Vicarious Rising

Roget's Says Moderation and Temperance are Synonyms

Unpacking from this move has been a slow process. We still have one more storage pod full of lord-knows-what to be delivered to the house. At this point, it's been over two years since that particular load of junk was stowed away. Other than some much beloved books, some photo albums, old yearbooks and oft used kitchen pots and gear that we've made do without, I have no clue what is in this pod. My husband says it is fairly full. I have a good memory, and I cannot think of much of anything I am missing. I do know there are some clothes in there I was in that waffling phase of getting rid of when I packed them away. I am pretty sure they have graduated to the donation category by now.

This is a wonderful thing. I get this exhilerated feeling getting rid of old things I have no further use for and no sentimental attachment to. With this new house, I am surrounding myself with only things I love. My therapist said to me that building a dream home can be like surrounding yourself with your own parent. It is interesting to see how you choose the environment in which to enfold yourself. I know I have been mindful in designing my space - it is important how it makes me feel, not what the latest trend or what the next potential buyer or anyone else might think. This home was created for our comfort and pleasure. Luckily, our tastes run rather practical as well as beautiful. In my opinion, at any rate.

Naturally, a handful of forgotten things pop up while opening up boxes. Not too many posts ago, I mentioned selling all my "how to still drink and not die" books on Amazon.com. Welp, I found one sneaky bastard tucked in with my fairy tales this weekend. It was the tome "Responsible Drinking: A Moderation Management Approach for Problem Drinkers" by Frederick Rotgers, Marc F. Kern and Rudy Hoeltzel. Back in my boozing days, I skimmed the book once, certain that this method would work as a lifestyle for me, once I cut back to a moderate amount of drinking. One of the book's co-authors, Hoeltzel, lived in my area of NJ and held weekly Moderation Management meetings at 7:30 on Tuesday nights. I even went so far as to email him and find out when and where they met. Unfortunately, I was typically too wasted by 7:30 p.m. to drive anywhere.

So, this weekend I discovered the shiny, unused copy of this book amongst my collection of favorites and gave a derisive laugh. Then listed it for sale on Amazon.com. It sold this morning. I am shipping it off to some poor soul that I am perhaps prematurely judging to be a terribly fearful alcoholic not yet ready to give up the drink. Maybe she will google the book and find this blog. Maybe she will hit bottom some other way.

Maybe she will never end up getting help. But... I hope that the fact that she at least is researching some sort, any sort of respite from the downward spiral, maybe she is seeing that all is not right in her world.

I wish her the best, however she may find it.

Wearing My Insides Out

My husband's parents are prosperous enough to own multiple homes in multiple states, which allows them to enjoy fortuitous weather yearlong. It is also rather lucky for us, as we get to hop down to Florida in the winter time and we usually have a nice apartment in New York City to crash in whenever we want to visit the city.

But it does make for a little bit of a lonely winter as everyone packs up and leaves us up in the cold Northeast. But come May, everyone is returning.

This year is especially fun because we - finally - have our new home to show off. Just in the last two days we've had family guests over. I think one of my biggest thrills, however, was hearing my 13-year-old saying to his grandmother and her friends, "yes, we are all very proud of our house." I love that he feels ownership here. I know when I was a kid, the house I lived in was very much my parents' home and not mine at all.

One of our guests was the 80+ mother of my mother-in-law's best friend. She is having a lot of trouble with walking (she suffers from fibromyalgia, among other ailments) and her mind is going a bit. She walked around the first floor of the house, then settled down into one of our comfy chairs. At one point, I was standing across the room, about 30 feet away, and she shuffled her way over to me. I smiled at her and was about to ask if she needed something.

"You are more beautiful than ever," she said to me. "You've always been an attractive person, but you have never looked more beautiful. I just had to come over here and tell you that."

I swear I blushed and I thanked her. It was so sweet. Especially since I was shlepping around in raggedy jeans and a sweatshirt and I needed a shower. My husband teased her that she maybe needed new glasses (to which she responded, "actually, I do.") Maybe it is that thing that makes you dotty and loving when you're old, but I have had a lot of other people say how much different and better I look, that I carry myself differently and with more peace. You know what? I think this sober living agrees with me. I think my own skin is beginning to fit me right.

Doomsayers, Look Up

The first couple responses to my last post have kind of taken me by surprise, much in the same way my sponsor's coldness has. I'm not sure why. I guess I might think about it some more, but that isn't what I want to say here.

I do want to address a few things about the seeming concern about my meeting attendance. First, I wonder if my sponsor is that worried, wouldn't it be a better tactic to actually return my calls and/or perhaps take me up on my invitations to meet up for lunch to talk? For one thing, I have made it clear to her I am not rejecting AA - I am still a very strong believer in the program. I do believe I am practicing its principles in all my affairs - perhaps not to the literal level that some would wish me to, but I believe in the true spirit they are intended. I do think there will be times in my life where I will very much want to attend a meeting. I also think that sitting in meetings, day in, day out purely out of fear, guilt and habit is not doing myself any favors. Hearing the same people say the same thing every day was beginning to be boring. I wanted to spend my time living life, not hearing people stuck in thoughts of constant not drinking.

Second, I am not going to tell anyone else how to live their lives or what is best for them, although I think there are more inclusive ways to get healthy than solely with AA. For me, I needed my therapist, my husband's family and my friends with the catalyst of AA to get me through the necessary changes. I don't think I am done changing for the better. But as my therapist said to me not too long ago, therapy was never meant to be forever. I believe the same is true for AA meetings. You use the tools you learn in these places, sometimes you need refreshers, but the idea is that you grow. If I make myself go to AA meetings just because I believe that is what I am supposed to do and not because it is what feels right to me, I am stunting my growth.

Anyway, I wish I could hang with sober people without being beat on the head with meeting rhetoric. There is so much more to life than yammering about drinking and not drinking. I am more open to life and the stuff that I used to hide from through my drinking, so I think it is better to not avoid experiencing it by devoting all my time saturated in an AA-focused life. I'm just sad that it seems my AA buddies seem to think that means I am excluded from their gang.

Hey, I just want to be a better, sober person. I have said all along, there was something about many people in the meetings that did not have things that I wanted, that it was one of the hardest "sales" of the program to me. That so many of those in the rooms reminded me of beaten puppies and seemed more defeated than surrendered. What I have been coming to realize more and more as I recover is that I have what I want, I have been cultivating it for years. I just didn't believe I deserved it until I finally put down the drink and found my self worth. And, yes, AA has been and will continue to be a part of that discovery.

Well, I am sure those of you who think this spells doom still think so and those of you who are not pro-AA are still firmly there. But maybe some of you on the fence can understand my perspective and know that I'm alright.

No Place for the Non-Follower

This morning I went to my AA home group's meeting to return the business meeting's official secretary book. I have abdicated my position as secretary. It makes sense since I haven't been to a meeting in a couple months. The last one I went to was basically to meet my commitment as secretary.

I hadn't planned to stay - I arrived at the halfway point when they have a five minute smokers break, so I could pass off the notebook to one of the other officers. Instead, I ended up briefly talking to a woman who I don't know all that well who coerced me into sitting down for at least five minutes of the meeting. Five minutes I didn't really have because I had a doctor's appointment for my annual pap smear in 20 minutes. Nonetheless, I found myself guilted into a seat.

WTF?

I think part of the reason my butt got weighted down was that my sponsor greeted me with less than an enthusiastic hello. In fact, I think she seemed a little pissed. I know it might've been my imagination, but I have called her a few times, including asking if she wanted to get together so I could pass off the secretary book to her because I would love to have a visit with her. She hasn't returned my calls. She did, however, call once to leave me a message to inform me that I should oust myself as secretary and return the notebook ASAP.

I guess I feel a little hurt. I suppose I had hoped that my friendship was perhaps contingent on my sobriety, yes, but not necessarily my attachment to the tenents of the AA program. It seems those bonds were not so strong as I imagined. I have to walk the same walk in the same voice in the same language, conform.

This makes me sad. I can't say I think this is the fault of AA. I still plan to go to meetings on occasion as I need it. I saw my walking buddy David this morning, and I miss him terribly. Not keeping in touch with him is my own self-involved fault. But I think I am disappointed that the camraderie of a bunch of drunks was somewhat superficial.

Maybe it's just me. But anyway, I ain't gonna drink over it.

On another note, I've been following The Junky's Wife's blog for some time now, and she is struggling with stepping back to let her husband try to manage to put together a recovery for himself. She wrote that he recently had the brilliant idea that all he needs is a doctor to prescribe him all the drugs he needs to not feel the pain of withdrawal so he can wake up clean, refreshed and brand-sober-spanking-new.

Yah, that sounds familiar to this alcoholic. I also remember when I bought all these books about how I could drink all I wanted if I only ate the proper diet and vitamin supplements and drank a certain amount of water. What a crock.

After I returned from rehab, I sold all these books on Amazon.com. I felt a little remorseful about passing on that crap to other people who I am certain were idiots just like me. I even thought about sticking a little note in the package saying, "when you're done with all this crap, write me an email" or stuffing in an AA pamphlet. But I realized it would go on deaf ears. I wouldn't have heard it until it was my time.

I hope the Junky's Wife's man will hit the point where he has had enough soon. No one can do it for you, especially not Dr. Feelgood.

Mothering the World

Happy Mother's Day everyone, to those who are mothers, need mothers, are surrogate mothers and love mothers.

My cute not-so-little boy made me a vase in school. I put it on my new bamboo shelves in my special porch, which may be my favorite place in my new house (although I love every place in my new house, but the porch is really awesome).

On a more somber note, I was really moved to write today because I am feeling really pissed off about the junta in Myanmar who are impeding the rescue efforts for their cyclone-devastated country. What a bunch of paranoid, power hungry fucks. Not that I have an opinion or anything. But grrrrrrrr. I hope they really don't turn out looking like heros to their people by being the ones to ultimately hand out the relief supplies, but their ironfisted control on how everything is passed out is just ridiculous and unproductive. God forbid their citizens get any outside ideas from foreigners. Some are calling the juntas use of U.N. supplies a propaganda exercise for the government, using it for only the more important and influential areas of Myanmar.

That is, if and when the aid even ends up with those in need and not lining the coffers of the ruling despots. I really hate bullies. A pet-peeve, if you will. It's one of those things as mom that is tought to teach, hard to protect your kid from and even more difficult to restrain myself from strangling the parents of the bullies and/or the bullies themselves as I deem appropriate.

Argh. I should send my mother out to glare at them. That should scare 'em straight. She's like a basilisk.

Happy Mother's Day, mom. I love you.

The Film Doctor

I love movies. Reading this blog, you probably wouldn't get that sense. I haven't written much about movies here. In fact, I really haven't watched many movies of late.

I'm not a huge fan of going to movie theaters. I do love movie popcorn and can eat over a bucket of the stuff all by my lonesome (keep in mind I only weigh about 100 lbs., but that stuff is all air, I tell you) and I dig the big screen and sounds. But I hate all the people around me and hate that I feel stuck in my less than optimal seat.

The new house has a media room that is not yet furnished that should resolve a good deal of my movie issues. The primary problem remaining that I have to wait to see movies until they are available on demand or DVD. But since I haven't been going out to see movies in the theater of late anyways, that's hardly a sacrifice.

Today, however, was an exception. We got tickets to "Iron Man" - on of the special digital showing and we drove a little further to go to one of the stadium seating theaters.

The movie kicked ass. Go see it. I have a little crush on Robert Downey Jr. I am so glad he's stayed sober. Hope he continues his success.

So, now maybe since I have gotten bored with blogging about my recovery I will return to an old, old old idea I had to write about movies. See, I pretty much can find things I like about every movie. But, of course, there are ways things could be improved much of the time. So, I had thought it might be fun to blab endlessly about how to fix what was broken in movies, hence the name "Film Doctor."

Ok, writing that out sounds really pretentious, but well, it still might be fun.

Contentment Content

I haven't been feeling like blogging lately. It's funny how when things are going well, the need to gab dries up. I think some of it has to do with my inclination to keep my good news to myself, but generally speaking, I think most people tend to not gush on and on when life is good.

At any rate, spring time has begun on the top of my little hill here. I'm enjoying the changing of season and my amateurish antics at gardening and furniture assembly.

I still want to put up pics of my LA trip. We got to feed the hippo and rhino at the LA zoo because my husband's cousin has a friend who works there. It was the coolest thing and I got great photos of the animals.

In other news, my sister is getting married in October. I am happy for her. I think. I haven't met the guy. He can't be worse than the last guy she married. Right?

Hollywoodized

I'm back from my trip to L.A. It was fabulous. I'll try to get some of my photos posted this weekend if anyone is interested.

L.A. is a really interesting place. Its vibe is not really what I expected: anorexized, plastic and cruel. People were friendly and seemed upbeat. I liked it. Can't say I'd want to move there, but I wouldn't mind spending more time hanging out.

Speaking of hanging out, my son spent about 15 minutes lounging around in the lobby of our hotel about 10 feet from M.C. Hammer and had no clue who he was until the hotel staff told us. No parachute pants to tip us off. Some megawatt white Nikes though. My son is so bummed he didn't get to touch M.C. Hammer. I told him he can still tell his friends he hung out with him.

Mr. Hammer was waiting for the valet to get his car and for the rest of his posse. Yes, he did have a posse. They all seemed like pretty well behaved posse people, including the Hammer-man himself. They all drove off in a big black hummer with the license tag "LOOK 3Xs". No comment about that cause it would be rude to say anything about flagging careers. It would've done Mr. Hammer good to introduce himself to the 13 year old to get a fan in the new generation.

As if.

One funny thing that happened was when we drove up to the Hollywood Roosevelt in our chauffeured car (with a license plate that said DIVA, no less), a bunch of college guys were peering into the tinted windows trying to see who was in our car. I sat there giggling thinking how disappointed they were going to be. Considered throwing a jacket over my kid's head and rushing him inside. When we stepped out, one of the college kids said, "aw, it's just some chick." This made my day because I am very glad to still be considered a chick. He could have said, "aw, it's just some nobody" or "it's just some loser" or "it's just some slag/troll/cow/hag/bitch." I'll take chick with a big smile.

Oh, and because I failed to mention it, this wonderful adventure was the grand prize for a Burn Notice drawing. For those of you who missed the television show Burn Notice's season one last summmer, they just started rerunning the program on Thursday nights on the USA Network. It starts season 2 in June. I can't wait. My massive crush on Michael Westen has been soothed a bit by winning this prize, but I've been irked by having to wait so long for another fix of the show.

High Life

If anyone remembers a post from about two months ago, I won a trip to L.A. thanks to one of my favorite television shows. Welp, my son and I are off for our vacation tomorrow. The trip was supposed to include a meet-n-greet with one of the show's stars, but because of the writers strike and some other timing issues, that part of the grand prize will not be happening. Kind of a bummer, especially since I have a minor crush on the show's star. However, we will be staying at the Hollywood Roosevelt and dining at some rather excellent places courtesy the show and the USA Network. This chica is mighty excited.

Perhaps not so ironically, I didn't really want to share my good fortune with my family. I feel like they have this idea in their heads that I am "lucky". Or, perhaps better put, that I have an imbalance of too much good. Which is not to say they are deprived because they are far from it. But they have a way of making me feel terribly guilty when nice things happen to me. So, I tend not to tell them about them.

Actually, I tend to not tell them about much of anything. It seems safer to ask them about themselves and cluck at the appropriate times.

One of the big changes through recovery has been to allow myself to enjoy when good things happen to me. To not expect the hand of god to reach down and punish me for feeling joy and pleasure in the nice things around me. To indulge in the idea that maybe, just maybe, I do deserve a nice life for no other reason than that I am a nice person.

It really isn't funny how much time I spent destroying myself for every good thing that came my way. I really was my own worst enemy. In some ways, I got worse as I got better in my early recovery. I wonder if others have experienced that struggle. I'm sure many have. As I began to recognize reality and separate myself from what I had been told about myself, there was a real internal war going on that at times I wasn't sure I was going to survive.

It's too bad my family cannot share in my happiness. It would be nicer for me if I could share my life with them. But I have adapted, if not quite accepted.

Now, off to the land of make-believe. I'll try not to gawk like a total tourist. As if.

Let it Rain

My therapist and I are in the process of breaking up. It's a very strange thing to do with deliberation and discussion. I imagine this is the way we are supposed to grow up and leave home. But I think it seldom happens in this way. It is an unusual experience, and rather uncomfortable. I feel a lot of discordant emotions, pleasure and guilt, excitement and fear. But I think in the end sum, it feels right. It feels time.

Nearly.

Decorating my home has been a joy interspersed with headaches along the way. Most of the headaches seem to be shipping related, and unfortunately cannot be pegged on just one shipping company. This has me rather disgruntled, particularly since I am rather in love with online shopping. It give me the opportunity to patronize independent artisans and smaller boutique shops and discover new things the world over. But the merchandise needs to arrive and arrive in one piece. I never had much of a problem (except for the mail lady who smoked incessantly so everything smelled of cigarettes and she also would never bring packages to the door even when we were home: she always left the "sorry we missed you" slip in the mailbox right before I'd watch her drive off in her USPS truck.) until recently. I don't know what the deal is, but it isn't like everybody is spending tons of money shopping. You'd think the delivery folk wouldn't have much else to do but get their jobs done right.

One lovely item that just arrived is this Zen Rain Drop glass mobile I purchased from Leah Pellegrini's Glass Creations on Etsy. My office faces south and gets quite a lot of sunlight. I think this will look beautiful hanging in the windows over my desk.

Leah included a little business card-sized note on her inspiration of the mobile's design, and I thought I would share it because it reflects some of what I have been going through the past several months.:

In this image of lotus leaves in the early morning, we can see in the rippling of the water that one drop has just fallen. It is a precious moment, and one that is full of poignency. In surrendering to gravity and slipping off the leaf, the drop loses its previous identity and joins the vastness of the water below. We can imagine that it must have trembled before it fell, just on the edge between the known and the unknowable.

~Osho Zen Tarot

Leah says to "remember to let go and your life will thank you". I like the imagery of the lone, trembling drop of water setting itself free. But I don't like to think of it as wiping out its entire identity. Rather, that it is joining the part of itself it had been separated from, that it is being made whole. I kind of have to wonder if the vastness below is any more knowledgeable than the lone drop above. Or does it too change beyond the impact of superficial ripples when hit by the droplet? Maybe it doesn't matter. And I'm not so sure about surrendering to gravity. I'm not in any hurry to get wrinkles. But the rest sounds good.

There I go, ruining a perfectly good metaphor with literal interpretation. I'm having a hard time taking myself too seriously these days. I think that's progress.