My life is all alcoholics all the time these days. I don’t know where it came from, it’s certainly wasn’t my intention, but here we are. I learned how to work the program, the program worked me over, and now I have something to offer the sick and tired who are sick and tired of being SICK AND TIRED.
Those who can must, peeps. It’s a fundamental truth of our way of life, my primary purpose is and will forever more be to help another alcoholic. That’s it. Anything else I add in there re: diet, boys, outfits, occupations, and hair color is really just my will manifesting itself in the only way it knows how. It still comes right back around to; what did you do for the other guy today? Who did you help? Did you sacrifice your own creature comforts for the well-being of the next woman?
I’ve always wanted to be of service to my fellow alcoholics. I’m moved deeply whenever I hear someone announce their day count. I love Newcomer women! But for the longest I was balls out terrified to open my mouth around them, because I thought I would scare them right off. When I was still counting days, I was relatively happy. I stopped drinking and my life got immeasurably better in those first months. But from four months until very recently, I failed to enlarge my spiritual condition and my untreated alcoholism ran circles around my attempts to control my disease.
I was a surly, screaming bitch from month 4 to 14 and I had no idea why.
I tried to do some step-work, but it really didn’t have any affect because I wasn’t completely surrendered. I thought I was, but thinking can be incredibly misleading when it comes to the nature of alcoholism.
Long story short, I was given the gift of desperation AGAIN, I started my steps in earnest, and I really went after my recovery with everything I had in me. And I got better! I got glowy and happy, social and bubbly. The more I stepped, the more people started responding favorably to me and before I knew it I had new-comer girls asking how I’d stayed sober for almost two years.
I was baffled when this first happened. I’m so used to thinking of myself as a miserable excuse for sobriety that seeing some gorgeous little drunk come up to me with admiration in her eyes, was more than I could handle. I freaked out, said something weird and abrupt, and ran away. Progress not perfection, right?
I wasn’t settled into the changes that I had undergone. I didn’t trust that I could interact normally with people now that I had my spiritual experience. I was still defensive and locked up, waiting for hostile comebacks to come vomiting out of my mouth. Or for the volume of my voice to raise uncontrollably, and for people to starts slowly backing away from me. I’ve had 29 years of seeing people shy away from me, it’s normal and natural that I would still be expecting these things. But it’s no longer necessary, and slowly I started sticking around to answer the newcomer questions that were leveled at me.
And my answers are always the same.
“Ohmygod, you HAVE to do your steps. It’s like Magic….you have to try this shit!”
“Did you start your steps, yet? That’s fantastic, I’m so excited for you! You should call me, I want to hear all about it.”
And I mean every word of it. Every word of it is what was given to me when my sponsor read the Big Book with me. That’s what saved my life. Shit, that’s what gave me a life worth living! Steps, steps, and more steps. Service, service, and more service. These two things bring me incalculable amounts of joy, and I can’t stop shouting it from the rooftops.
So now, Alcoholics are popping up EVERYWHERE. There’s two in my office that are in constant need of support. One of them suffered my foolishness when I was first getting sober, and now he’s newly sober so I can repay the kindness.
God, you work in such mysterious freaking ways. I totally respect your Gangsta.
Ingenue
P.S. Stepwork brings the sexy back.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Dr. Jekkyl and Ms. Hyde? Your table for two is waiting...
It’s so funny to be getting a look at the Jekyl and Hyde nature of Alcoholic Ingenue and Recovered Ingenue.
Untreated Alcoholic Ingenue:
Walks a mile a minute with her shoulders squared and her jaw set. Shouts when she means to whisper, fumes and blames EVERYTHING on EVERYONE. She’s usually wearing way too much eye makeup (her favorite avoidance therapy is fixing up the externals when the internals are gnarly) and two pushup bras (because one is never enough when you’re sick and suffering) to try and fake cleavage that God did not intend to be there. She flirts with married men and then gets outraged when they say inappropriate things to her. She spends her entire work day trying too look busy and important at the expense of actually doing her job. Don’t even think about asking how her day went, she’ll tell you all about it. And it ain’t ever pretty.
Recovered Ingenue:
Still wakes up feeling a mild case of the Fuck Its, but drops to her knees first thing and gets in conscious contact with her creator. After that she bounds around like a golden retriever, just happy to be up and about and moving. Hair and makeup are whatever she has time for, she prefers to spend her “getting ready” time on spiritual and physical fitness. No matter. Whatever she looks like on the outside, she feels totally gorgeous so she’s free to wear whatever the fuck she pleases, male attention be damned.
Work is spent in service to the world at large. When she has a question she asks it humbly, even if it makes her look unknowledgeable. She works through problems as they arise, instead of putting them off for another day. She answers phone calls and emails. She takes responsibility for her mistakes and works arduously at correcting them.
She DOES NOT BLAME THE QUALITY OF HER LIFE ON ANYONE ELSE.
She sounds like a bit of a surfer girl when she speaks, and she doesn’t care what anyone thinks about that because authenticity is fucking priceless, dude.
She smiles and hugs, listens, and laughs.
With all of this evidence, you would think I’d have absolutely no reservations about strenuously working my program and chasing after my steps. And yet.
Every now and then we all need a refill on the willingness. I can’t ever forget what I become when I fail to enlarge and maintain my spiritual condition.
xoxoxo,
Ingenue
Untreated Alcoholic Ingenue:
Walks a mile a minute with her shoulders squared and her jaw set. Shouts when she means to whisper, fumes and blames EVERYTHING on EVERYONE. She’s usually wearing way too much eye makeup (her favorite avoidance therapy is fixing up the externals when the internals are gnarly) and two pushup bras (because one is never enough when you’re sick and suffering) to try and fake cleavage that God did not intend to be there. She flirts with married men and then gets outraged when they say inappropriate things to her. She spends her entire work day trying too look busy and important at the expense of actually doing her job. Don’t even think about asking how her day went, she’ll tell you all about it. And it ain’t ever pretty.
Recovered Ingenue:
Still wakes up feeling a mild case of the Fuck Its, but drops to her knees first thing and gets in conscious contact with her creator. After that she bounds around like a golden retriever, just happy to be up and about and moving. Hair and makeup are whatever she has time for, she prefers to spend her “getting ready” time on spiritual and physical fitness. No matter. Whatever she looks like on the outside, she feels totally gorgeous so she’s free to wear whatever the fuck she pleases, male attention be damned.
Work is spent in service to the world at large. When she has a question she asks it humbly, even if it makes her look unknowledgeable. She works through problems as they arise, instead of putting them off for another day. She answers phone calls and emails. She takes responsibility for her mistakes and works arduously at correcting them.
She DOES NOT BLAME THE QUALITY OF HER LIFE ON ANYONE ELSE.
She sounds like a bit of a surfer girl when she speaks, and she doesn’t care what anyone thinks about that because authenticity is fucking priceless, dude.
She smiles and hugs, listens, and laughs.
With all of this evidence, you would think I’d have absolutely no reservations about strenuously working my program and chasing after my steps. And yet.
Every now and then we all need a refill on the willingness. I can’t ever forget what I become when I fail to enlarge and maintain my spiritual condition.
xoxoxo,
Ingenue
Friday, June 19, 2009
God help me.
Damn, dude. It happened again. I vacated my blogging for no good reason and here I come, crawling back in abject humility.
Yeesh, that's a bit dark isn't it? I didn't mean it to be, but it stays. Maybe that's my true inner state right now. Maybe that's what I'm trying to supress. Maybe I'm trying to hide from the fact that even though I've been step-working like my ass is on fire, my life still seems a bit.....awful. Don't get me wrong, it has it's moments! All in all though, I have to say I am not impressed.
And this is my own doing, really. I am back living with roommates, AGAIN, and again all hell is breaking loose. It's nowhere near as vicious this time, and it's not affecting me as deeply, but it is affecting me. I react, I pre-act, I fix, I solve, I pray, and everytime I think I've come to the bottom of this shit, it comes back.
Having said that, I am deeply, deeply responsible for the hurt feeling of my roommates. This time, there is no doubt in my head that I am the problem. I left the apartment for months in a state of mild disaster, I'm construction style confrontational whenever they try and approach me about it, and lately I've been pulling off this Mean Girls style sneer whenever they come within a five foot radius of me.
I'm in fullbown attack mode and I cannot make it stop.
My adversaries? A 60 year old buddhist nun and a 5 foot 2 codepenent trainer who flinches whenever someone sneezes too loud.
What the hell is the matter with me? Honestly, the buddhist nun is a bit of a nightmare, but I know why or how she's stirring up this level of character defectiveness. I cannot seem to extricate myself from the downward spiral where she pulls me aside in the morning to explain to me that I'm angry and confrontational and I respond by becoming angry and confrotational.
It's no good, the emotional hangovers are BRUTAL and I did not vacate my last hostile living situation to move into another one. Clearly, G.O.D has a lesson for me that I failed to learn the first time around, so we're going for it again.
G.O.D-
Please, for the love of all that is Holy and True, show me what it is you want me to learn in this situation so I can do the damn thing and get on with my life. And please, again for the love of all that is Holy and True, make it obvious.
Can I get a witness? Whoop whoop!
Ingenue
Yeesh, that's a bit dark isn't it? I didn't mean it to be, but it stays. Maybe that's my true inner state right now. Maybe that's what I'm trying to supress. Maybe I'm trying to hide from the fact that even though I've been step-working like my ass is on fire, my life still seems a bit.....awful. Don't get me wrong, it has it's moments! All in all though, I have to say I am not impressed.
And this is my own doing, really. I am back living with roommates, AGAIN, and again all hell is breaking loose. It's nowhere near as vicious this time, and it's not affecting me as deeply, but it is affecting me. I react, I pre-act, I fix, I solve, I pray, and everytime I think I've come to the bottom of this shit, it comes back.
Having said that, I am deeply, deeply responsible for the hurt feeling of my roommates. This time, there is no doubt in my head that I am the problem. I left the apartment for months in a state of mild disaster, I'm construction style confrontational whenever they try and approach me about it, and lately I've been pulling off this Mean Girls style sneer whenever they come within a five foot radius of me.
I'm in fullbown attack mode and I cannot make it stop.
My adversaries? A 60 year old buddhist nun and a 5 foot 2 codepenent trainer who flinches whenever someone sneezes too loud.
What the hell is the matter with me? Honestly, the buddhist nun is a bit of a nightmare, but I know why or how she's stirring up this level of character defectiveness. I cannot seem to extricate myself from the downward spiral where she pulls me aside in the morning to explain to me that I'm angry and confrontational and I respond by becoming angry and confrotational.
It's no good, the emotional hangovers are BRUTAL and I did not vacate my last hostile living situation to move into another one. Clearly, G.O.D has a lesson for me that I failed to learn the first time around, so we're going for it again.
G.O.D-
Please, for the love of all that is Holy and True, show me what it is you want me to learn in this situation so I can do the damn thing and get on with my life. And please, again for the love of all that is Holy and True, make it obvious.
Can I get a witness? Whoop whoop!
Ingenue
Sunday, May 3, 2009
I don't know how...I don't know why.....
I feel amazing today. Like, really fantastic. I'm working seven days in a row, I haven't showered since Friday (it's Sunday morning), but I feel better than I have in a while. I feel cute (thanks to my favorite slouchy hat which covers up seriously grungy hair and brings the adorable all at the same time), my muscles are presently in love with me (thanks to Exercise TV) and I am happy. Fancy that!
Today is not the sort of day I would have planned out for myself. I'm technically on duty at the jobsite, but I have more freedom to wander and catch a meeting and drop off my laundry and all that happy horseshit. Yesterday I felt completely LOCKED DOWN and I had a really hard time accepting the fact that I was going to have a 13 hour workday, ON A FREAKING SATURDAY, when Times Square was just outside my door filled with happy, joyous, and free tourists who had NO FUCKING IDEA how much I was suffering mere feet away from their joviality.
This is where my head goes when I am in Active Resistance Mode. It doesn't matter what I'm resisting, form does not follow function in this case. It could be that my pedicure is taking too long. It could be a dinner where 10 people too many showed up, and I wanted it to be intimate and cozy. It could be a seventeen hour work day, or it could be a day off where nobody else wants to play.
Active Resistance Mode is simply me finding my body in one place, and my mind wishing it were somewhere else. I start daydreaming, and then I start mentally conniving, and then I start silently begging, and next comes the fuming. After a few hours of all of this inner dialogue I take it to the streets and start shouting at whoever I've decided Is. To. Blame. for the fact that I am being held somewhere against my will.
It's pretty fucking painful, I can tell you that much. It's an even more horrible headspace now that I rarely occupy it. I've had a taste of freedom and surrender and whenever I lock myself back up it's completely unbearable because I know all to well what's on the other side of the bars.....
Today, I surrendered to the Universe and the Universe surrendered itself to me. Off to enjoy my dirty hair and my sunlit spirit.
Construction Kisses,
Ingenue
Today is not the sort of day I would have planned out for myself. I'm technically on duty at the jobsite, but I have more freedom to wander and catch a meeting and drop off my laundry and all that happy horseshit. Yesterday I felt completely LOCKED DOWN and I had a really hard time accepting the fact that I was going to have a 13 hour workday, ON A FREAKING SATURDAY, when Times Square was just outside my door filled with happy, joyous, and free tourists who had NO FUCKING IDEA how much I was suffering mere feet away from their joviality.
This is where my head goes when I am in Active Resistance Mode. It doesn't matter what I'm resisting, form does not follow function in this case. It could be that my pedicure is taking too long. It could be a dinner where 10 people too many showed up, and I wanted it to be intimate and cozy. It could be a seventeen hour work day, or it could be a day off where nobody else wants to play.
Active Resistance Mode is simply me finding my body in one place, and my mind wishing it were somewhere else. I start daydreaming, and then I start mentally conniving, and then I start silently begging, and next comes the fuming. After a few hours of all of this inner dialogue I take it to the streets and start shouting at whoever I've decided Is. To. Blame. for the fact that I am being held somewhere against my will.
It's pretty fucking painful, I can tell you that much. It's an even more horrible headspace now that I rarely occupy it. I've had a taste of freedom and surrender and whenever I lock myself back up it's completely unbearable because I know all to well what's on the other side of the bars.....
Today, I surrendered to the Universe and the Universe surrendered itself to me. Off to enjoy my dirty hair and my sunlit spirit.
Construction Kisses,
Ingenue
Friday, May 1, 2009
Confessions of a Nutrition Junkie
Email I wrote this morning to Heather Strang, Conscious Eating Diva Extroardinare
Subject: I love your mission!
From:
Ingenue
Sent:
Fri 5/01/09 9:02 AM
To:
heather@heatherstrang.com
I am so called to food issues, and alot of what I just read on your blog speaks to the many different nutritional callings I've had over the past few years. I have a VERY difficult time integrating all of the different paths I've taken foodwise into one thing that works for me.
Sugar and hypoglycemia are my main issues so I love the craving free life that low carb gives me. But I grow weary of eggs for breakfast every morning, and a life lived w/o watermelon and Green Smoothies, is no kind of life at all in my opinion.
I loved raw food (ate raw for almost two years) but suffered from daily hypoglycemia symptoms. It was weird, I felt nutrients coursing through me ALL THE TIME, but had wild ups and downs, mood swings and anxiety. I was doing a super high fruit deal at the time though, so there is that.
Organic vegan usually finds me getting down with way too much bread, and I miss lean protein sources, but ethically I feel way superior. :)
And typical S.A.D. just makes me feel depleted in the self esteem department, in every way, but it's so damn easy to slip into.
I feel like I keep getting called back to wheat-free, dairy-free, and definitely SUGAR-free (sugar turns me into a sociopath) as the foundation of a eating plan the works for me. I've been so impressionable for so long, that if anyone else lost 35 pounds with it, I wanted to do it, like yesterday. But these days I'm more concerned with finding out what my body wants, and your blog inspired me greatly to that end.
Cheers,
Ingenue
Subject: I love your mission!
From:
Ingenue
Sent:
Fri 5/01/09 9:02 AM
To:
heather@heatherstrang.com
I am so called to food issues, and alot of what I just read on your blog speaks to the many different nutritional callings I've had over the past few years. I have a VERY difficult time integrating all of the different paths I've taken foodwise into one thing that works for me.
Sugar and hypoglycemia are my main issues so I love the craving free life that low carb gives me. But I grow weary of eggs for breakfast every morning, and a life lived w/o watermelon and Green Smoothies, is no kind of life at all in my opinion.
I loved raw food (ate raw for almost two years) but suffered from daily hypoglycemia symptoms. It was weird, I felt nutrients coursing through me ALL THE TIME, but had wild ups and downs, mood swings and anxiety. I was doing a super high fruit deal at the time though, so there is that.
Organic vegan usually finds me getting down with way too much bread, and I miss lean protein sources, but ethically I feel way superior. :)
And typical S.A.D. just makes me feel depleted in the self esteem department, in every way, but it's so damn easy to slip into.
I feel like I keep getting called back to wheat-free, dairy-free, and definitely SUGAR-free (sugar turns me into a sociopath) as the foundation of a eating plan the works for me. I've been so impressionable for so long, that if anyone else lost 35 pounds with it, I wanted to do it, like yesterday. But these days I'm more concerned with finding out what my body wants, and your blog inspired me greatly to that end.
Cheers,
Ingenue
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Things I Learned on Vacation
It’s only mildly horrifying to me that I was actually AFRAID to take time off. Times is bleak, and my alcoholic mind had me soundly convinced that disappearing from my jobsite for more than 6 hours would result in my immediate replacement. It’s a typical workaholic trap, conning yourself into believing that your work-world will stop spinning in your absence and in your exhaustion holding out that you’re the most disposable employee to ever grace God’s Earth. It’s an easy and predictable way for my disease to rob me of any peace, and I was officially down for the count by the time I put my PTO request in.
Frankly, I would have totally called my bosses and screamed, “HAHAHA! I was just joshing about the vacation. I know how much you need me, I would never dream of leaving you. YOU DO NEED ME, RIGHT?” had I not been completely laid out by a moving vehicle the Monday before my departure. That sufficiently shook me up enough, to call Uncle, to surrender to my need to shut down and turn off.
So Thursday came and I scurried around my disaster of a bedroom trying to put together as many outfits as I could cram into my travel bag. That didn’t work, so I ran out and bought a SECOND travel bag, and stuffed that one full too. You can imagine my surprise when I arrived DC and discovered that I didn’t have a single thing to wear. Best laid plans, right?
I brought my LEED book with me to study on the train. I had a 4 hour ride ahead of me, and I was planning on sucking every last minute of it dry, for maximum productivity. Instead, I found myself aimlessly staring out the window watching trailer parks come and go in my line of vision. I tried to open the book, but it literally jumped right back out of my hands like it was electrically charged. So for the first time in many, many moons I did: Not a Damn Thing. I just sat there and let it be quiet. I sort of let the trauma of the last week wash over me, and through me, under me and everywhere. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but I stayed quiet. Sometimes a girl just need to sit and navel gaze, and when that time comes, nothing else will do.
Lizzie was waiting for me at the train station and although DC was every bit as busy as NYC, it was noticeably happier. I found this profoundly disturbing. Of course I had gone on vacation to enjoy myself, but I was not convinced that I could shuck off my surliness with so little preparation. I immediately lit a cigarette, fixed a fakish smile to my face, and bravely set foot into my vacay.
The first night was a little rocky, because I was still totally confrontational NYC style. A random homeless dude started serenading us and I completely lost my shit.
“Will you just FUCK OFF already? Jesus H! What are you, high? Nobody wants your busted compliments, bro. Fuck off, fuck off, FUCK OFF!”
Lizzie stared at me aghast, but quickly recovered herself like the true lady she is. Telling loudmouthed assholes to fuck off had been my favorite pastime when I left the city, but it didn’t jive so well against the backdrop of Dupont Circle. And yet, I was relaxing despite myself, and this became crystal clear when we sat down to dinner.
It was like I had never eaten a decent meal before in my life, it was fucking mouthwatering, it was…..Chilean Seabass. Miso and Mirin Marinated Chilean Seabass. Why didn’t anybody tell me about Chilean Seabass before? How long has this shit been around? Am I the last to know everything?
I was so impressed with Chilean Seabass that I had it for dinner for EVERY night of my vacation. I tried to have it for breakfast one day too, but that didn’t pan out.
Friday was much sweeter, more gentle. Lizzie went to work and I stayed behind in her completely DOPE apartment. Her building had an unbelievable gym in it (which oddly none of the other tenants seemed interested in) so I spent a few hours down there, getting my tone on. I went to Whole Foods and got down with some organic, and I strolled in the sunshine. Strolling rocks, fyi. I usually hit Broadway in a full-blown gallop, but I think DC seduced me back into the sauntering fold.
Anyways….
Lizzie got home from work and we motored off to my second DC meeting. We got dinner on the waterfront (more Chilean Seabass, WHAT?!?!?) and then hit a hookah bar. I can’t remember who brought up the psychic idea first, but whoever thought it up deserves all of the gold stars in the universe because that shit BLEW MY HEAD APART.
She was Lebanese with bleached blonde hair and a wonky eye (which I thought lent tremendous credibility to the whole scenario) and the second she took hold of my palms, she knew everything there was to know about me.
She knew that I have an unquenchable appetite for tall, dark, and handsome, bad boys. (Who are apparently no good for me)
She knew that I have a love, passion, and fear for my writing.
She knew that I was lacking the confidence to pursue anything creative as a career front.
She knew that I have a big, big problem with shopping and spending.
She knew that I have a big, big problem with stress and aggravation.
She told me:
None of the men around me are really worth my time right now.
Just after my birthday a blonde man will be coming who is a match for me (I’ll recognize him because I will find him boring, but she swears that’s a good thing)
It’ll be 2 or 3 years easy before I have the confidence to live my destiny and create for a living.
I’ll be back in school by the fall.
I’ll live into my 90’s (which kind of scares the bejesus out of me. I’ve always looked forward to dying young. Hmmm.)
Lizzie almost fell out of her chair a few times, and I just sort of sat there with my jaw on the ground. It was a magical thing, but not always happy or safe. Her biggest revelation was that construction was a very temporary occupation for me. She stressed again and again that money isn’t everything, and the work I’m doing now is NOT MY CALLING. Seeing as I’ve been actively killing myself to make my job work out for me, I wasn’t too thrilled to hear that. She said nine more months and then I would have to quit. They’ll throw money at me, and I’ll have to decide what’s more important, money or my wellbeing.
We started scribbling down our prophecies when we got home and planning out Saturday…..
To be continued….
Frankly, I would have totally called my bosses and screamed, “HAHAHA! I was just joshing about the vacation. I know how much you need me, I would never dream of leaving you. YOU DO NEED ME, RIGHT?” had I not been completely laid out by a moving vehicle the Monday before my departure. That sufficiently shook me up enough, to call Uncle, to surrender to my need to shut down and turn off.
So Thursday came and I scurried around my disaster of a bedroom trying to put together as many outfits as I could cram into my travel bag. That didn’t work, so I ran out and bought a SECOND travel bag, and stuffed that one full too. You can imagine my surprise when I arrived DC and discovered that I didn’t have a single thing to wear. Best laid plans, right?
I brought my LEED book with me to study on the train. I had a 4 hour ride ahead of me, and I was planning on sucking every last minute of it dry, for maximum productivity. Instead, I found myself aimlessly staring out the window watching trailer parks come and go in my line of vision. I tried to open the book, but it literally jumped right back out of my hands like it was electrically charged. So for the first time in many, many moons I did: Not a Damn Thing. I just sat there and let it be quiet. I sort of let the trauma of the last week wash over me, and through me, under me and everywhere. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but I stayed quiet. Sometimes a girl just need to sit and navel gaze, and when that time comes, nothing else will do.
Lizzie was waiting for me at the train station and although DC was every bit as busy as NYC, it was noticeably happier. I found this profoundly disturbing. Of course I had gone on vacation to enjoy myself, but I was not convinced that I could shuck off my surliness with so little preparation. I immediately lit a cigarette, fixed a fakish smile to my face, and bravely set foot into my vacay.
The first night was a little rocky, because I was still totally confrontational NYC style. A random homeless dude started serenading us and I completely lost my shit.
“Will you just FUCK OFF already? Jesus H! What are you, high? Nobody wants your busted compliments, bro. Fuck off, fuck off, FUCK OFF!”
Lizzie stared at me aghast, but quickly recovered herself like the true lady she is. Telling loudmouthed assholes to fuck off had been my favorite pastime when I left the city, but it didn’t jive so well against the backdrop of Dupont Circle. And yet, I was relaxing despite myself, and this became crystal clear when we sat down to dinner.
It was like I had never eaten a decent meal before in my life, it was fucking mouthwatering, it was…..Chilean Seabass. Miso and Mirin Marinated Chilean Seabass. Why didn’t anybody tell me about Chilean Seabass before? How long has this shit been around? Am I the last to know everything?
I was so impressed with Chilean Seabass that I had it for dinner for EVERY night of my vacation. I tried to have it for breakfast one day too, but that didn’t pan out.
Friday was much sweeter, more gentle. Lizzie went to work and I stayed behind in her completely DOPE apartment. Her building had an unbelievable gym in it (which oddly none of the other tenants seemed interested in) so I spent a few hours down there, getting my tone on. I went to Whole Foods and got down with some organic, and I strolled in the sunshine. Strolling rocks, fyi. I usually hit Broadway in a full-blown gallop, but I think DC seduced me back into the sauntering fold.
Anyways….
Lizzie got home from work and we motored off to my second DC meeting. We got dinner on the waterfront (more Chilean Seabass, WHAT?!?!?) and then hit a hookah bar. I can’t remember who brought up the psychic idea first, but whoever thought it up deserves all of the gold stars in the universe because that shit BLEW MY HEAD APART.
She was Lebanese with bleached blonde hair and a wonky eye (which I thought lent tremendous credibility to the whole scenario) and the second she took hold of my palms, she knew everything there was to know about me.
She knew that I have an unquenchable appetite for tall, dark, and handsome, bad boys. (Who are apparently no good for me)
She knew that I have a love, passion, and fear for my writing.
She knew that I was lacking the confidence to pursue anything creative as a career front.
She knew that I have a big, big problem with shopping and spending.
She knew that I have a big, big problem with stress and aggravation.
She told me:
None of the men around me are really worth my time right now.
Just after my birthday a blonde man will be coming who is a match for me (I’ll recognize him because I will find him boring, but she swears that’s a good thing)
It’ll be 2 or 3 years easy before I have the confidence to live my destiny and create for a living.
I’ll be back in school by the fall.
I’ll live into my 90’s (which kind of scares the bejesus out of me. I’ve always looked forward to dying young. Hmmm.)
Lizzie almost fell out of her chair a few times, and I just sort of sat there with my jaw on the ground. It was a magical thing, but not always happy or safe. Her biggest revelation was that construction was a very temporary occupation for me. She stressed again and again that money isn’t everything, and the work I’m doing now is NOT MY CALLING. Seeing as I’ve been actively killing myself to make my job work out for me, I wasn’t too thrilled to hear that. She said nine more months and then I would have to quit. They’ll throw money at me, and I’ll have to decide what’s more important, money or my wellbeing.
We started scribbling down our prophecies when we got home and planning out Saturday…..
To be continued….
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
M*therf*cking M*nday.
I’m back in the normal NYC hustle and bustle after five blissful days of vacation. It’s alright, I suppose. I seem to have retained some of the peaceful equanimity I picked up in DC, and I certainly had a mind-expanding spiritual experience. Mind-expanding spiritual experiences should accompany EVERY vacation or you really haven’t gotten your money’s worth, in my opinion. Trust.
But before there was Paid Time Off there was the impending Nervous Breakdown. I’ve been as forthright and honest as I could be about the fact that the last few months for me were holy shit storms of stress and aggravation (almost entirely work-related). Well, last week, just when I was convinced it was as bad as it could possibly get, it got worse.
Mondays are rarely awesome, but some Mondays set a tone for the week so outrageously horrible, that you find yourself praying for a quick and merciful death in lieu of the work week you find yourself facing. I had that very Monday. The day started with typical client complaints because I was trying to schedule inconvenient but necessary construction into their occupied space. So I gave up trying to get my workers where they needed to go and then my bosses RIPPED ME NEW ASSHOLES for not aggressively scheduling my work fast enough. It was raining and cold and I dressed for sunshine. I was four days off sugar and trying not to drink coffee, so I couldn’t really articulate my standard quick responses, and it was noticed. And commented on, frequently. I ended up just grinding the work day out. I absolutely could not wait to get home so I skipped the AA meeting, and went straight for the subway. I got off at my stop, and started trudging home with my head down against the rain when some Asshole in a beat up Toyota decided to bounce me off his windshield.
I got hit by a fucking car? WHAT?!?!? Did that really happen? Am I alive? Am I hurt? No, I’m…..what the fuck am I feeling right now………oh that’s right, ANNOYED.
The cops came, the firemen came, the ambulance came, and 40 minutes later I was allowed to continue walking home in the rain. The Asshole never got a ticket, but I was extremely lucky to have not been killed, so I let it be. I had only been home, shaking, for a few hours when I got a mildy poisonous text message from a newly sober girl who I had agreed to collaborate with on a recovery book. She had arranged for us to meet with a literary agent the next day (that meeting was set weeks ago) but decided to cancel the meeting, using my car accident as an excuse, until we could “get on the same page”. I used the cancellation of the meeting as an excuse to liberate myself from a book proposal that was just not sitting right in my conscience.
The long and short of it is, I had seduced myself with dreams of book related fame and glory (and an escape from construction). And she was such a talented writer in her own right, that it was hard not to get excited about the idea of what we could create together. But something kept needling me in the dark hours of the night, and the more I ignored it, the more signs of strain started popping up in our burgeoning partnership. At that moment, it became pretty undeniable. I'm in no position to be telling other sober women how to live happy, useful lives. I'm certainly in no position to be collecting money off of my proposed "solutions". I am still, obviously, trudging away to learn how to do that for myself. I know that I have books in me, but that's going to happen in Divine Time, not according to a schedule I try to force on myself.
I sat on the edge of my bed and tried to tally up my day. Gnarly, shitty work day, and I would rather carve out my eyeballs than go back. Fantasy book deal completely SHUT DOWN by me, no less. And hit by a car. If my karma is now bad enough for me to be getting hit by cars, what kind of a realistic life expectancy can I have in NYC? Maybe 6 months? A year? How does one go about spiritually rebounding from an experience like this?
I took Tuesday off, and thank everything that is Holy and True, I had scheduled a vacation for that Thursday. Wednesday was spent at work showing off my bruises and contemplating the deeper meaning of what had just happened. Was my HP telling me to LITERALLY check myself before I wrecked myself? My soul’s radar may not be the strongest, but it is there. And past experience has revealed to me, that when everything in my life goes fucking BOOM at the same time, it’s because I’ve strayed too far from Divine Will for me. My course is always in need of correction at that time, and this time around I suppose, the Holy Powers That Be decided a car/body collision was the only way to snap me out of my workaholic trance.
So I decided to surrender, yet again, to God’s Will. I prayed all day, I prayed all night, and the next day, and the day after that, for him to show me what exactly he had in mind for me. I promised to take his guidance seriously this time, and set aside my own ambitions and agendas.
Ask and ye shall receive, no? I got the divine instructions, over the next five days of my vacation. Jesus, I was really getting ready to sell myself short there. And that, kids, is the moral of my story. My meager mortal plans for myself are nowhere near as fitting, amazing, and BIG as the plans of my higher power. If I stick with my will, I end up with fuckall. I surrender to The Only Will that Really Matters Because He Always Wins Anyways, I get the power and the glory and the kingdom. Forever and ever, man.
Who knew?
Ingenue
But before there was Paid Time Off there was the impending Nervous Breakdown. I’ve been as forthright and honest as I could be about the fact that the last few months for me were holy shit storms of stress and aggravation (almost entirely work-related). Well, last week, just when I was convinced it was as bad as it could possibly get, it got worse.
Mondays are rarely awesome, but some Mondays set a tone for the week so outrageously horrible, that you find yourself praying for a quick and merciful death in lieu of the work week you find yourself facing. I had that very Monday. The day started with typical client complaints because I was trying to schedule inconvenient but necessary construction into their occupied space. So I gave up trying to get my workers where they needed to go and then my bosses RIPPED ME NEW ASSHOLES for not aggressively scheduling my work fast enough. It was raining and cold and I dressed for sunshine. I was four days off sugar and trying not to drink coffee, so I couldn’t really articulate my standard quick responses, and it was noticed. And commented on, frequently. I ended up just grinding the work day out. I absolutely could not wait to get home so I skipped the AA meeting, and went straight for the subway. I got off at my stop, and started trudging home with my head down against the rain when some Asshole in a beat up Toyota decided to bounce me off his windshield.
I got hit by a fucking car? WHAT?!?!? Did that really happen? Am I alive? Am I hurt? No, I’m…..what the fuck am I feeling right now………oh that’s right, ANNOYED.
The cops came, the firemen came, the ambulance came, and 40 minutes later I was allowed to continue walking home in the rain. The Asshole never got a ticket, but I was extremely lucky to have not been killed, so I let it be. I had only been home, shaking, for a few hours when I got a mildy poisonous text message from a newly sober girl who I had agreed to collaborate with on a recovery book. She had arranged for us to meet with a literary agent the next day (that meeting was set weeks ago) but decided to cancel the meeting, using my car accident as an excuse, until we could “get on the same page”. I used the cancellation of the meeting as an excuse to liberate myself from a book proposal that was just not sitting right in my conscience.
The long and short of it is, I had seduced myself with dreams of book related fame and glory (and an escape from construction). And she was such a talented writer in her own right, that it was hard not to get excited about the idea of what we could create together. But something kept needling me in the dark hours of the night, and the more I ignored it, the more signs of strain started popping up in our burgeoning partnership. At that moment, it became pretty undeniable. I'm in no position to be telling other sober women how to live happy, useful lives. I'm certainly in no position to be collecting money off of my proposed "solutions". I am still, obviously, trudging away to learn how to do that for myself. I know that I have books in me, but that's going to happen in Divine Time, not according to a schedule I try to force on myself.
I sat on the edge of my bed and tried to tally up my day. Gnarly, shitty work day, and I would rather carve out my eyeballs than go back. Fantasy book deal completely SHUT DOWN by me, no less. And hit by a car. If my karma is now bad enough for me to be getting hit by cars, what kind of a realistic life expectancy can I have in NYC? Maybe 6 months? A year? How does one go about spiritually rebounding from an experience like this?
I took Tuesday off, and thank everything that is Holy and True, I had scheduled a vacation for that Thursday. Wednesday was spent at work showing off my bruises and contemplating the deeper meaning of what had just happened. Was my HP telling me to LITERALLY check myself before I wrecked myself? My soul’s radar may not be the strongest, but it is there. And past experience has revealed to me, that when everything in my life goes fucking BOOM at the same time, it’s because I’ve strayed too far from Divine Will for me. My course is always in need of correction at that time, and this time around I suppose, the Holy Powers That Be decided a car/body collision was the only way to snap me out of my workaholic trance.
So I decided to surrender, yet again, to God’s Will. I prayed all day, I prayed all night, and the next day, and the day after that, for him to show me what exactly he had in mind for me. I promised to take his guidance seriously this time, and set aside my own ambitions and agendas.
Ask and ye shall receive, no? I got the divine instructions, over the next five days of my vacation. Jesus, I was really getting ready to sell myself short there. And that, kids, is the moral of my story. My meager mortal plans for myself are nowhere near as fitting, amazing, and BIG as the plans of my higher power. If I stick with my will, I end up with fuckall. I surrender to The Only Will that Really Matters Because He Always Wins Anyways, I get the power and the glory and the kingdom. Forever and ever, man.
Who knew?
Ingenue
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