My buddy invited me to live with him free of rent. It means quitting my job (which I hate) and moving. I’m not crazy about the move but I could use his company and support. I’m going to do it. I’m tired of trying to handle this on my own. I’m beyond being too proud to accept help. I need help. It’s time to get it. I’ve know this friend since I was 7 and he’s like a brother. He’s the first one I told when I quit the sauce. Best of all, we’ve roomed together before so we know we won’t be at each other’s throats. And he has a dog. I miss my dog.
As for leaving, I like where I’m living but the landlady is a pill. I’ll have to break my lease which will send her into a conniption fit but this move might just save my life. Literally. I’ve been in the deep blues and every day I think about the dark and final solution. It’s a horrible thought (suicide, that is, in case I’m being too cryptic) but I can’t keep it at bay. Sorry landlady but my life is more important than a few bucks in your greedy pocket.
So goodbye job. Goodbye obnoxious landlady. It’s time to reboot.
Wow. It’s been a long time since I rock and roll. I’ve been offline for 27 days to be exact. Most of that time I’ve been working. This is my first weekend off in 3 weeks. It’s a back braking pace but I need the money. Between work and some serious blues I haven’t had any energy to write. But I’ve stayed dry. Somehow.
Last night I had a dream about being drunk in a bar. I woke up covered in sweat just like I used too when I drank. I can’t say the dream was pleasant or nightmarish. It just was. It reminded me of the life I’ve left behind. Maybe it was a reminder of the truth because lately, I’ve wanted a drink because I’m drowning in the big suck. Work is painful drudgery. I’m woefully underemployed. I’m barely making ends meet but only if I work 7 days a week. My life is going nowhere. In what little spare time I have, I’ve tried to send out resumes. They disappear into the cloud. I’ve tried for 8 permanent positions at the place where I’m temping and I’ve been rejected for all of them. Karma is kicking my fucking ass.
I’ve thought about taking the big sleep. Robin Williams death has driven that point home but hope keeps hounding me. That little pixie bitch won’t leave me alone. She keeps telling me something is about to break loose. Things will get better. Just hang in there. So I do.
It’s been 9 months since my last drink and 9 seconds since my last craving and 9 times that hope has whispered in my ear.
Still here. Still sober. I’m having trouble keeping it together. Any joy I find seems to be tainted by my suffocating financial burden. I accumulated too much debt while I was out of work. Now, even though I have a full time job, the crap pay isn’t enough to keep my head above water. I’ve had to borrow from my dad and from one on my friends. It’s humiliating.
My apartment is nice but the landlady is difficult to deal with. I jumped through a lot of hoops to get this place and on a regular basis she asks more of me. She’s a very bossy and demanding personality type. I’ve started pushing back but that just makes things even more unpleasant. All my dealings with her leave me angry, frustrated, and used. It’s all the more painful because this could be such an ideal place. But like all things lately, nothing can ever be quite right.
I feel like the butt of some cosmic joke. Each time I think I get a little relief, a little reprieve, a little peace, something fucks it up. It’s like a cup of coffee where you finally get the perfect mix of cream and sugar but before you can take a sip the server dumps in more coffee.
I haven’t prayed since I was a child but I’ve started praying again. I’m not sure to whom or what but I’m throwing it out there anyway. Mostly I pray for protection from myself because every decision I make turns out to be the wrong one. Tonight, I’ll pray again. But I won’t pray for me. I’ve been too selfish. Tonight I’ll pray for my landlady. And I’ll pray for the compassion I need to pray for her. OK, I guess I will pray for me.
Free. I moved out of the Harpy’s Nest into a studio in the country. Life is good. I can breath.
Poo. It’s become part of my mornings. About every other day one of the unkempt menagerie that shares this house leaves me a present at the start of the day. Usually it’s poo but sometimes it’s vomit or a stinky wet spot (let’s assume pee). When I drank, I was the one generating indiscreet bundles of poo, vomit, and pee. Now that I’m sober my enthusiasm for effluents has waned quite a bit. Apparently, the 4 cats and 3 dogs of this house don’t share my attitude.
Feeling blue today. Not sure why. It’s a beautiful day – sunny and warm but not oppressive. Then again, after living in Tucson, my gage for oppressive heat is pretty high. Nonetheless, it’s a fine day. I guess I’m blue because I have no one to share this day with.
I admit it. I’m lonely. I’m tired of going through this shit by myself. I can’t even hang out with my dog anymore. I tried AA for a while but that made me even more depressed. Every time I left a meeting I wanted to drink more than when I went in. This blog has been my AA. And I don’t want a drink. I want a companion.
I wouldn’t even think about hanging with my roommates. Although I finally figured out the motivation behind Herself’s uncommon civility of late. This morning she asked me if I could pay $100 advance on rent for next month. I told her I didn’t think I’d stay for another month. She took it surprisingly well and said, “OK, I guess I’ll look for a new roommate.” When I got back from doing some shopping there was a car parked in my space. Apparently, she didn’t wait for rigor mortis to set in.
Oh well, I think I’ve been too harsh on Herself and Husband. (At least I hope I have.) I don’t think they’re necessarily bad people. They’re just poor and desperate. Unfortunately, I’m learning that song myself. It’s hard to be considerate when you’re in constant survival mode. It’s easy for the affluent to point out a lack of social grace in the poor. But the affluent don’t live one minor misfortune away from the street and inescapable poverty. Try sleeping with that sword of Damocles hanging over your bed; see how neighborly you feel in the morning. Ultimately, I don’t wish Herself and Husband any ill. But I can’t continue to live there. I hope it works out for all of us. I hope they find a roommate who fits in. I hope I find pleasant accommodations.
Here’s to hope.
Today I went for a drive. Along the way I stumbled upon a scenic overlook and snapped this picture:
It’s Mt. St. Helens. I have a special fondness for her because she’s damaged but still awesome. I aspire to be like her.