway, work has slowed down, or so it seems. I guess this is normal with the holidays. In the month of November, I billed about 80 or 90 hours less than I did in the month of October. How is that possible? How do you lose or find 80-90 hours? It means I either had a lot of free time in November, that I apparently wasted, or, I got nothing done in my personal life in October. It doesn't feel like I worked that much more or less. Although I guess two days alone can make a 20-25 hour difference sometimes. I'm just trying to enjoy it - having some time to myself in the evenings and having time to exercise. I have a tendency not to enjoy the downtime, but to just stress about not being busy enough. It's a constant calculation and recalculation of my time. Am I on track, ahead of track, losing track? There is never really a point during the year when it isn't somehow on my mind.

I'm sitting here in my pajamas at 4:15 p.m. But lest you think I did nothing today - before I accidentally fell asleep at 1:00 p.m., I got up, paid the bills, got dressed, ate breakfast, went to the 9 a.m. meeting, came home, worked out, showered, ate lunch and emptied and loaded my dishwasher. It just happens to be that I put pajamas back on when I got out of the shower and now I am just waiting to see if I am going out to dinner before I put clothes on. The weather here has turned to crap so I am not sure whether I'm leaving the house. Oh, my friend just called - we are venturing out in this mess...be back later...

I'm back and the weather did indeed suck - more on that later. I was sitting here watching Intervention all afternoon (uh, after I woke up) - that show where a family gangs up on some unsuspecting person with a drug, alcohol or other problem and sends them to treatment. I don't know why I watch this. It makes me think one of two things - thank God I don't drink anymore and it never got that bad, or, wait a second - why don't I drink anymore - it never got that bad. I never did drugs, ever, I never drank every day, I never drank at home alone, I never drank in the morning, I never wrecked a car, got pulled over, got a DUI, lost my driver's license, lost a job, lost a career, lost a relationship or a family, lost all of my money, lost a house...I did skip work a few times because I was hung over, and I did black out on various and multiple occasions, and I did drive when I shouldn't have. But the truth is, nothing ever really happened (and thank God). My bottom was purely emotional. So how did I end up in AA? Through a serious of fortuitous events.

I always forget things

Speaking at the meeting went fine - it went great actually. I worry for nothing. Every time I say I won't worry the next time, and then I worry. And then afterwards - I always think damn - there were things I meant to say that I left out - really important things about life and sobriety and the moment and what a gift it is to get to live differently. Did I say enough about faith - I don't know. Cause really - it's hard to cram it all in to 20-30 minutes - I honestly think it would take like 2 hours to tell the whole story. But it was what it was, I said what I was supposed to say - and once I got my name out, that feeling of calm came over me again. That is the grace of my higher power.

The most amazing thing - is what the other people say - it's such a great feeling when someone shares how much your story impacts them or comes up to you afterwards to thank you and tells you that you helped them or inspired them. It's a good feeling. I wish I could help more people. And I don't think my story is that amazing or anything, or that I am oh so cool or anything - but someone said something really nice to me afterwards when he came up to thank me. He told me that he has heard hundreds and hundreds of leads at meetings - and that what I shared tonight is in the top 5 leads he has ever heard. How nice was that?

I believe wholeheartedly in AA. I have complete faith that it can change you life if you want it. Miracles are possible. I know, because my life is one and it is in fact possible to stay sober through anything, no matter how devastating. I just feel overwhelmed with gratitude - I always do when I speak at a meeting. It reminds me how damn lucky I am to be sitting here.

Cracking up

I always like to look at the visitor paths to my blog - to see what people search for that land them here.

Someone in Serbia googled "I had to pee" and "getting desperate." And lo and behold - my blog was the first hit. HA HA HA. I wrote this post - called the "Upscale alternative to peeing in a gas station." This was the hit. Turns out my blog might have helped someone after all. You have to wonder though - why exactly were they having to search for the answer to that dilemma on the Internet? It seems pretty obvious to me.

Hey everyone, my name is ***

I have to speak at a meeting tonight - an AA meeting. I say a meeting, and I think everyone knows what I'm talking about. I speak at meetings - I mean I comment, or I share as we say - though probably not often enough (according to my sponsor). Tonight I am the speaker - the one who has to sit there in front of everyone and talk for 20 -30 minutes and then everyone's comments relate to your "lead" as we call it. Speaking in front of people is my absolute least favorite thing to do, ever. I would rather take the bus to work than speak in front of people (and some of you know how adverse I am to bus taking). Seriously, I don't like it. In college, if a class included "presentation" in the course description, I didn't take it. So one wonders how I got through law school then? Well, I hated that part of it - especially the randomness. And you might think I choose the wrong profession, not liking to speak in front of people, but fortunately, I never have to. I get to sit in my office over here in the Northeast corner of the building and communicate with the partner I work for via instant message (he sits in the office next door). Okay - we don't always do this - but there are days when my job can feel pretty isolating. I like it.

When people ask me to speak at meetings - I can't for the life of me figure out why. It's for one of two reasons - it's because they know my story so they know that the odds of me being sober right now are about 0% - and that makes for a good story I suppose, or - it's because they have seen me around but never heard me say a word and suddenly feel compelled to hear what I have to say. I think this is the case tonight - this person has never heard me say anything. I always have this self-doubt - this moment of - well my story is boring, I can't possibly have anything to say that will help anyone. It comes in waves too - I won't get asked for a while, and then suddenly I'll get asked to do this a bunch times within a few week period. Anyway - it makes me nervous and I don't know why. What could be an easier story to tell than the story of your life - the story you are more intimately familiar with than any other story. Sometimes it's a topic that you are supposed to talk about, sometimes a step. This time it is just my story - what it used to be like, what happened, and what it's like now. Why don't I just say no? Because, anyone would tell you that you should always say yes when asked to speak at a meeting if you are able to do it.

I have to remember that it's not about me. I'm just there to carry the message. It's just there are times that I sit in meetings and I listen to people speak/give leads, and I think, you are such a liar or what you are saying is so fucked up, or you are an idiot even - whatever - I judge people. I worry that people are sitting there listening to me thinking - will you shut up already. So I pray before I have to do this - I pray to say the thing that one person needs to hear. Because that is what I love about an AA meeting - you might say something that saves another person's life today, or they might save yours.

I can do this right? What is my deal? Every part of me wants to feign illness. I think the last time I had to be the speaker at a meeting, was when I spoke at a meeting in my home town back in March - that really might have been the last time. I had to stand on a stage, at a microphone, and tell my story to a few hundred people, for an hour, and it was recorded. How embarrassing is that? I have a copy of it and it's available for download on the website for that meeting. People could be downloading and listening to this embarrassing piece of material. (I've actually listened to it - and it wasn't that bad). If I can do that - surely I can sit in front of 50 people and talk for 25 minutes. The most amazing thing happened that night when I spoke at that meeting - I got up there on the stage and right before I opened my mouth to say "hey everyone, my name is *** and I'm an alcoholic, this amazing feeling of calm and peacefulness came over me, and I wasn't even nervous. Me, in front of hundreds of people, not nervous - it was amazing.

The title of this post - we always introduce ourselves before we say anything in a meeting - hi my name is ***, this has become automatic. So automatic that it scares me sometimes. So automatic that I have to pay careful attention when I am in reality that I don't introduce myself wrong. Especially on a day like today when the only thing on my mind is AA. Probably 75% (maybe more) of the times that I say my name - the very next thing that rolls off the tongue is - and I'm an alcoholic. Can you imagine if I accidentally did that in the wrong kind of meeting - a work meeting? Eeek.

When death finds you, will it find you alive?

I've been thinking tonight, since the meeting that I went to, about how much of my life I lose to fear. A lot probably. Mostly it is the fear of not having a future, but it used to be the fear of a lot of other things. I know from doing 4th step AA inventories that most of my decisions, and the things I've done to other people and myself, were based largely, if not entirely, on fear. It touches every aspect of our lives, as the Big Book says. It is the fear of everything and nothing, or losing what you have and not getting what you want. And I know from the 9th step promises, that those fears go away eventually. I guess when I really think about it - I am not driven by fear like I used to be, I don't feel afraid of the same things.

I love this Wednesday meeting that I go to. There is just something about this meeting that is unlike other meetings. I wouldn't want to give it up. It reminds me how much AA is really about life, and how little it has to do with alcohol, because remember - alcohol is but a symptom of the problem. Anyway, we were talking about fear and about faith. The guy who was giving the lead was talking about the fear of missing out - the fear of missing something. That undefined something. I thought, that's it - that's what it is. The fear of missing that thing that I can't define. I am afraid of missing out on happiness.

I feel free of fear in a lot of ways, yet at the same time, there is this fear that is underlying, constant, unyielding, suffocating, and debilitating. It isn't the kind of fear that motivates you - it paralyzes you. It knocks you over when you become aware of it, it takes your breath away, it is painful, and lonely and indescribable really. It is the fear that I will get cancer again and die. That it will all be over before I even have a chance at happiness. People don't understand what this is like - to live with this hanging over you, and under you and saturating everything around you.

I feel a desperate sense of urgency most of the time. An urgency to get the things I want and to work out this life of mine into this perfect thing that I want it to be, so that I can achieve happiness, before it's too late. I worry about the time that I've already lost. With the advent of the anniversary of my survival - I have a hard time thinking of it positively, instead, I have been thinking of it in terms of one more year less that I get to be here. I think about the numbers - the five year survival rate, and I worry that I only have 4 years left. I know my odds of survival are high - higher than the average numbers - but it doesn't help. Nothing helps. The only thing that helps, even a tiny little bit, is to stay present in the moment - not the day, but the moment - literally the moment, right now, this second.

What if I really only do have 4 years left? Seriously. It is terrifying beyond words. I mean what do you do in the face of fear like that? You live I guess. But how? I don't know how.

Thirteen minutes

I am giving myself 13 minutes to write a post this morning - why - I don't know. I don't feel like working, but I should, but I don't feel like it. And I don't really have anything to say, but I am afraid if I really get going on a post, well, we could be here for a while, so, instead, I am giving myself 13 minutes, now 11, to write about nothing.

My life has returned to the status quo. Hard to believe right, after that near miss we had last week? My life has returned to the boring state that it usually is - so boring in fact that I can hardly keep myself awake most of the time. I sit here in my office trying to shock myself awake by making it really cold, or by drinking caffeine. Last night I left early (5:50 - which is really early lately), and felt like I could have fallen asleep on the drive (short drive) home. Then of course I exercised and had a hard time falling asleep. 9 minutes.

I've been exercising lately - in a desperate attempt to elevate my mood. I've exercised 7 out of the past 11 days. That's pretty good I think. It's hard to say if it's working, or if my current state of status quo is due to the rather cyclical nature of my mood. I just don't know. I do think though that I might not be getting enough light - not that it is making me depressed, just tired. I think that's why I can't stay awake - lack of light. Is that possible? 7 minutes.

Everything really is fine at the moment. Work is good - slightly on the slowish side - and um, well, that's all I do really is work, so there isn't much to say since I don't really talk about it here. Last week it was all chaos and drama - a serious lack of serenity and sanity - and now here we are - la la la la as serene as can be. 5 minutes. Is this serenity or boredom? And anyway, how long will it last? I guess we can all find out - and then the next time I have a near break down like last week - we can look back and see how long it's been. Besides, maybe I am just fooling myself anyway. Is it weird that any time I think I am okay, or even happy, I think I must be lying to myself or tricking myself some how - because it just couldn't be true? 3 minutes.

I was thinking about the comment on my last post - and it really has prompted me to think about this event of telling my father why I don't drink. I realized from that comment that the only thing I thought about was how I didn't want him to react. I never thought about how I wanted him to react. Interesting. I'm glad I have an awareness of that now before I go into it. I honestly don't know what I really want from him. I'm not really expecting a high five - a woohoo, good job for getting off the path of destruction your mother was on. Although - it is true that not drinking is probably my greatest accomplishment. I know how stupid that sounds to the "normal" people reading this - but truly - not drinking is the only thing that has ever been difficult for me to do - more on that later as I approach my anniversary. Oh, and there will be more on the parking dilemma.

For now, I am out of time.

To tell or not to tell

That's always the question I guess - to tell the truth or not tell the truth - to be who you are or to pretend to be something else - or to pretend not to be something - like an alcoholic for example. How do you pretend not to be that, when it's you and so much of the way you are is colored by the "ism" of it. I struggle with this - being myself. With not feeling like I have to pretend to be different things in different situations. Because in some ways I do have to pretend. My work life and my AA life feel very distinct - so much so that I feel like two different people. At least two different people - maybe more - because there is also my non-work and non-AA life which involves people that I don't work with and who are not in the program - and with these people, some of whom don't know I'm sober - I am someone else completely. I have been trying to figure out how to integrate these versions of myself into something authentic and real.

First I should say that I don't believe that telling the truth is always the best thing to do. I'm not advocating for all out lying - but I think there are truths that shouldn't be told.

Anyway, this little dilemma over truth telling and being myself surrounds my father. We have never been close. I don't really know how to describe my relationship with my dad - it just is, because it's supposed to be, but there isn't a lot of substance to it and there never has been. We aren't close, but we aren't not close - it just is the way it's been. I wonder sometimes how to change it. I would not describe it as an honest relationship - he doesn't really know much about me and I don't really feel like it's that easy to be me around him. I just don't find him easy to talk to, or deal with, or interact with. I think the first time we had a conversation about anything real I was maybe 24. My dad was there the whole time we were growing up - watching - participating - yet he seems to have missed the degree to which our lives were completely and utter dysfunctional.

My dad appears to be living under this illusion that my brother and I are happy, functional, well adjusted people, and I think the illusion makes him feel okay about what happened in our house when we were growing up. He is somehow absolved of it. I'm not saying that my brother and I aren't these things that my dad believes us to be - I'm just saying - there is definitely some illusion to the way my dad sees things. For me anyway - he believes these things because I have a successful career - I must be okay, right? And my dad cannot even seem to comprehend that I could possibly feel unhappy or depressed, even given everything I've been through. I've mentioned this recently to him - feeling unhappy - and his response is something just less than shocked.

Every once in a while I feel the urge to shatter my dad's illusion - I feel like saying - do you know just how fucked up I have been, how many bad relationships I've had, what I've let men do to me, how depressed I've been, how much I hate myself? Do you even have any idea how completely horrible growing up in that house was? I would never say those things to him - but sometimes I want to, because it feels like he got off easy. I know I have talked some about my mother, but she is not the only one who has failed to take responsibility.

Out of a feeling of needing to protect my father's feelings and the illusion that he is living under, and out of a fear of his reaction, I have never told my dad that I'm sober. For two years I have wondered whether to tell him that I don't drink and why and that I've been going to AA meetings for the past two years. The years go by and he knows me less and less - and I've been hiding this huge, incredibly huge part of myself from him. I'm worried he will be devastated. I mean, I wouldn't have a clue about what that's like to have your child tell you something like that. Maybe it's no big deal - I mean these days, recovery is perceived differently than it used to be - but my dad is from a different generation. Not only that but he doesn't understand - he may grasp on some level that it can be genetic - so he may be able to fathom it because I have an alcoholic mother (who is not sober) and grandmother (who died of the disease), but I can tell, based on conversations we've had, that he definitely doesn't get it.

I am worried about a couple of things - mostly that he will be angry and that his opinion of me will change. But at the same - I can't keep living this kind of half truth with him. I'm not being honest about who I am with him and it's getting to me after all these years. Our relationship has always been based on half truths - pretending and hiding and covering things up - a legacy of my childhood (maybe if you don't talk about it isn't true, but definitely, don't let the neighbors find out). That's what my life has always been about on some level. I am finding that I can't do it anymore - and not just with him. I'm going to tell him when I go home on the 13th for my anniversary. I really thought that I would never tell him, but I am going to. It isn't to shatter his illusion or hurt him or upset him. It's so that I can be me around him, finally. I just hope he isn't devastated by who that person is.

Thanksgiving and the days after

So for Thanksgiving, instead of spending it alone, which is what I felt like doing, I went to my sponsor's for dinner. I suppose it wasn't really that I didn't want to go - it's just that I like to isolate especially when I feel bad or depressed, and well, my sponsor is probably the last person I want to see when I feel the way I've been feeling lately. It's not that she doesn't care that I feel like crap, it's just that she has limited tolerance for my complaining and unwillingness to take her suggestions. Unless I am going to do what she tells me to do when I call and tell her I feel like shit, there is not a lot of point in calling her. I already know what she will say. I take a lot of her suggestions actually - I am not nearly as stubborn as I was at the beginning - but for me to do something I really don't want to do - I have be broken down, run over, stomped on, flattened basically, before I surrender. I'm getting there. Eventually feeling bad gets to the point where I say, okay, I'll do anything you tell me. Then I do it and I feel better so I stop doing it, and whoops, I feel like crap again. There is a definite pattern here.

Anyway, dinner was really nice. It was nice to spend time with her and her family in another setting - just hanging out and relaxing - rather than talking program all the time - honesty, integrity, making amends, service work blah blah. The food was excellent and the dessert even better. The pies were from my favorite bakery, which is the best bakery on the planet. I had a piece of each. Unfortunately though, I got a headache Thursday night and had it all day yesterday. I pretty much had a migraine all day. I wonder if twas something that I ate that triggered it. I don't get migraines very often, in fact it's been a long time, and I don't really know what triggers it. I did manage to drag myself downstairs to walk on the treadmill anyway, but then my headache came back in full force. I had to sleep all afternoon to get rid of it. Fortunately, it was gone today. Today all I did was go to a meeting, pick up my cat's special cat food from the vet, do some laundry, help a friend with a legal problem, and sit around.

I think part of my problem this week was panic about this holiday (I mean, among a whole bunch of other crap). Not that the holiday itself was all that upsetting, but the days off are what concerned me more. I kept thinking, what am I going to do with four days? I don't do well with downtime. I'm trying to get better at enjoying time off and time to myself and time to relax, but I'm not very good at it. I need the distraction of being busy, otherwise I start to go a little crazy. Get anxious, worried, depressed. I sort of forgot that I can be okay laying on my couch in front of the TV for two days. This week has whacked me out pretty good. The situation with the friend of mine, coupled with everything else, caused me to lose most of the 3 work days this week. I seriously did almost nothing at work this week. My job is either a good distraction from all other stresses in my life, or every once in a very great while, I just can't concentrate. Every once in a while it all just seems so pointless in the scheme of things.

Anyway, I hope things are back to normal on Monday. Cause I really need a little normal.

No longer stalking people on the Internet

Well folks, I put everyone in google reader - or at least those people with the feeds turned on. So, I'll no longer be stalking blogs. I've noticed already that it's kind of taken the fun out of it. I kind of liked obsessively checking certain blogs a gazillion times a day, hoping upon hope that the person posted, though I probably was freaking people out by checking so often. It's just that I would be going along at work, need a distraction, take a run through blogs, work, check blogs, work, check blogs, work, get bored, check blogs, work, check blogs. Anyway - now I have it all at a glance and with one quick check I can assess the situation. It's not the same. I'll let you know if I am suddenly more productive at work!

What is scary about it

It does actually scare me sometimes, this type of a mood fluctuation. Because it seems so extreme, and it happens so fast. And maybe part of the reason I don't always talk about it is because it changes, before I even have a chance to. I can literally go from fine, to not fine, to fine in a four to five day period. And the fine is pretty much fine, but the not fine is, well, dangerous in some ways. And then sometimes I have longer periods of fine or longer periods of not fine, but if the not fine period is long, it's not so extreme. I've never really gotten to the bottom of this - it's just the way I've always been. Sort of on a roller coaster ride that is unpredictable and exhausting. And my perception of reality is heavily affected by it - the extent to which my life is amazing or unbearable. People will mention frequently that perhaps I should take medication, which I have tried before, it's just that I haven't found a doctor really willing to work with me to figure it out. It's not really depression, it's not really bipolar, it's not just anxiety - it's just some weird combination of things. I don't seem to fit any definitions, but it isn't normal either. Or at least, I don't think it is, but then again, I don't have anything to compare it to. Sometimes I wish I knew what a "normal" person feels like.

Two days ago, I would have said yes, absolutely, I'll take something, anything actually, cause I'm desperate not to feel this way and that could be sobriety threatening if I don't get some relief. And now two days later - I'm not back to perfectly fine, but I feel better enough that it seems unnecessary to start this whole trying to find a drug that works mess over again. It's hard for me to convince myself to do it during a time when I actually feel okay. I'm just torn over it I guess. I just don't know. Because it will go away, it's just a matter of waiting it out - it's just sometimes, like earlier today, I can't see that it will end. And then the end is in sight and then I lose sight of it again. But it comes eventually - eventually I don't feel so hopeless or lost or damaged. I don't know what to do about it.

Whenever I come out of the really low of the low (and I don't really know how far out of it or in it I am at the moment) - it almost feels like I was a different person when I felt that way. It just feels like I was someone else - because that just isn't me. Except that it is. And I always think wow - well thank God I didn't do anything stupid. Thank God in a moment of utter desperation I didn't do anything stupid. It's not that I would try to hurt myself, because I wouldn't, it's just that it feels like my sobriety is in danger in these situations because the desperation is incredibly powerful. The things that I feel, when I feel them with such intensity - the pain, it feels impossible to live through and the feeling of needing relief overwhelms everything. And the thing is, there are only so many ways of escaping.

I am an escape artist, a relief seeker. I don't like to feel anything. My favorite feeling, is to feel nothing. I find myself in these moments, of such intense pain, and I panic because I don't have a way out. My options are limited. I don't have anything to take the edge off of the feeling. So what is it going to be? How painful is it? And how long can I stand it? What am I going to give up in exchange for a little relief? For a little temporary oblivion? My sobriety? Am I that desperate? It starts to feel so unbearable that something has to give. And I know lots and lots of people who give up their sobriety because they cannot wait the feeling out. Unfortunately, I know quite a few people who have given up more than their sobriety, they have given up their lives. A permanent solution to a temporary problem, as we say. I think that's why a lot of people don't make it through early sobriety, because you have to be able to sit through it, and for someone who doesn't like to feel anything, that's incredibly hard to do. For me, when I stopped drinking, I went from feeling nothing, and not even knowing it, to feeling everything and not knowing what any of it was. It's not so much that I think about drinking these days when I feel bad - I don't really, except on a rare occasion, because well, I have too much AA in my head to really entertain it for more than a second or two. I'm just reminded how much I loved that "feeling." That feeling you get when you drink enough. The numbness, the nothingness, the oblivion, the feeling of not caring about anything. I am in love with that feeling.

One thing that has helped me a lot that I got from AA, is the ability to sit in something - to sit in the middle of something that feels terrible, to live through it, to wait it out, to not give into it. But I suppose based on the past few days, sometimes I am still not so great at it. Because even though I know it passes, it doesn't feel like it when you are in it. It is very hard to remember that in the moment. I always want to change the name of this blog, but then again, it seems appropriate. So if I can just manage to sit here in this for 22 more days, I will have been sober for two years. But that's another post.

Remind me how I got here again?

This is one of those times, where the bottom just kind of falls out. I'm going along and I'm fine, work is fine, things are fine, everything is fine - or at least, that is what I tell people. Everything is always fine. I am the one who is always fine. It's never really fine. I mean, I felt good in October, but was I really okay? Or was it some kind of cover up? Was I fooling myself, or was I actually fine? I don't even know. I just say that I'm fine because it is easier than telling the truth when I'm not fine. Like these past few days I guess I ventured a little too far into honesty, and kind of freaked people out - and I didn't mean to - it's just sometimes I wish I could tell the truth about how I feel. But I guess if you read these posts recently, well, okay, I can see how it sounds. It's just how I feel, I feel depressed and unhappy, and more so than normal - and I am struggling to figure certain things out, and it's the holidays and my anniversaries and there are times when I think - can't I write it here, how I feel, even if it's crazy and weird and totally irrational and fucked up, or just plain wrong? Can't I just feel how I feel here, or do I have to pretend like everywhere else in my life? I guess it doesn't really matter. The bottom got a little loose a couple of weeks ago, and then it suddenly, without warning, just fell out.

My tendency is to never really talk about not being okay. My tendency is to isolate myself and just deal with whatever I'm dealing with because I sometimes find it difficult to manage peoples' reactions to me, because usually if someone is trying to offer support to me, it's in some really fucked up all about them kind of way. I am used to dealing with things alone, so that's kind of what I do. It takes me feeling pretty bad, to actually say so, and even then, it's not because I actually believe that people will be supportive, and it certainly isn't to draw attention to myself, because I'd much rather go unnoticed. I just don't really know what support looks like actually - I've never had that. Not from parents or anything. I don't know how to ask for or receive help, how to not be okay, how to be honest about it. When I called my mother and told her I had breast cancer - she went hysterical. She was freaking out and crying and I was sitting there on the phone saying, it's going to be okay, everything will be fine. And I remember thinking, wait a second, this is backwards here.

And I think to some people, I just sound like I'm complaining. Oh poor me - isn't my life so terrible. I don't mean for it to sound that way. It isn't about being ungrateful, because of course I am. I am not ungrateful, I am just unhappy. I know that objectively my life looks great. Yes, it is true, I have a fabulous job - I work with great people, I love the work I do, I work for the nicest person on the plant, I have great opportunities ahead of me there, I don't have to worry about money, I live in a nice condo and have a nice office, I drive a nice car, I can afford to pay ridiculous amounts of money to park it at my office so that I never have to go out in bad weather, I have nice furniture and nice things. I know that I am fortunate, and that I also worked really hard for everything I have. But you dress it up nice, and it's still the same unhappiness. I've never been able to be happy. Not for any significant length of time anyway.

I know that material things won't make me happy - and that's not what it's about. I am not trying to fill holes with material things. It's just that my life looks nice, so people always say - we can't understand why you would be so unhappy. I don't understand it either really. It's an inside thing - and lately I just feel like all of the effort I have put into changing myself on the inside has been for nothing, because here we are, having the same old conversation about the same old unhappiness. And lately I feel really angry with my parents, because we got screwed basically, my brother and I. I feel like I have been ruined by my childhood, like it has damaged me and so far, I have been unable to undo the damage. It just feels like I've suffered, more than people should suffer. When I found out I had breast cancer - that was my first thought - haven't I suffered enough already? What the hell did I do to deserve this kind of suffering?

I don't know how I got here. Here, right now, to this moment, where it all feels so fucked up and pointless. Where it feels ruined and like things can never be undone. Like things will never be okay, or right, or the way that I want them to be, or good even. It all seems so complicated.

And thank you to Aurelia for sending some folks my way and for your comments and support. You all seem like such nice and caring people and I am glad to have found all of you and your blogs. I am always astounded when people actually show up for other people and offer support because it seems so unexpected to me, and it's just not what I am used to. I don't know quite what to do with it. But it is good to know that I am not all alone out here.

Last words

Are they better left unsaid?

**Note that I do not mean my last words ever, so don't freak out, okay?