Who knew that trying to write a daily blog would be such a commitment? I do not really know what makes it so hard for me to keep the posts flowing. I think it has something to do with them being personal and my own resistance to the entire process of quitting drinking. Most days I think, what is the fucking point. Onward to looking back.
Day 14 was slow for the most part. I sat around in the morning waiting for my kids to get home while I listened to my roommates tell stories of the previous night’s drunken adventures. I was feeling jealous and sad. I did not have many early morning cravings; I also did not have a hangover.
When the kids got home, everything got hectic in a split second. I went from peaceful computer fuckery to dogs barking and kids. My mother had my nephew and he wanted to stay here so I said I did not care. In the meantime, one of the dogs pissed on the couch and it was so much activity so quickly I freaked out and yelled at my kids. Then I had the instant remorse and quilt that comes from moments like that. It is never easy.
Once my mother left, gratefully she never stays more than a minute and does not come in the house, as we are not friendly, some of the stress was gone. I had my kids back plus one. The thing about babysitting is that I mean it when I say I do not mind if my nephew stays, then I realize I just got an extra kid that is 3 years younger than my youngest and can be a handful at times. For the most part, it went off without any real issues. My son took off for most of the day to the park—I think he was avoiding being the “babysitter—and my daughter played with her cousin even when she really wanted to veg out on a movie. There was a half-hour long incident over him wiping his own ass (he is almost 5), other than that it was ok.
My sister came to get him and she was wiped out. I kept her up late the night before and she had slept in one of the kids beds then worked at her physically demanding job all day. I felt bad for her. We hung out for a little while but I had plans to go to a Queer AA meeting that was in a city an hour away. I headed out to grab the kids dollar menu. My daughter was staying here and my son was being dropped off at a gaming lounge to play Magic the Gathering. It was a stressful good-bye as the mood got chaotic again. I am not sure if it is just transitions or periodic moments of true discontent with loud noise, either way it feels uncomfortable and I end up snappy.
The meeting was great and in it, I introduced myself as an alcoholic. That was a huge move for me as I am still not comfortable with the word in my mouth, let along referencing my own issues. I met some very nice people but felt that familiar disconnect too. Even in a room full of Queers, I felt alone at the end.
I was excited to get out of the meeting as I was headed to a poetry reading. The person I said I fell in love with is an amazing artist who has a poetry collective that hosts an open mic. I was so excited to see her and to hear poetry. I opened the door and there she stood, I wanted to rush into her arms, cry, and lie on pillows for the rest of the night watching other artists with her safely curled in the nougat of my core–next to my heart. That is never going to happy. The pipe for that dream it so huge it would make it around the world; it does not change how much I feel it though.
Instead, she hugged me, as a friend only, and showed me to a seat that was next to a person who is her very good friend with five years sober. I had seen the person before and it was a nice moment. We sat and listened to some mind-blowing verse until they called an intermission. The other sober person and I went outside to smoke. I did that thing that people do when they are “relating” to each other. I over shared a bunch of shit from years ago and have spent every day since in regret. During a ten-minute conversation, I managed to tell her the most bottom of the barrel, horrific incidents, that I have ever had. Why do I do that? I do not mind when other people do it to me. The verbal shits actually amuse me, when they are not my own history. Removing booze from my life has broken my damn censor button. I do not like it.
I stayed for an hour and then went to get my son. My cousins own the gaming lounge he was at and I spent another hour just shooting the shit with the family. I made a personal promise not to talk a lot about other people in here so there is not much to say from here. The boy and I went home and went to bed. I think I went home with the intention of writing some poetry, instead I wrote some shitty poem about how I wanted someone to wait for me, meaning her, of course. In reality, that person only noticed me because I was posting shit on FB about quitting drinking. I think I am addicted to the idea of love. Who knows? Really, I am just a fucking mess.