Tag Archives: addiction

For: The Pineapples & Crew 

16 Aug

This is a letter to my Crew…but it could be for yours too. 

…Times is hard, and you don’t need me to tell you that, the shit is being flung at us from all directions…we are all too aware of the circumstances. 

…And you know who is getting you through it: from your higher power to your bestie and Boo. I know my team, and I lean on them as they lean on me…a precarious fucking tent of life, struggling to make it from one day to the next, and I am so constantly grateful for them sticking out in the rain with me. 

…And I am constantly amazed by their strength and what we can accomplish together by throwing an entire team at whatever-the-hell new horror crosses our collective paths. I am honored by these people in their acceptance and support. I love these people, for all the reasons,  especially for what they consider their foibles and failings. 

I trust them. 

I trust them. 

I trust them. 

I say that three times,  because I trust almost no one. 

…For good reason.

…For the reasons that have ended other friendships,  and still continue to. 

…But not these ones. 

It is very very difficult, as I walk away from another unworthy friendship,  to continue to stay open to others. After all, trust is trust. Period. It is there or not. There is no gray area in opening your heart and soul to a person. And betrayal…it seems to pop up in one’s history time and again. One says, “I should have known,  I should have been more guarded. It’s my own damn fault. ”

….But instilling trust should not be a fault. 

Why do we make it one? 

Why must it be added to all the shit in the already long list of “be careful,  be watchful, be suspicious, beware? ”

That list is so fucking long…I’m tired of the fucking list. We are tired of the fucking list. It is exhausting and always there…never ends, never depleats, only is added onto. Constantly. 

…And as I all but have disappeared from Facebook,  and lack the ability to tweet, and attempt to align my Google Stream toward blissful innocents of all politics and horror-alerts, I see things like Nanette on Netflix, and am so arrested I watch it twice so I can hear it again. 

…It is brilliant and bold and beautiful and horrible. It is art of trauma in the being of one human, and it is real. And it is representative of a million stories…all totally different.

We are so many walking wounded. 

…And while the predators continue to circle new prey,  and we struggle to fight through our daily rough patches, I just wish that everyone could have the prayers and support that I am so blessed to have. It hasn’t and won’t prevent the unthinkable that life throws at you, but to have people who are there to help you get up off the ground, and regain some sense of dignity and humanity again. To have people who love you, no matter what…it is everything. 

Today is my 30th day sober. 

…For a variety of reasons, the drying out was a necessity. It will not be a forever-lifestyle, but it will be a serious tasking to monitor and be vigilant about the limitations of. 

…For the rest of my life. 

I’ve known it and ignored it too long. For personal reasons, I was finally pressed to acknowledge that acceptance. I don’t like it,  but I understand it to be, in fact,  the truth.  And I get to add that to my laundry list of broken bits that rattle around in my brain, feeding self doubt and blame and a sense of weakness and frustration. 

…I will never be Bette-Davis-awesome, swilling an entire bottle of whiskey in a sitting,  again.  I, in fact, do have a liver…made of: liver. And as dissapointed as that makes me — that is also a truth. 

…But there is still a group of friends and family on speed dial who pick up, whenever I float a “help, I’m an idiot ” text, who like me anyway. 

They love me,  actually. 

…How amazing is that?!? 

…No matter what!

And that helps. 

…In fact, that makes all of this possible. 

This 30 is to you.

…With love. 

(And devotion.)



The Many Tortures Of “Wanting Things”

13 Aug


Here’s another fun fact:

I have this deep, unwavering desire to own everything the moment I see it. Most especially the kind of crap that no one actually needs.  I will walk into a store and within three minutes find something that I never knew existed, but suddenly realize I cannot possibly live without.

…How can you?!

A pickle peeler?!  I always wanted one of  those! 

This thing de-seeds strawberries?! Score!

At last, a flame-proof kitchen towel that puts fires OUT!

Everyone should have this tummy-tucker, fat-melting belt that zaps you with electric shocks when you relax your gut!

How did we live before the advent of the Bedazzler?

It’s about damn time someone figured out how to remove and convert all my dead skin cells into plant fertilizer!

Finally! A way to microwave bacon!

Goodbye pesky need to touch the egg shells and crack them myself!

…Back when I had cable, I used to watch infomercials by the hour in total wonderment.  Like some people watched our probe landing on Mars.  I never actually purchased the objects, but I confess to much fantasizing of doing so.  Only my pocketbook held me back.  That and the fact I would have to actually wait for it to arrive to my home.  And I don’t like waiting for things.  Besides, by the time it got there, I’d be on this whole other bent of all-consuming desire for a glow-in-the-dark flashlight or something…making past “wants,” but silly errors of my youth.

…And this is why places like Bed, Bath & Beyond are on a list of “enablers” for me, equal to a junkie’s drug-dealer.

The place is just a fortress of sexual purchase enticement, prob’ly only equal to a strip joint for most other people.  It’s horrifying, the things that fly through my brain surrounded with so much junk-ownership possibility.  It’s euphoric and sometimes orgasmic when a certain me turns an aisle corner to face this “thing.”

This “thing!”  Ohhhh, this “thing!”

“…You are beautiful!  What function!  What…multiple forms of use you could be to me!  I love how you sit there and beckon me with your sexy gaze!  I love how you taunt and tease me to touch you…pick you up…oh ‘thing’…’thing!’  I know it may seem fast for you, but I must confess: I love you.”

“…Can we please run away together?  I just know it’ll work.  Picture it: you and me…together in use and finally, between our combination of talents, achieving all that we were meant to achieve on this the earth.  I know we may not seem like the ‘sensible’ fit for some people.  I know that you and I might indeed face prejudice, gossip and judgements…especially when people see you’ve moved in and completely taken over my life as you will.   But they don’t know our love, dear ‘thing.’  They can’t possibly understand how well we fit together, and will question just how badly I really need you.  But I DO, dear ‘thing’…I do.”

This red, hot affair will last all of five to ten seconds, before I become the kind of two-timing asshole they used to feature on Oprah. 

“…Wait, wait!  What’s this??  A new kind of ‘thing’ with multiple usage settings?!  Um…listen, ‘old thing’…it’s been great.  I’ll always remember our time together.  You’ve been a very special part of my life.  But I feel like it’s time we move on.  We’ve changed so much since first we met.  We just aren’t the same people anymore. I know you feel it too.  And I think we should just be friends.”

Multiply that by something like two hours, wherein I am sucked into a wormhole of constant enticements…each greater than the last…and by the time I actually reach the registers I feel like the biggest whore who has ever walked the earth.  My truth-pledges of love mean nothing anymore.  My promises to, “serve” and “protect” are meaningless, flippant, erroneous, falsities.  I am the biggest dick that ever lived…and I feel like the “thing” that finally won actual purchase in the end, knows it.

It knows it.

This “thing” has won for now…but like with any asshole who starts out a new relationship by cheating on the first one…the “thing” which I’m married to now, knows it is only a matter of time.  Their days are clearly numbered. How long before they have changed in my eye from that “beautiful young thing of desire” to “the old hat banished to the back of the junk drawer”…one cannot know for sure.  But that it WILL happen, even I can’t be chump enough to lie about.

It’s safer for me, in the end, to just avoid these situations altogether.  I know my weakness, I am aware of my “addiction.”  With time, I have learned to conquer it, to stay the hell AWAY from stores of this ilk which suck me in with all their sexual enticements.

…But every once in a while, even a Holy man will falter. We are but human, after all.

And this is all to say:

“Bless me Father for I have sinned.  It’s been two weeks since my last confession…”



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