I’m closing in on 300. Woot! The other night I dreamt that I was drunk in a bar. Scary. I’ve been having more dreams about the sauce and I’m not sure why. I thought I’d be past that by now. Apparently, the demons aren’t having much luck with me awake so they’re coming after me in my sleep. Well demons, bring it on! I’m not afraid of you anymore. I’ve been through too much shit to give up now.
In other news, I still haven’t heard from the potential job but it’s only been a week. These things take time. My current job is getting better because they’re moving me to swing shift. It’s still the same shitty job but I won’t have to deal with the same shitty management. They’re out the door when the bell rings. It’s a small concession but I’ll take it.
Alas, when we last left our intrepid adventurer (that’s me) he was planning a move from Oregon to New Hampshire. But like all things in life, a new wrinkle twisted into the plot.
I was ready to leave. On Friday I slacked off at work and was more petulant than usual (if that’s possible). I had every intent to end my employment that day. Then in the afternoon I got a text from a local acquaintance, “Talked to my friend. HR has your resume. They’ll contact you.”
Back up a few weeks. This acquaintance knows I really, really want to work with alternative energy. So he says, “I have a buddy who sets up wind farms. His company is looking for an engineer.” Yahtzee! I give him my resume to give to his friend and then … nothing. Last week I sent him a text and asked if he’d heard anything from his friend. He said he’d contact him. I never heard back after that. I wrote the whole thing off. I figured it was a long shot anyway – you know, a friend of a friend knows this guy type of thing. Until I got the text Friday afternoon.
Now I don’t want to leave town because I want this job. I need this job. But in the meantime, I have to keep my head above water. That means I have to continue my work as a human oxcart. Ugh. I toy with the though of leaving and getting another shit job, perhaps one less shittier than the current experience. But we’ll see how this week plays out. Wish me luck.
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.