If the headache creeping up the back of my neck is any indicator, I'm gonna feel just awful tomorrow.
I have been a sober alcoholic for almost 15 years. I am not "born again" about it, I neither preach to or disdain those who do drink. Enjoy with my blessing, it is just not an option for me. You don't have to hide the liquor around me, I am truly not dangerous that way. If I was diabetic, I wouldn't eat candy; I am an alcoholic, so I don't drink alcohol. It's that simple.
It was a long hard fight to give it up, I won't give you details. If you have gone through it, you don't need my description. If you are not an alcoholic who has quit, you could not understand. It is a test of will that rivals anything else I have experienced. I have had a few trials in my life. I have come through them and become a measurably better person because of them, at least measurable to me.
This week at work, has been another trial for me. Nearly everyone has had those kind of times at work. The severity and frequency of these "tests" depends on where you work. I put in extra time last weekend to help fix a problem, not created by me. I have worked 32 hours since Monday at my regular job and a few extra on side jobs. In 2 hours on my "side jobs", I make more than I do all day at my regular job. Oh, I am a self-designated "Techno-Geek" and rather proud of it. I work in a call center (a small one), in the field and sometimes (big sigh) I get to climb Towers.
Peter is a personal client, who has rapidly become a friend. He is an Author and generally smart guy, who is just fun to talk with. If I had more time, I would go hang out with him just for the hell of it. I just don't know enough people that smart. The project for today was twofold: assist him in getting used to the interface on his new computer, remove a DVD recorder from the older computer, and install it in the new one. Even though I was pretty exhausted, I was looking forward to it.
We were nearing the end of the DVD installation, things were fairly disorganized. Peter always has something interesting for me to drink, last time it was pomegranate soda. This time I stuck with water. Peter is a piler. His desks are piled with manuscript and pictures, and he makes no lame excuses about his filing system, he is humorously aware.
I was bent over his new Dell, cursing inwardly at the annoying clips that are so common on cheaply manufactured cases. Peter and I were either bantering or I was instructing him about something. I was not paying attention, I was worn out, I was bent over at the waist swearing (silently) at a computer case. I reached for my glass of water and took a large, thirsty swig.
It was Peter's Vodka on the rocks.
It was down my throat before I felt the sting, realized what had just happened. It was Stoli's. I could smell the vapors even as I was saying "what was that.." I didn't need to finish the question.
I would like to think I can describe anything, but I can't find the words to describe the mix of feelings that rushed over me right then. I was devastated and confused, and all at once I was drunk. I wasn't very drunk, mind you, I had less than 2 ounces of watered down alcohol in me. I was surprised at how much effect it had on me - it had been 15 years (almost) since I last touched the stuff. but compared to being stone cold sober for all that time, I was plastered.
Me, I was a happy drunk, all those years ago. Folks bought me drinks because I was funny, and I played the guitar and sang. I had always enjoyed getting toasted, and I never got violent or weepy. When I played at parties, the hosts would let me know when they wanted everyone to leave and I could play three or four ballads and have the partiers falling asleep all mellow and no one fought about car keys, etc.
So now what? I have to admit there was a fleeting second when I felt the urge, to go for more. It made me smile that such a thought had entered my brain. I truly do not wish to go down that road again, ever. I turned my thinking to more practical things like; "I had better get some food and lots of fluids in me soon" and "will I be able to drive?"
There was still a couple or three "Uh-Ohs" lurking in my inebriated head. I had doubts about my ability to resist, it is a powerful drug. I had a bit of a pep-talk with myself in the car, "Self" I said, "There is no effing way you are going down that road again". I was successful in that; I didn't stop to get more booze, I got my ass home and ate dinner.
The 2nd Uh-oh isn't so easy. I blew it. Accidental or not, I blew 15 years of sobriety with one mistake. It doesn't matter that it was less than 2 ounces, and I was only woozy for about 15 minutes. It doesn't matter that I will have no more. I blew it.
I am proud of the way I handled it. It would have been easy to slide into that hole, again, but I didn't. For years after I quit, I kept a bottle of Chivas in plain view; there is no point in saying you quit, if the site of the bottle is enough to put you over the edge. I don't know what happened to it, most likely I gave it away. (and NO April, Jack Daniels is not whiskey, it's Diesel fuel). My big question is, "Do I have to re-start the clock?" In all fairness to anyone who has gone through it, it's day 1 again. I'll have to think about it.
Geez, I'm gonna feel like shit, tomorrow.
End >
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Enough Is Enough
Because of the parking situation where I live, I have found it easier to park in the back of the place. It is only accessible from the dirt alley, which is strewn with broken glass, dogshit, and trash blowing along the ground. The good part of this is that I can see my car out the window over the top of my main computer screens.
Lately, I've found my car covered in crap, which seemed like it dropped in from the sky. I had no proof but, it seemed the upstairs neighbor's kids, were throwing things out the window on my car. I stoically washed the junk off and headed for work, but I was pretty sure I would catch them in the act someday.
For a little background...When I sold my last house, all I wanted was some place temporary where I didn't have to worry about roofs and leaks, etc. I was sort of burned out on the home repair scene. However, I am renting this place from the worst management company imaginable. If anything ever does get done it is done wrong the first 3 times, and generally I have had to do the repairs myself. I have been told I am not allowed to do those repairs, or turn on the cooler, flush the water heater, etc. I usually don't call in maintenance requests, because it's faster, easier and less expensive to fix it myself, then repair it after one of their idiot contractors screws it up more.
When I first moved in I was surrounded by old couples and hippie types, and we frequently hung out in my back yard. We played music, burned stuff on the grill and generally had a good time. When I did the first cleanup on my toxic backyard (it was unbelievably bad), many of my neighbors came by to help and one brought a gallon of homemade lemonade.
They slowly moved away and I am now surrounded by junkies, hookers, and illegal immigrants. the neighborhood is going to hell.
Last evening, while fiddling at my main computer I saw the contents of a potted plant drop out of the sky, and land atop my car. I might have actually said "Aha!" but I'm not sure. I hustled around the back, and there were the 3 upstairs delinquents hurrying back into their apartment, ducking out of site. I hollered up at the open window, "Did you think that was funny?" and some other less savory things which I will leave out of this missive.
The 13 yr old teenage girl told me she didn't want to hear my "fucking attitude" (I pity whoever is stupid enough to hook up with this one). I dialed 911. In my neighborhood, the response time is usually something over 90 minutes, unless you tell them you shot someone. Surprisingly, the cops showed up in under 10 minutes.
Three officers showed up. They knocked on my door by reaching around from their position, flattened against the outside wall. I actually didn't see them there at first. I led them through the place and showed them what had happened, explaining that I really didn't want to make trouble for little kids but enough is enough. They asked me if the hose was mine and could they use it, I replied in the affirmative.
The three cops came back with three kids and a Dad (? guardian, uncle, boyfriend?) and they proceeded to wash my car while I watched. I remained silently in the background, I offered no hints and refrained from telling them they missed a spot. When they were through the Dad and the 2 boys lined up and apologized, and I shook their hands in turn. The 13 year old bitch was not in evidence.
I must say it was immensely satisfying and it restored my faith in our police. The kids (except the little bitch) seemed genuinely contrite, and I spoke briefly with the "Dad" explaining that I wouldn't have called if they had not ignored my previous pleas to get the kids to act like humans. I did not phrase it that way, his English was worse than my Spanish but we made nice.
END> .
Lately, I've found my car covered in crap, which seemed like it dropped in from the sky. I had no proof but, it seemed the upstairs neighbor's kids, were throwing things out the window on my car. I stoically washed the junk off and headed for work, but I was pretty sure I would catch them in the act someday.
For a little background...When I sold my last house, all I wanted was some place temporary where I didn't have to worry about roofs and leaks, etc. I was sort of burned out on the home repair scene. However, I am renting this place from the worst management company imaginable. If anything ever does get done it is done wrong the first 3 times, and generally I have had to do the repairs myself. I have been told I am not allowed to do those repairs, or turn on the cooler, flush the water heater, etc. I usually don't call in maintenance requests, because it's faster, easier and less expensive to fix it myself, then repair it after one of their idiot contractors screws it up more.
When I first moved in I was surrounded by old couples and hippie types, and we frequently hung out in my back yard. We played music, burned stuff on the grill and generally had a good time. When I did the first cleanup on my toxic backyard (it was unbelievably bad), many of my neighbors came by to help and one brought a gallon of homemade lemonade.
They slowly moved away and I am now surrounded by junkies, hookers, and illegal immigrants. the neighborhood is going to hell.
Last evening, while fiddling at my main computer I saw the contents of a potted plant drop out of the sky, and land atop my car. I might have actually said "Aha!" but I'm not sure. I hustled around the back, and there were the 3 upstairs delinquents hurrying back into their apartment, ducking out of site. I hollered up at the open window, "Did you think that was funny?" and some other less savory things which I will leave out of this missive.
The 13 yr old teenage girl told me she didn't want to hear my "fucking attitude" (I pity whoever is stupid enough to hook up with this one). I dialed 911. In my neighborhood, the response time is usually something over 90 minutes, unless you tell them you shot someone. Surprisingly, the cops showed up in under 10 minutes.
Three officers showed up. They knocked on my door by reaching around from their position, flattened against the outside wall. I actually didn't see them there at first. I led them through the place and showed them what had happened, explaining that I really didn't want to make trouble for little kids but enough is enough. They asked me if the hose was mine and could they use it, I replied in the affirmative.
The three cops came back with three kids and a Dad (? guardian, uncle, boyfriend?) and they proceeded to wash my car while I watched. I remained silently in the background, I offered no hints and refrained from telling them they missed a spot. When they were through the Dad and the 2 boys lined up and apologized, and I shook their hands in turn. The 13 year old bitch was not in evidence.
I must say it was immensely satisfying and it restored my faith in our police. The kids (except the little bitch) seemed genuinely contrite, and I spoke briefly with the "Dad" explaining that I wouldn't have called if they had not ignored my previous pleas to get the kids to act like humans. I did not phrase it that way, his English was worse than my Spanish but we made nice.
END> .
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