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I walked into my therapists office with the intention of closing out, thanking Julie for her help, moving on. I'd read the situation incorrectly, thought I was being shoved out the door due to the policies of the non-profit. I read it wrong. Seems I often read things wrong.
I painted today, first in months. I cut the thick black acid-free paper I used to bind the book; it's sweet. Very cool. Then I painted the cover. It is beautiful – it sings – though it is not balanced. A great gift. She loved it. And I love that.
I lied tonight. Not a lie of commission but rather one of omission – I was not completely honest in a twelve step support group. I know one of the members in another setting, another context, and I was unable to tell the whole story.
I can split hairs and say that I was completely honest – I didn't lie, not in that way – my lie was that I wasn't true to myself, I didn't do what I really needed to do, I didn't use that group as is my intent. Why waste time? Why go if I cannot be honest?
I teed off on Richard: No matter what I do or where I turn, the son of a bitch is always right there – RIGHT FUCKING THERE – I cannot get away from him; I walk outside my door and there he is, I walk to the dock and there he is, this fuck has no boundaries, I don't know if it's intentional but I don't give a fuck, I'm so fucking done, I've been polite, I've held off way, way too long.
Tonight I let fly.
And lo – it was good.
Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone.
I was up late and slept late, slept long, using sleep as a refuge now rather than a restorative, or maybe both.
Laundry today, a bit of clean clothing, four loads. A small step.
Maybe I ought to take Randi's advice and get rid of all this stuff. Just give it away, puter stuff, clothing, anything that I don't use.
Get to a simpler life.
I can't seem to sell it, I just don't have the jam to even begin.
What was I thinking?
I was going to be Mr. eBay seller. Yeah, good luck with that dream.
I jumped deep into Richard's shit Friday night, blasted him in about seventeen different ways for forty-two different reasons; wish you'd have been there, it was sortof amusing I'd guess, though I suspect that Richard didn't find it thus. I'd held it in all through his harassing me and harassing you and Channe, I've done all I could to be polite but Friday ... Not pretty. I suspect I'll owe him an amends of some kind; the problem with me is that I don't have an 'Off' switch once it starts flowing, I sortof don't trust myself, etc and etc.
If you don't want it, I'll put it into the back of my pickup, drop it at the AA club, some new guy would be glad to have it – it's a junk bike to us but to some fuck without anything...
The neighborhood a lesser place for your not being in it just now. Mick probably wants Bennie to come over so he (Mick) can give him (Bennie) food that you (you) wouldn't want him (Mick) to give him (Bennie); I (me) probably want to give you (you) some shit, Richard (dickbrain) probably wants to show you his dick.
Meeting with Uriah, and busting his chops when he was giving me all that jive, trying to hide out – two hours we spent together, in the sun and breeze on the lake, Texas in autumn – not a bad way to do step work. Jesus.
And then I burned those CD's for Todd, a lot of time messing around with it but I finally got it right; best part is that now it's set up to do again, easily.
And meeting with Mike, damned if he isn't a working fool, always willing to do what's needed, ready to rock and roll.
So here I am, another day zammed on by, jammed on by, it was here but not for long and now it's gone. Up late and then up, tired, for the noon meeting. Stayed up, went to see my psychotherapist, back into that, and maybe into the swing of it – time will tell on that. A great chicken burrito at the tacky, sleazy, greazy tex-mex joint, and dos jalapeños.
Home, napped, woke sick from the hot food, indigestion. Ten pm, met Jason, finished my day there. Gave him that painting, really enjoyed his response to that gift – he loved it.
I didn't get out until the seven pm Thursday night meeting, over at the church; I got there early, spent time talking with a black gay Christian woman who I really like, very strong, very honest, very damaged from what she's been through. And I got to talk with Laura, after the meeting, and though I didn't want to be, I was and am very attracted to her. I know almost nothing about her, it's total foolishness, but there it is.
Then to meet Todd, and listened with him to Joe and Charlie talk about step three.
And then home.
Jesus fucking christ!
You if anyone have heard me bad-mouth Mister Paul fucking McCartney as a big pussified jerkoff, but the guy has fucking balls. Maybe divorce was the best thing to happen to this fuck. I've not liked much if anything I've heard since he split from his old song-writing buddy(s) but I damn sure love this single – “Nothing Too Much Just Out of Sight” – it's ragged and rugged, the fucking thing bleeds and howls and moans. I'm gonna buy the album as soon as it's out.
Imagine being excited over a Paul McCartney album!?!
But I am.
Dante and I went to see LaFave, at Threadgills. LaFave can of course get pretty much whoever he wants as sidemen. Being as how it's Austin, you're going to have a great fucking band.
Quite a show.
Dante's sister showed up, and the guy she's dating, nice people, or so it seemed to me. By the end of the night, she's flirting with me when he's not looking, winking so hard she like to broke her eye. And she's smokin' hot! 29 years old, flashing eyes...
You want to have women chasing after you? Decide you're done with it all...
I'm considering cutting Bob loose, as my sponsor. It'll be difficult to find another, I've gotten used to him and his methods and his care. But it seems to me that he doesn't give a fuck about me, that I annoy him, etc and etc. And fuck that; I don't need to play.
I'll have to write about it, and talk with someone else – maybe Jim Cooley – before I take it to Bob, see what the fuck is going on with him. If he don't want it I don't either, and I maybe don't anyway.
I'm tired of playing games.
Todd has been around, he knows most of it, most of what I tell guys as I spin through what I know of this step.
I left him with “Think well before taking this vital step, making sure we were ready, that we could abandon ourselves utterly to god.”
'Utterly' is such a large word.
'Sincerely' is also, sincerely and utterly are maybe the largest words in Step Three, as laid out in the text.
They get my attention.
I attempt to pass that focus on to the guys I sponsor, sometimes with success.
Todd did hear me.
It really was huge, and is, this sponsorship thing today, that tacky little room, and that doesn't matter at all, what matters is what happens in that room and it surely happened tonight.
It's an intimate relationship, to be sure.
And I cannot 'do' intimate relationships, not with women, or so it seems to me – that's been my experience. But I damn sure do have close relationships with people through sponsorship, both sides of the chair.
It requires that both parties show up.
Mike showed up tonight. And so did I.
Willingness, over time, is all that's needed.
This day was full and this day was good, full of good, I guess.
The noon Big Book study I led. The bike ride home, in the rain – fun.
The hour spent with Julie, psychotherapy.
Tacky tex-mex dining, the great, fun conversation with Heve Stuffer.
Downloading the new OpenOffice suite, installing same – cool.
Angie's band – three great musicians. This band has rich potential, all the pieces are there, rough but ready. Angie is spectacular. A great show.
Yoga on the boat dock.
Sponsor time, Jason. He's a worker, he's so fucking willing, we dug in deep tonight
The most important piece of my day was ...
Maybe speaking with Laura, at the Thursday night meeting.
I've this stupid crush on her, have had since the day I saw her; she's pretty and she's broken and she's bright.
Crushes make no sense, in fact they make nonsense, especially in the context of that meeting; that room is full of friends, the sort of friends who know exactly what I mean when I say “I love you”.
I couldn't tell Laura that, it'd be sticky and stupid, the words freighted with so much more than real love.
A slow, slow day, and uneventful.
Noon AA meeting. That wacko broad from NYC trying to lay more guilt on my door – I'm not buying. Stephanie trying desperately to lay some of her neediness onto me – nunh-uh, go find someone else.
And then home. Checked mail – TONS of mail, hadn't picked it up in a long time. A movie from NetFlix – yeah! I'll watch it later. A short yoga practice in the soft night – nice.
And that's pretty much it. Nothing much to say for this Friday.
I've sandbagged the doors, I'm in here depressed...
I wrote daily last November, didn't paint daily but I did paint many days, and practiced yoga, as I am now; if I write, paint, practice (and shower, shave, go to the odd AA meeting here or there, meet with my sponsor and my sponsees), that'll make for a busy month. If anything drops off, I'm pretty determined that it not be the writing or my yoga practice, maybe I'll end up painting only some, like last year?
We'll see, next month.
I'll let you know how it all pans out, perhaps from a hospital room at Psychiatric Emergency Services....
I'm just in from practicing.
I'm beat. Tired. Worn. Maybe able to sleep. (??!!??)
I know – now, over these long months I've learned some things – I know not to give 100 percent, much less 110 percent, because if/when I do that I've nothing left in the tank for tomorrow. And I've got no jam at all, I'm just blown out.
So I didn't do that tonight.
Maybe 90 percent. 95? 93? I don't know.
I only know I'm beaten down.
This hundred is going on both – I'm too tired to write another, I'm just done in.
Thoughts of Pamela taking over my day – I just hate this.
Will I never let this go?
A powerful fantasy. It's sick, is what it is, a foolishness.
A seductive hold upon me.
Back here in real life – a good day. The best in it my regular Monday night meeting with Todd, and his progression using the template from Joe and Charley, snaring more of his ego this way, more freedom from resentment.
She really rattled his world. No – he really got rattled; that's more accurate. Though she is a dangerous woman, for a fact.
I'm not sure I have one hundred words in me tonight.
I wrote PLENTY in an email to my sister, went long there, and it was good.
This is important: I bought a bunch of fresh vegetables and made my first smoothie in probably three months. How did I get out of that habit? But I did. I've just swallowed it down, and I'm sure my body is happy, I know that I am.
I can live on rice and beans only so long. I mean, yeah, it's great food, peasant food, and good for me and all, but ...
He's the best hope for America. So much rides on his thin shoulders. He talks about hope. I dare not believe in anyone who can even get near the big chair, not anymore.
But I almost can't help but believing him. I almost sortof love him. I don't want to.
But he's a real American. A real citizen. The best of us. Bright and beautiful and graceful and cunning yet decent. The whole world wants to love us, they want to love America again, and he is the perfect picture of who everyone wants to love. The best of us.
I'm getting sortof cranked up, November just around the corner, the word festival of lunacy. Also, I've somewhat decided upon the lunacy of painting the kitchen, but not how you think when you just read that.
I have 28 cabinet doors and drawer facings in my bitty kitchen, or 25, but I think 28. (Too lazy to go check just now.) I'm thinking that it would surely rock to paint the face of each of these surfaces.
28 different paintings in my kitchen. Cool.
And then I'd have to find two more doors. Maybe the microwave door? The toaster oven?
Wake up call from Mike; roll out of bed, shower, noon meeting. Great meeting.
Afternoon bike ride, laying in the sun, phone calls. October sunshine, without a shirt, sunning myself. A perfect day.
Home, rested some, read some, talked with Daniel – no California until December – and then to 5:30 meeting, and some socializing after.
A great yoga practice, the river still, the air clear, downtown sparkling across the lake.
Knocked on Mick's door, together we went to the 10:30, led by Chip, and wacky as hell. Then home, and talking Step Three with Mick.
A great day.
Nothing much, just another impossibly beautiful day in the finest city in America, where I feel most at home.
Austin fits me so comfortably, it's like clothing that fits well, not new maybe but high quality, it never goes out of style, it's comfortable as that nice, soft flannel shirt you've got, and as warm.
Austin is like wearing a boot that needn't be broken in, fits perfectly right off, but then, sortof impossibly, fits better over time.
Austin is like dating a woman who's easy to be with, she doesn't rag on you, she's pretty and smart and fun.
November approaches. My big month. I write -- a lot -- every November, since 2002. This year I intend to write daily AND paint daily. And to keep my yoga practice current, and my other responsibilities also; meet with the guys I sponsor, meet with my sponsor, keep psych meds and vitamins et all on the line, see my therapist. Those are the biggies, and I expect to catch a few AA meetings along the way, enjoy the beauty in Austin in autumn, etc and etc. We'll see. And soon – each day it sneaks a bit closer, I'm wired.
So I call my mother, casually, a short call, “Hi Mom, what's shakin'?” And she says “I'm sitting here, licking my wounds.” and I'm like “Um, yeah? Whatcha mean?” Turns out she has fluid in one lung.
Fortuitously, she had a doctors appointment this morning; her doc examined her, told her she had water in the lung, gave her some pills to get rid of excess water.
Most likely, the doc thinks she has congestive heart problems – if the doc thought that anything else was going on she'd have immediately put her on antibiotics. I think.
I met with Mike tonight. It was great fun, as it usually is. He's smart as I am, nuts as I am, driven as I am, sensitive as I am, pained as I am.
He's got years of yoga. I'm a newcomer.
I've got years clean and sober. He's a newcomer.
He's a yoga master, I'm a novice.
There is no way to be a master of the steps.
We're on equal footing there.
I've just been doing it a few days longer than he has, is all.
Time isn't as important as it seems.
One day at a time.
I was in bed, dozing in and out, thought I'd best write these words or they'd maybe not get writ. Written. Whatever.
I'm just all sorts of under the weather, somehow, I'm guessing that allergies are kicking my butt but I just don't know, really, I do know I'm worn down and torn down and funked and punked.
I'm sore and I'm tore, also.
I've sworn that I'm torn.
I swear I'm on a tear.
I don't know why.
I'm not sure I'm coming or going if either, I know not whence, nor whither, if hither, or yon.
So I called Patrick, after midnight, because everything seemed left-handed and outsided and wrong-footed and shadowed ominously, the music in the soundtrack of my head was dark and heavy and frightening. And with the word 'everything' in the preceding sentence what I really meant was me, and yes, I do know that I am not everything and am not even anything, really, in the grand scheme, and we talked about that, and much else, because of course he was up and he's my friend and he's nuts as I am, though thankfully he was on a better course than I.
She stepped into my yoga practice to congratulate me for having one, to ask how long I'd been at it, then listed the benefits of a yoga practice, the first of which is that I'm clearly bright enough to never take any medications.
I would never use the words 'fat dumb cunt' when describing a fat dumb cunt, so I'll say instead that she's rude. Stupid. Dangerous.
Dangerous in that voices like hers keep people from seeking help they need.
“Never? No one? For any reason?” She was certain; a person must never, ever take any medications.
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