Usually at this time Riley will begin whining to go out. His last walk of the night is around 1:00. Sometimes later if I'm working or I get caught up killing zombies and lose track. Sometimes he is very patient and other times I get really irritated because he's been non-stop quietly whining in the background for 1/2 hour and he knows it drives me crazy. I know it sounds like I'm a bad Daddy making him wait, but Riley has figured out he doesn't need to whine when he has to go out, he does it when he wants to. I can walk him at 10pm and he'll start the whine at 12:30 because "it's time". How he's knows it's almost 1:00 is beyond me. Dog secrets.
In the summer, that last walk is sooo nice, because even though it's NYC, my neighborhood is relatively quiet that late. Except on weekends. I love to take Riley all around the neighborhood. Sometimes we walk for blocks. On recycle nights we (I) look for good furniture being thrown out. I rarely take anything home, I just like to have a look and think about what I could turn it in to. Possibilities. Late at night, all alone with your dog, they are endless.
In the winter that walk can be downright painful. It is usually decidedly shorter. Maybe once around the block if it's too cold. We're all business. Pee and poop. Let's git 'er done. But unless I am deathly ill we always make that last walk. Even in a cold winter rain. I can't sleep if I think about him having to go out all night. I can't relax. It's become part of my routine. I need to brush my teeth. I can't go to bed without brushing. I need a couple of big gulps of cold water. I need to pee.
And I need to take my dog for his last walk of the day.
The financing I thought I had in place fell through. 100% because my credit is totally fucked. It's a holdover from my days of active drinking, and it's something that is taking forever to dig out of. I may never get out from under it. And it seems like every time I get a glimmer of hope that the mountain of debt isn't looking quite so horrific, something happens to set me back. This time, it was Riley's operation.
I scraped together whatever cash and credit I had left and then borrowed the rest from my brother. Humiliating. Worse than getting him to co-sign a credit account. But I guess in the end, the universe decided I did not, in fact, need another credit card to pay off. Just a family member.
Riley is recovering, although the after-affects of the operation have made him queasy and slow to want to eat. But I expect he will be coming home tomorrow. Mostly because I can't afford another night of hospital charges. Hopefully, he'll be feeling better and I'll have him back by late afternoon. We may or may not make our regularly scheduled 1:00am walk.
But it will be nice to know that we will. Soon.
Showing posts with label rebuilding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rebuilding. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
Self Help Thursday
In an effort to minimize needing to take multiple days off or having to keep track of what shift I am available on which day, I decided to simplify things and put all of my standing commitments on one day -Thursday.
So Thursday morning I leave the house at around 11:30 and walk across town, about 1/2 an hour, to see my therapist. After that, at 1:00 I walk back across town to be at my Gay-A group to chair a 2:00 meeting. 3-5:00 can be errands or lunch or I may try to get in a work out. Today was lunch. Then I take Riley out for his second walk of the day. After that I walk back across town to the Gay/Lesbian Community Center and meet up with my HIV+ support group. That lasts from 6-8:30, after which I may try to work out if I haven't already, or I sometimes join the POZ guys for dinner. Then I walk back across town to my apartment, where I eat (if I haven't already) and take Riley down five flights of stairs (again) for his last walk of the day.
By this time I'm usually pretty pooped. But I'm not sure if all the walking back and forth from East to West and up and down five flights of stairs has done it, or if it's because I've just spent most of the time of an entire day thinking, talking and evaluating ME, ME, ME!
In any event, my therapy session today was particularly rewarding, and we addressed one of the reasons that I was so keen on starting this round of self-absorbed navel-gazing, and what I hoped to accomplish with it. Rather than trying to preserve an air of mystery about it, and quite frankly, there's not enough people reading to justify that kind of a rating's stunt, I will just go ahead and tell you that my plans to make use of the foster parent certification classes I completed last year are back on, if not the front burner, definitely the middle burner, and if not at full boil, something's definitely bubbling up.
So Thursday morning I leave the house at around 11:30 and walk across town, about 1/2 an hour, to see my therapist. After that, at 1:00 I walk back across town to be at my Gay-A group to chair a 2:00 meeting. 3-5:00 can be errands or lunch or I may try to get in a work out. Today was lunch. Then I take Riley out for his second walk of the day. After that I walk back across town to the Gay/Lesbian Community Center and meet up with my HIV+ support group. That lasts from 6-8:30, after which I may try to work out if I haven't already, or I sometimes join the POZ guys for dinner. Then I walk back across town to my apartment, where I eat (if I haven't already) and take Riley down five flights of stairs (again) for his last walk of the day.
By this time I'm usually pretty pooped. But I'm not sure if all the walking back and forth from East to West and up and down five flights of stairs has done it, or if it's because I've just spent most of the time of an entire day thinking, talking and evaluating ME, ME, ME!
In any event, my therapy session today was particularly rewarding, and we addressed one of the reasons that I was so keen on starting this round of self-absorbed navel-gazing, and what I hoped to accomplish with it. Rather than trying to preserve an air of mystery about it, and quite frankly, there's not enough people reading to justify that kind of a rating's stunt, I will just go ahead and tell you that my plans to make use of the foster parent certification classes I completed last year are back on, if not the front burner, definitely the middle burner, and if not at full boil, something's definitely bubbling up.
Saturday, December 05, 2009
It's Always Darkest ...
I ended up heading across town for my therapy appointment with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Anticipation because I will be glad to have someone to talk with and it is long overdue that I get to work on some of my "issues". Dread because I hate meeting new people. I constantly worry about what I'm saying, how they might react to what I'm about to say, what they actually meant by the things they said. I frequently have several conversations going besides the one I'm actually having.
As it turns out, I found my therapist to be a little odd. And that's a good thing. I like odd. Odd makes me more comfortable. And by odd I mean kind of nerdy. With a whiff of freaky. Like I wouldn't find it the least bit unexpected to discover him some night at a bondage club, tied up with jump ropes and having his completely hairless body flogged and pinched with clothespins. Which is cool. So I was remarkably comfortable pretty quickly. As it turns out, my insurance covers 24 weeks of sessions, so we can look forward to over half a year of ME talking about ME which, as a gay man is pretty much MY favorite subject.
As the weekend unfolded I got a series of phone calls adding days to my work schedule, and while the first two were profitable from an hourly wage standpoint, last nights shift was a holiday party for a financial firm, and they were appropriately generous with their tipping. I made some much needed extra cash, and I have another two days of work ahead of me. I should get a paycheck next Friday that will cover the cost of Riley's kennel stay while I am away for Christmas. There's another looming worry solved. I also had two job interviews on Thursday, and while nothing has come of either of them right away, they were encouraging in that both of the managers I spoke to were suitably enthusiastic about my qualifications.
And well they should be. With the exception of some experience with cost analysis and P&L projections, which I have never done but I have no doubt I could, there's really nothing I haven't done at one time or another when it comes to running a restaurant and nightclub. Scheduling, inventory, payroll, cash management, ordering, event management, interviews, human resources, press releases, menu creation, bar management, POS (point of sale) maintenance. The list goes on and on. In other words, the first person who is smart enough to snap me up and put me back to work full time will be one lucky fucker. I have another interview this afternoon before going in to work, and while I don't necessarily think it is the right job for me, you never know. I am also kind of surprised that I'm getting such a big response all of the sudden from sending out resumes. My phone hasn't rung for a couple of months now and suddenly I'm getting quite a few calls. Maybe the economy is improving after all.
Yesterday I reported to the Health Academy at the NYC Dept. of Health. After reflexively getting in to the line for syphilis testing, I quickly righted myself and lined up for what I actually was there for. I have spent the last couple of weeks taking a Food Protection Course. Yesterday I took the live test, which I passed with a respectable 84%, and I am now a Certified Food Protection supervisor. Not too exciting I will grant you, but a Certified Supervisor is supposed to be on the premises of any restaurant or bar serving food, whenever the business is open. Usually this would be the chef, as well as at least one sous chef, and more than likely the receiving supervisor. But many businesses in NYC also insist that at least the general manager and assistants are certified as well. This lessens the chances that a Health Inspector would show up and find no one on the premises with a certification. It's a Health Department violation and the fine can be hundreds of dollars. Many restaurant owners will ask you if you have your certification during the interview process, and a few of the on-line ads won't even see you unless you are certified. It's a leg up, and quite frankly, at my advanced age anything that helps me get even one leg over my head is a blessing.
I also took some steps to alleviate my financial crisis, and while it was akin to re-arranging the deck chairs on the Titanic, I did manage to shore up the operation at least until the new year. Which means Christmas will come to Whoville after all, and I can take things down from Defcon 2: Panic to Defcon 3: Mild Anxiety.
As it turns out, I found my therapist to be a little odd. And that's a good thing. I like odd. Odd makes me more comfortable. And by odd I mean kind of nerdy. With a whiff of freaky. Like I wouldn't find it the least bit unexpected to discover him some night at a bondage club, tied up with jump ropes and having his completely hairless body flogged and pinched with clothespins. Which is cool. So I was remarkably comfortable pretty quickly. As it turns out, my insurance covers 24 weeks of sessions, so we can look forward to over half a year of ME talking about ME which, as a gay man is pretty much MY favorite subject.
As the weekend unfolded I got a series of phone calls adding days to my work schedule, and while the first two were profitable from an hourly wage standpoint, last nights shift was a holiday party for a financial firm, and they were appropriately generous with their tipping. I made some much needed extra cash, and I have another two days of work ahead of me. I should get a paycheck next Friday that will cover the cost of Riley's kennel stay while I am away for Christmas. There's another looming worry solved. I also had two job interviews on Thursday, and while nothing has come of either of them right away, they were encouraging in that both of the managers I spoke to were suitably enthusiastic about my qualifications.
And well they should be. With the exception of some experience with cost analysis and P&L projections, which I have never done but I have no doubt I could, there's really nothing I haven't done at one time or another when it comes to running a restaurant and nightclub. Scheduling, inventory, payroll, cash management, ordering, event management, interviews, human resources, press releases, menu creation, bar management, POS (point of sale) maintenance. The list goes on and on. In other words, the first person who is smart enough to snap me up and put me back to work full time will be one lucky fucker. I have another interview this afternoon before going in to work, and while I don't necessarily think it is the right job for me, you never know. I am also kind of surprised that I'm getting such a big response all of the sudden from sending out resumes. My phone hasn't rung for a couple of months now and suddenly I'm getting quite a few calls. Maybe the economy is improving after all.
Yesterday I reported to the Health Academy at the NYC Dept. of Health. After reflexively getting in to the line for syphilis testing, I quickly righted myself and lined up for what I actually was there for. I have spent the last couple of weeks taking a Food Protection Course. Yesterday I took the live test, which I passed with a respectable 84%, and I am now a Certified Food Protection supervisor. Not too exciting I will grant you, but a Certified Supervisor is supposed to be on the premises of any restaurant or bar serving food, whenever the business is open. Usually this would be the chef, as well as at least one sous chef, and more than likely the receiving supervisor. But many businesses in NYC also insist that at least the general manager and assistants are certified as well. This lessens the chances that a Health Inspector would show up and find no one on the premises with a certification. It's a Health Department violation and the fine can be hundreds of dollars. Many restaurant owners will ask you if you have your certification during the interview process, and a few of the on-line ads won't even see you unless you are certified. It's a leg up, and quite frankly, at my advanced age anything that helps me get even one leg over my head is a blessing.
I also took some steps to alleviate my financial crisis, and while it was akin to re-arranging the deck chairs on the Titanic, I did manage to shore up the operation at least until the new year. Which means Christmas will come to Whoville after all, and I can take things down from Defcon 2: Panic to Defcon 3: Mild Anxiety.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
What It's All Been About
It started shortly after I found myself once again joining the ranks of the unemployed.
Unlike previous gaps in my work schedule, this time I found that I couldn't really distract myself, nor pass the time embarking on another mid-priced vodkas of the world tour, and along with that went my, see what kinds of pills I can order off the Internet without seeing an actual doctor, research project. Were I a decade younger, I suppose I could have filled up my downtime with random acts of unsafe sex, but we all know how well that worked out for me now don't we?
So it was that my mind turned towards, if not outright charitable endeavors, at least a desire to make good use of my time. One of the cornerstones of recovery in Gay-A is an encouragement to do service, and most people take that to mean in service to fellow alcoholics. That's all well and good, and I did volunteer to decorate one of the anniversary meetings and I cooked for one of the Holiday meetings, I also spoke at a detox ward in a hospital. But I saw this time as an opportunity to expand my reach in to other areas that have always held my attention. And I have been finding myself with an overwhelming desire to "make more" out of the recovery I've found. From The Ashes, indeed ...
That's pretty much how I ended up getting on the Community Advisory Board at the LGBT Health Center. I was in the building for some appointment and happened to spy a flier in the rack asking for volunteers. Obviously my own health is an ongoing concern for me, but so is health care for gay men and women in general. In a broader sense, available health care and increasing access to it is something I have always been very concerned about, way before I ever needed it. Getting on the CAB was a perfect match for me.
I also reached out with some emails to a group providing outreach and shelter to homeless LGBT youth. They are woefully underfunded and can use any attention be it volunteers or supplies or even money. I haven't had the chance to follow up with them as much as I intended, but I absolutely plan on making space for them as a volunteer at some point this year.
It was around this time when I received a mailing from the LGBT Community Center which is part newsletter and part monthly calendar of events. One of the events completely jumped out at me. It was an informational gathering and outreach meeting for groups that were trying to interest gay and lesbian adults to become foster parents. They didn't need to interest me. This was something I have been thinking about for over 20 years.
I was excited to attend the meeting, not knowing what exactly would transpire. Basically, 8 or so various agencies, working under contract with Children's Services sent recruiters and representatives to try to get you talking and thinking about becoming a foster parent. A panel of foster parents and kids were there to tell you about their experiences and answer questions. I would say maybe 30 people showed up for the presentation. The whole thing took about two hours, and I left with an armload of fliers and brochures as well as pens, magnets, mouse pads, stickers and anything you could stick a smiling kid's face on it would seem. And my mind was reeling at the possibilities.
By the next month I found myself attending an orientation meeting for one of the groups. Mostly because they also offered the 10 week certification classes you need to take before becoming a foster parent.
And by the end of this month, I will be finished with the 10 week course and I will be certified and eligible to be a foster parent in the state of New York. And as soon as I am gainfully employed again (a stipulation of the process) that is exactly what I plan to do. And hopefully, sometime by late spring, I will have a young person, possibly a gay young person, most definitely not a baby person, and in all likelihood a teen-aged 12-17 year old young person, placed in my home.
This placement might be temporary, but the organization I am working with advocates long term placement, in many cases leading to adoption. I haven't committed to adoption in any way, and even if I decide to go that route, it is at least a couple of years away. But the reality of foster care in New York City (as well as the rest of the country) is that teenagers in foster care rarely are reunited with their birth families. So if I'm any good at it, the kid I end up with could be, for all intents and purposes, mine until he/she turns 21. Forever if I decide to adopt.
Now I've sort of given you the condensed version of how I've arrived at this point. But you should know this is not something I've jumped in to, nor is it something I am taking lightly. I have no illusion that I'm going to end up with a precocious street urchin, that calls me Dad after the end of the two hour pilot. I am not Bill Cosby(except for the cool sweater thing) and I am certainly not Mike Brady (except for the gay thing). This is a life-changing decision that as I said, has actually been 20 years in the making. I know it will be hard. But I have always wanted to create my own family. I have always wanted to make a difference in the life of at least one young person who just needs help and safety. I have always wanted a houseful of people that needed me. As it turns out, none of that was in the bottom of a highball glass. Believe me, I looked.
Four years ago, I knew I was in desperate trouble when I could no longer even imagine a future for myself or my life. When I tried to picture the possibilities I always used to believe were limitless, all I saw was a black empty void. Two years ago, I finally found the courage and the hope borne out of sheer desperation to believe that maybe I could get that limitless future back. And in the next few months, it looks like that will come true.
I will go back when possible, to explain the process and what it entails. I will try to re-create my motivations. I will try to slip in some facts and stats, so you can see how vital it is that more people that are able to, take on the role of foster parent and adoptive parent to disenfranchised youth, unless you want these tragic stories to repeat, again and again. And I will take you with me every step of this new journey in my life on a road that will hopefully make me a mentor, and then a parent, and if I'm extremely lucky, will someday make me a Dad.
Unlike previous gaps in my work schedule, this time I found that I couldn't really distract myself, nor pass the time embarking on another mid-priced vodkas of the world tour, and along with that went my, see what kinds of pills I can order off the Internet without seeing an actual doctor, research project. Were I a decade younger, I suppose I could have filled up my downtime with random acts of unsafe sex, but we all know how well that worked out for me now don't we?
So it was that my mind turned towards, if not outright charitable endeavors, at least a desire to make good use of my time. One of the cornerstones of recovery in Gay-A is an encouragement to do service, and most people take that to mean in service to fellow alcoholics. That's all well and good, and I did volunteer to decorate one of the anniversary meetings and I cooked for one of the Holiday meetings, I also spoke at a detox ward in a hospital. But I saw this time as an opportunity to expand my reach in to other areas that have always held my attention. And I have been finding myself with an overwhelming desire to "make more" out of the recovery I've found. From The Ashes, indeed ...
That's pretty much how I ended up getting on the Community Advisory Board at the LGBT Health Center. I was in the building for some appointment and happened to spy a flier in the rack asking for volunteers. Obviously my own health is an ongoing concern for me, but so is health care for gay men and women in general. In a broader sense, available health care and increasing access to it is something I have always been very concerned about, way before I ever needed it. Getting on the CAB was a perfect match for me.
I also reached out with some emails to a group providing outreach and shelter to homeless LGBT youth. They are woefully underfunded and can use any attention be it volunteers or supplies or even money. I haven't had the chance to follow up with them as much as I intended, but I absolutely plan on making space for them as a volunteer at some point this year.
It was around this time when I received a mailing from the LGBT Community Center which is part newsletter and part monthly calendar of events. One of the events completely jumped out at me. It was an informational gathering and outreach meeting for groups that were trying to interest gay and lesbian adults to become foster parents. They didn't need to interest me. This was something I have been thinking about for over 20 years.
I was excited to attend the meeting, not knowing what exactly would transpire. Basically, 8 or so various agencies, working under contract with Children's Services sent recruiters and representatives to try to get you talking and thinking about becoming a foster parent. A panel of foster parents and kids were there to tell you about their experiences and answer questions. I would say maybe 30 people showed up for the presentation. The whole thing took about two hours, and I left with an armload of fliers and brochures as well as pens, magnets, mouse pads, stickers and anything you could stick a smiling kid's face on it would seem. And my mind was reeling at the possibilities.
By the next month I found myself attending an orientation meeting for one of the groups. Mostly because they also offered the 10 week certification classes you need to take before becoming a foster parent.
And by the end of this month, I will be finished with the 10 week course and I will be certified and eligible to be a foster parent in the state of New York. And as soon as I am gainfully employed again (a stipulation of the process) that is exactly what I plan to do. And hopefully, sometime by late spring, I will have a young person, possibly a gay young person, most definitely not a baby person, and in all likelihood a teen-aged 12-17 year old young person, placed in my home.
This placement might be temporary, but the organization I am working with advocates long term placement, in many cases leading to adoption. I haven't committed to adoption in any way, and even if I decide to go that route, it is at least a couple of years away. But the reality of foster care in New York City (as well as the rest of the country) is that teenagers in foster care rarely are reunited with their birth families. So if I'm any good at it, the kid I end up with could be, for all intents and purposes, mine until he/she turns 21. Forever if I decide to adopt.
Now I've sort of given you the condensed version of how I've arrived at this point. But you should know this is not something I've jumped in to, nor is it something I am taking lightly. I have no illusion that I'm going to end up with a precocious street urchin, that calls me Dad after the end of the two hour pilot. I am not Bill Cosby(except for the cool sweater thing) and I am certainly not Mike Brady (except for the gay thing). This is a life-changing decision that as I said, has actually been 20 years in the making. I know it will be hard. But I have always wanted to create my own family. I have always wanted to make a difference in the life of at least one young person who just needs help and safety. I have always wanted a houseful of people that needed me. As it turns out, none of that was in the bottom of a highball glass. Believe me, I looked.
Four years ago, I knew I was in desperate trouble when I could no longer even imagine a future for myself or my life. When I tried to picture the possibilities I always used to believe were limitless, all I saw was a black empty void. Two years ago, I finally found the courage and the hope borne out of sheer desperation to believe that maybe I could get that limitless future back. And in the next few months, it looks like that will come true.
I will go back when possible, to explain the process and what it entails. I will try to re-create my motivations. I will try to slip in some facts and stats, so you can see how vital it is that more people that are able to, take on the role of foster parent and adoptive parent to disenfranchised youth, unless you want these tragic stories to repeat, again and again. And I will take you with me every step of this new journey in my life on a road that will hopefully make me a mentor, and then a parent, and if I'm extremely lucky, will someday make me a Dad.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Finally
One of the reasons that I bonded with Jet so deeply was that I saw myself reflected back in him. Jet was never the dog that people ooohd and ahhhd over in the park. Little children didn't squeal and run towards him. With his floppy ear, snaggle tooth and stubby tail, Jet was funny looking. He was, as my brother fondly called him "a dented can" dog. Like the dented can, one you pick up in the discount aisle, the corn inside is perfectly good, it's the outer package that isn't all that attractive.
To me, he was beautiful. His imperfections made him more so. It's how I see myself. And as I've long since established, I don't love anyone nearly as much as I love me. Like me, Jet had been dinged up by his previous life. And as happy as we made each other, I could always spot a little bit of fear, and a little bit of sadness in his big brown eyes. And so I would sit down on the ground next to him whenever I saw that reflection in his eyes and I would pull him close and scratch his ears and give his whole body a squeeze. I would tell him I loved him. Not so surprisingly, it made me feel instantly better.
I plan on going to Buffalo at the end of August for an overdue visit with the family. One of the reasons I brought Jet to the vet in the first place was because I was trying to get his vaccinations and medical records up to date so I could take him with me. Sadly, I just couldn't get him ready to travel. My mom would have loved my funny looking friend about as much as her funny looking kid.
I want to thank everyone who commented and sent their comfort and condolences, both here on this blog and in private e-mail. I spent quite a few mornings this week tearing up as I read the kind words people took the time to send. And lousy circumstances aside, I was quite surprised and happy to hear from a dear friend from the left coast that I haven't spoken or written to in far too long. Thanks for writing Beth, I miss you.
Come September, assuming I feel better (and I more than likely will), and when the weather cools off here in NYSweaty, I believe I'll find another dog to share my house, and with any luck, the foot of my bed. It will be bittersweet at first, I'm sure. Knowing me, I'll probably not be able to resist searching the dented can aisle first.
To me, he was beautiful. His imperfections made him more so. It's how I see myself. And as I've long since established, I don't love anyone nearly as much as I love me. Like me, Jet had been dinged up by his previous life. And as happy as we made each other, I could always spot a little bit of fear, and a little bit of sadness in his big brown eyes. And so I would sit down on the ground next to him whenever I saw that reflection in his eyes and I would pull him close and scratch his ears and give his whole body a squeeze. I would tell him I loved him. Not so surprisingly, it made me feel instantly better.
I plan on going to Buffalo at the end of August for an overdue visit with the family. One of the reasons I brought Jet to the vet in the first place was because I was trying to get his vaccinations and medical records up to date so I could take him with me. Sadly, I just couldn't get him ready to travel. My mom would have loved my funny looking friend about as much as her funny looking kid.
I want to thank everyone who commented and sent their comfort and condolences, both here on this blog and in private e-mail. I spent quite a few mornings this week tearing up as I read the kind words people took the time to send. And lousy circumstances aside, I was quite surprised and happy to hear from a dear friend from the left coast that I haven't spoken or written to in far too long. Thanks for writing Beth, I miss you.
Come September, assuming I feel better (and I more than likely will), and when the weather cools off here in NYSweaty, I believe I'll find another dog to share my house, and with any luck, the foot of my bed. It will be bittersweet at first, I'm sure. Knowing me, I'll probably not be able to resist searching the dented can aisle first.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Open That Hole!
Early this morning found me climbing into a chair at the Dental clinic. Along with a host of other phobias and fears, my paralyzing fear of dentists evaporated after I got sober. Which is good. What's bad is I'm paying the price for years and years of neglect when it comes to my teeth. As I tried to get myself back together with medication, both prescribed and not, I did manage an occasional dental appointment in the last two years. I even had a minor cleaning done at one point, but balked when they tried to convince me that a deep cleaning would be advisable and not horribly painful. Truth to tell, I doubt I would have been able to sit still with someone directly over me using sharp instruments inside my mouth for more than a few minutes without running down the hall with the spit-sucker still attached.
So I guess the little bit of work I already had done saved me a bit of discomfort, but last month I decided I would take advantage of the 8 free visits I have with ADAP this year and buckle down and have my teeth fixed up. I had two visits for a light cleaning, x-rays and some evaluations, and I'll use four more to have my teeth scraped. Which is exactly what it sounds like.
This morning I had several kind of painful shots of anesthetic along my upper right gum line, and after I was good and numb, the dental technician took a rusty garden rake, opened up my face, and scraped all the dirt off from the inside. OK. That's a slight exaggeration. But it wasn't very much fun. And it took forever. I haven't had to hold my mouth open that long since I filmed Boriqua Gang-Bang Pt. 4. And for that I got paid. After I complete this procedure I'll have a filling done, by some miracle I only ended up with one small cavity through all this, and then they will try and convince me to have that previously discussed root canal. I may go back on the pills for that one. I'm fearless now not crazy.
So I guess the little bit of work I already had done saved me a bit of discomfort, but last month I decided I would take advantage of the 8 free visits I have with ADAP this year and buckle down and have my teeth fixed up. I had two visits for a light cleaning, x-rays and some evaluations, and I'll use four more to have my teeth scraped. Which is exactly what it sounds like.
This morning I had several kind of painful shots of anesthetic along my upper right gum line, and after I was good and numb, the dental technician took a rusty garden rake, opened up my face, and scraped all the dirt off from the inside. OK. That's a slight exaggeration. But it wasn't very much fun. And it took forever. I haven't had to hold my mouth open that long since I filmed Boriqua Gang-Bang Pt. 4. And for that I got paid. After I complete this procedure I'll have a filling done, by some miracle I only ended up with one small cavity through all this, and then they will try and convince me to have that previously discussed root canal. I may go back on the pills for that one. I'm fearless now not crazy.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Spare Any Change?
That sound you hear? That's the wheels falling off my financial wagon.
I racked up a huge amount of credit card debt when I was drinking. For most of the last 10 years I've managed to juggle it pretty well. But I was always robbing one account to pay off another, I would open new cards and charge off the balance, believing I had saved money somehow. Don't get me wrong. I absolutely knew that wasn't true. I was delusional not stupid. And as hard as I've been trying to pay down my debts, I'll never pay it all off. I feel it's my god-given right as a gay man to die with massive credit card debt. It's the trade off for not being able to catch anything thrown to us.
But as my drinking and all the accompanying mental impairment began to really take over, the amount of money I borrowed and spent increased. Meanwhile my ability to earn a living and hold down a decent job decreased. The result was tens of thousands in credit debt. I can't bear to really add it up. But I've been trying to chip away at it ever since I started my new job. And I was doing all right. I had paid off a $500 VISA card and was almost finished paying down another $1000.00. I slowly reduced other cards enough that the payments began to drop ever so slowly. I was always broke, but it started to feel like I had a little breathing room. Of course, that was a bit of a delusion as well.
For the past year, I've been behind on my rent. Right towards the end of my spiral, I wasn't working and wasn't really earning much. I was on food stamps and working a part time job in retail. The income in no way matched the outflow. The last couple of months before I quit drinking I basically used credit and my roommate's share of the rent to live on. I was a month behind, and then two months. And while I've been working and paying the rest of my bills more or less on time, I never got that back rent paid off or caught up. My landlord has been a saint, but apparently even he has his limits. The last couple of months, he has been sending me letters reminding me that my rent was due. He mentioned the 2 months as well but basically only insisted I not fall further behind. I didn't.
This month, I got another letter. He wants me to pay off the two months I'm behind. I'm confident he won't renew my lease in February unless I get this paid off soon. And he's as non-threateningly as possible threatening eviction proceedings. At first, the alcoholic in me kicked in and I got angry. At him. I've been doing so well and trying so hard, and now the fucking landlord wants the rent.
His rent. Of course, that's when it hit me. Well, not then but soon enough. How that kind of thinking was the result of my alcohol use. How I managed to view someone asserting that I behave responsibly as somehow the one who's at fault. I am so comfortable in the role as victim that I automatically cast myself in the part even when the facts don't bear it out. You see, that's the first step on the road to the liquor store. And if someone was going to come along and fuck up my life, well then I could do a much better job of that. Fuck it. Who cares?
But all the man wants is the rent he is due. The rent I owe. The money I've agreed in writing to pay. He's not doing anything to me. And up 'till now he's been beyond patient.
So I got over it. And set about figuring out how the fuck I would pay this off. I made a list. Between the back rent and the bills that would be due I will need about $4100.00. He wants it now but I'm sure I can stretch that until a week from Friday. It took me an entire afternoon to figure it out. And I'll have to almost max out every bit of credit I've built back up. I also have no idea what I'll do for spending money the next two weeks. There's nothing left.
But this isn't a complaint or a thinly veiled solicitation. If I was gonna hit you up for money I'd be much more pathetic sounding and blatant. And I'd find a way to work in a small tumor. And really, if I was about to be tossed out on the street I would swallow my pride and contact my parents or my brother, neither of whom is rich but they could certainly bail me out. I would be completely and totally mortified but I would do it.
This is me just trying to live in the truth. I haven't been writing as much and I haven't been talking in detail about my life since getting sober. And for the most part it has been wonderful. But one of the things they talk about in Gay-A is the consequences you have to face in your life when you get sober. And how just getting sober doesn't automatically solve all your problems. I think maybe this is one reason why some people get sober and then falter. They don't seem to realize that things will most assuredly not always go your way in the future. And that the past will still have to be dealt with and cleaned up. It's hard. And it's hard work.
I'm thankful I have the brains and resources to figure out what to do. I am absolutely blessed that when I needed to find $4100.00, I had managed to build up enough credit and earn enough money to cover it. I am completely aware that many people in this country wouldn't be able, and that still many, many more are much more worried about whether or not they will get a meal today at all. This turn of events ruined my weekend and stressed me out. I'll get through it.
The story goes on.
I racked up a huge amount of credit card debt when I was drinking. For most of the last 10 years I've managed to juggle it pretty well. But I was always robbing one account to pay off another, I would open new cards and charge off the balance, believing I had saved money somehow. Don't get me wrong. I absolutely knew that wasn't true. I was delusional not stupid. And as hard as I've been trying to pay down my debts, I'll never pay it all off. I feel it's my god-given right as a gay man to die with massive credit card debt. It's the trade off for not being able to catch anything thrown to us.
But as my drinking and all the accompanying mental impairment began to really take over, the amount of money I borrowed and spent increased. Meanwhile my ability to earn a living and hold down a decent job decreased. The result was tens of thousands in credit debt. I can't bear to really add it up. But I've been trying to chip away at it ever since I started my new job. And I was doing all right. I had paid off a $500 VISA card and was almost finished paying down another $1000.00. I slowly reduced other cards enough that the payments began to drop ever so slowly. I was always broke, but it started to feel like I had a little breathing room. Of course, that was a bit of a delusion as well.
For the past year, I've been behind on my rent. Right towards the end of my spiral, I wasn't working and wasn't really earning much. I was on food stamps and working a part time job in retail. The income in no way matched the outflow. The last couple of months before I quit drinking I basically used credit and my roommate's share of the rent to live on. I was a month behind, and then two months. And while I've been working and paying the rest of my bills more or less on time, I never got that back rent paid off or caught up. My landlord has been a saint, but apparently even he has his limits. The last couple of months, he has been sending me letters reminding me that my rent was due. He mentioned the 2 months as well but basically only insisted I not fall further behind. I didn't.
This month, I got another letter. He wants me to pay off the two months I'm behind. I'm confident he won't renew my lease in February unless I get this paid off soon. And he's as non-threateningly as possible threatening eviction proceedings. At first, the alcoholic in me kicked in and I got angry. At him. I've been doing so well and trying so hard, and now the fucking landlord wants the rent.
His rent. Of course, that's when it hit me. Well, not then but soon enough. How that kind of thinking was the result of my alcohol use. How I managed to view someone asserting that I behave responsibly as somehow the one who's at fault. I am so comfortable in the role as victim that I automatically cast myself in the part even when the facts don't bear it out. You see, that's the first step on the road to the liquor store. And if someone was going to come along and fuck up my life, well then I could do a much better job of that. Fuck it. Who cares?
But all the man wants is the rent he is due. The rent I owe. The money I've agreed in writing to pay. He's not doing anything to me. And up 'till now he's been beyond patient.
So I got over it. And set about figuring out how the fuck I would pay this off. I made a list. Between the back rent and the bills that would be due I will need about $4100.00. He wants it now but I'm sure I can stretch that until a week from Friday. It took me an entire afternoon to figure it out. And I'll have to almost max out every bit of credit I've built back up. I also have no idea what I'll do for spending money the next two weeks. There's nothing left.
But this isn't a complaint or a thinly veiled solicitation. If I was gonna hit you up for money I'd be much more pathetic sounding and blatant. And I'd find a way to work in a small tumor. And really, if I was about to be tossed out on the street I would swallow my pride and contact my parents or my brother, neither of whom is rich but they could certainly bail me out. I would be completely and totally mortified but I would do it.
This is me just trying to live in the truth. I haven't been writing as much and I haven't been talking in detail about my life since getting sober. And for the most part it has been wonderful. But one of the things they talk about in Gay-A is the consequences you have to face in your life when you get sober. And how just getting sober doesn't automatically solve all your problems. I think maybe this is one reason why some people get sober and then falter. They don't seem to realize that things will most assuredly not always go your way in the future. And that the past will still have to be dealt with and cleaned up. It's hard. And it's hard work.
I'm thankful I have the brains and resources to figure out what to do. I am absolutely blessed that when I needed to find $4100.00, I had managed to build up enough credit and earn enough money to cover it. I am completely aware that many people in this country wouldn't be able, and that still many, many more are much more worried about whether or not they will get a meal today at all. This turn of events ruined my weekend and stressed me out. I'll get through it.
The story goes on.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Aw, Crap!
I've always had a love/hate feeling towards her. But now that Suze Orman has officially come out as a card carrying lezbeen, I guess I'll have to stop the hate. It was never really hate anyway, more like fear. What with those unnaturally white and curiously razor sharp looking teeth as well as the oddly orange and leathery looking skin tone, I was always afraid that a bad financial decision would cause her to leap from the TV screen and rend me limb from limb.
Speaking of finance, I had to apply for food stamps yesterday afternoon. I thought I might be eligible, and it seemed silly to pass up some free groceries. It was a tad humiliating nonetheless. The last time I applied for assistance I was a 22 year old struggling performer that was estranged from my family. As I said in a meeting yesterday, I felt kind of like I was starting over. Until I realised that's exactly what's happening. I'm starting over. It's almost like the last 30 years belonged to someone else. At any rate, I qualified for emergency assistance, which means I'll be getting an unknown amount of grocery money sometime in the next few days. I have to go back with more financial information by next week in order to qualify for monthly benefits, and they're sending me to another agency to see if there's any housing money I qualify for. At this point, I have no pride left. My main focus is to attend Gay-A meetings every day and get a good support system in place. I'm looking for work, but I'm not going to be stupid and not make sure that I can keep a roof over my head and food on the table until I get something. Splitting the rent with my roommate helps, I only have to scramble for half what I've been paying the last few months.
I had to call in to the office at my last job today. I need some confirmation that I was let go and have no job. They sent me one a day or two after I got myself fired. Typically of me, I tore it up and threw it out along with all my work shirts, building ID and employee manuals. I just wanted to obliterate the memory and move on. I hadn't counted on needing that piece of paper. I spent all day today trying to reach the correct voicemail to leave a message. I absolutely didn't want to talk to a live person. I just couldn't handle the embarrassment. If I can't spare myself, who will? But I was feeling anxious and trapped. So I bought myself a sweatshirt at a 75% discount and a cute red scarf for Jet. And for the record, I'm far from the only alcoholic that has a shopping disorder as well. I finally managed to wait until after I was sure the admin office was closed. Then I called the main number and had them patch me through to voicemail. Mission accomplished. My anxiety instantly dispersed, and I stopped thinking about how a glass of wine would make me feel better.
On a side note, my welfare ID picture looks a hundred times better than my recent NY State ID picture.
Speaking of finance, I had to apply for food stamps yesterday afternoon. I thought I might be eligible, and it seemed silly to pass up some free groceries. It was a tad humiliating nonetheless. The last time I applied for assistance I was a 22 year old struggling performer that was estranged from my family. As I said in a meeting yesterday, I felt kind of like I was starting over. Until I realised that's exactly what's happening. I'm starting over. It's almost like the last 30 years belonged to someone else. At any rate, I qualified for emergency assistance, which means I'll be getting an unknown amount of grocery money sometime in the next few days. I have to go back with more financial information by next week in order to qualify for monthly benefits, and they're sending me to another agency to see if there's any housing money I qualify for. At this point, I have no pride left. My main focus is to attend Gay-A meetings every day and get a good support system in place. I'm looking for work, but I'm not going to be stupid and not make sure that I can keep a roof over my head and food on the table until I get something. Splitting the rent with my roommate helps, I only have to scramble for half what I've been paying the last few months.
I had to call in to the office at my last job today. I need some confirmation that I was let go and have no job. They sent me one a day or two after I got myself fired. Typically of me, I tore it up and threw it out along with all my work shirts, building ID and employee manuals. I just wanted to obliterate the memory and move on. I hadn't counted on needing that piece of paper. I spent all day today trying to reach the correct voicemail to leave a message. I absolutely didn't want to talk to a live person. I just couldn't handle the embarrassment. If I can't spare myself, who will? But I was feeling anxious and trapped. So I bought myself a sweatshirt at a 75% discount and a cute red scarf for Jet. And for the record, I'm far from the only alcoholic that has a shopping disorder as well. I finally managed to wait until after I was sure the admin office was closed. Then I called the main number and had them patch me through to voicemail. Mission accomplished. My anxiety instantly dispersed, and I stopped thinking about how a glass of wine would make me feel better.
On a side note, my welfare ID picture looks a hundred times better than my recent NY State ID picture.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Jeez, Do Ya Think?
The producers of the new production of Equus had any idea that their naked PR pics of Harry Potter would be salivatingly reproduced by every lame-assed homo blogger worldwide? Hmm?
Honestly, just pathetic. Go buy an A&F catalogue.
I was at the gym tonight. I put on some headphones and listened to some inappropriate (non-Madonna) music. As I was working through my ab routine I had a mini-epiphany. And you know how painful those can be. It occurred to me that my inner monologue has become very negative. Like I'm stuck in a dark place. Or that I just automatically default to it. I was feeling kind of grumpy, and I was currently beating myself up about the little failures I had this week. All the things I shouldn't be doing as well as all the things I know I can do better.
And as I got lost in the music and (I'm assuming) some endorphins started to kick in, I thought: How terribly counterproductive. And I suddenly started ticking off all the good things that happened today. I got everything done I intended. I stocked up Jet's food. I bought healthy groceries for myself. I took my meds. I refilled a prescription. I skipped breakfast, a flaw, but I made a helathy low-carb lunch and I ate it all. A positive, as I've been unable to finish my meals the last few days. I stopped in to Barnes & Noble and found a new book to start. I was at the gym, I had finished 1/2hr. of cardio. I was looking forward to a delicious dinner that was almost already finished, my outfit was urban/cute and if I do say so myself, I have a pretty funny and ironic taste in music.
By the time I was finished, I have to admit, Dr. Phil be damned if I wasn't feeling much better. About myself, about the day. While I'm at work, I have a running criticism about myself playing in the background: You shouldn't be in this department there's nobody here. You should be selling over there. You should get on a register the lines are too long. I always feel like I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time and I could just Be. So. Much. Better.
And maybe if I quit beating myself up and learned to enjoy myself, I could be.
This has been my Daily Affirmation. Now scram, you suck.
Honestly, just pathetic. Go buy an A&F catalogue.
I was at the gym tonight. I put on some headphones and listened to some inappropriate (non-Madonna) music. As I was working through my ab routine I had a mini-epiphany. And you know how painful those can be. It occurred to me that my inner monologue has become very negative. Like I'm stuck in a dark place. Or that I just automatically default to it. I was feeling kind of grumpy, and I was currently beating myself up about the little failures I had this week. All the things I shouldn't be doing as well as all the things I know I can do better.
And as I got lost in the music and (I'm assuming) some endorphins started to kick in, I thought: How terribly counterproductive. And I suddenly started ticking off all the good things that happened today. I got everything done I intended. I stocked up Jet's food. I bought healthy groceries for myself. I took my meds. I refilled a prescription. I skipped breakfast, a flaw, but I made a helathy low-carb lunch and I ate it all. A positive, as I've been unable to finish my meals the last few days. I stopped in to Barnes & Noble and found a new book to start. I was at the gym, I had finished 1/2hr. of cardio. I was looking forward to a delicious dinner that was almost already finished, my outfit was urban/cute and if I do say so myself, I have a pretty funny and ironic taste in music.
By the time I was finished, I have to admit, Dr. Phil be damned if I wasn't feeling much better. About myself, about the day. While I'm at work, I have a running criticism about myself playing in the background: You shouldn't be in this department there's nobody here. You should be selling over there. You should get on a register the lines are too long. I always feel like I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time and I could just Be. So. Much. Better.
And maybe if I quit beating myself up and learned to enjoy myself, I could be.
This has been my Daily Affirmation. Now scram, you suck.
Monday, January 01, 2007
In Review
I guess the best place to start is with how much my physical and mental health has improved this year. I started the year on meds and engaged in a round of therapy. My adjustment period with the meds wasn't nearly as bad as some people have experienced but it did take longer than even I was aware of. I had to take ownership of my illness and not be as detached as I was trying to project. The 1/2 year of therapy made me feel so much better. Wrong word. Stronger. Unfortunately, it only highlited all the things I had allowed to go wrong in my personal life. It's funny, but as soon as I started standing up for what I wanted, what I needed, the people in my life suddenly left. While it played into my abandonment issues for a while, it made me realize that those people were never interested in me or my happiness. When I stopped meeting their needs whatever we had disintigrated. Which was really what I needed all along.
Sometime in March, I finally acheived an undetectable viral load. My T-cell count has risen at every test, and currently stands at just under 800. I am so far not showing any issues with my liver function or my cholesterol. Getting the HIV treated had side benefits. My extreme gassiness abated (sorry). My bloated belly lessened. And my gums stopped bleeding. I'm sure some of it is psychological but I actually feel better than I have in years. After trying dietary changes, acidolphous supplements, quitting coffee, it seemed that nothing would help with the Kaletra- induced diarrhea. Then my health care provider prescribed Loparimide. My experience improved dramatically. I stopped worrying about what would happen at work. I stopped scoping out department store bathrooms, and I stopped planning my day so I would always be near a branch of my gym. Turns out, being in control of your bowels is ridiculously more important than you would think (again, sorry).
In April, I got a new best friend. I wish that I could tell you how much I love Jet. Adopting a dog was the best thing I've done in a long, long time. I love walking him even when It's shitty out. I like shopping for him and playing with him. Yesterday we were playing in the park and he took off running in circles. My heart soared and I teared up a little watching him go. I wake up every morning and spend a few minutes hugging him and rubbing his belly and greeting the day. I am grateful the Universe helped him find his way to me.
I started the year without a job. Than I got one and a month later lost it. At the time, I was hurt and angry. I see two things now. One, I was done with the restaurant/bar business. I have no desire to watch people sit at a bar day after day drinking. I have no desire to deal with people addicted to cigarettes and/or drugs. I don't want to see people that have given up. Two, I had grown too passive. I was so preoccupied with my mental and physical health, that I didn't have anything left for other battles. And make no mistake, whether you understand why or not, the world is full of people who will try to take advantage of you. I wish this weren't so. But unfortunately, doing a good job at your job isn't always enough.
In September, I started my new job. It's not perfect. I'm not working full time and I'm not making enough money. One of my supervisors is an angry dyke that tries to cover up the fact that she's cluless by attacking other people. But I actually look forward to going in to work. I learn something new every day. And I am never bored. There's always something for me to do. I frequently help people. I answer a lot of questions, and at the end of a shift, I usually feel like I accomplished something. I'm going to fight to keep this one.
This was the year I stopped going out to the gay bars/clubs. I was never much of a club-goer anyway. And I sort of disappeared at the bars. I noticed sometime this year that I had turned somewhat invisible. I was the guy the cute man looked past to see the cute boy behind me. I was one of the guys drinking at the bar talking to no one, getting slightly buzzed and going home alone. And I refused to be that guy, so I stopped going. I didn't become a recluse. I took my dog for long walks. I went to outdoor movies in the summer. I saw some theater. I went to some staged readings. Of course, I shopped. I joined an HIV+ support group. I just sort of decided the bars were over for me. I may go on occasion. Certainly if I'm with someone and we stop for a drink.
The Ex is out of my life. We haven't spoken and I don't intend to ever again. He let me down. On so many levels and over so long a time. We were together over 20 years ago. And at some point we found our way back and started a weird friend/relationship. But he's not the man I need him to be and he's not a friend and he will never be there for me. He's too selfish and self-involved. The Hellcat is a drug addict I let into my life, despite everyone sane telling me it was a huge mistake. I have no regrets. He was killing himself and I couldn't bear to let that happen. He uses people, and discards them when they have no more use. I get that. Still, part of me wonders if he'll ever thank me for saving his life. Unfortunately, I doubt it. My life is infinitely better without either one of them.
Now for the resolutions:
I need to reign in my overextended credit. I've already started, having paid off my smallest outstanding credit card last week.
I intend to be more adventerous and take advantage of living in the greatest city in the world. Museums, art galleries and more theater.
I want to travel more. I'm thinking of going to New Orleans. When New York was attacked and tourism tanked, many people from all over the world came to show support and spend some much needed time and money. I think New Orleans post Katrina is in a similar situation, and I'd like to return the favor. Also, I've never been to Peurto Rico, shocking, given my predilection for Peurto Ricans.
Happy New Year everyone.
Oh My God. It's Alive!
Sometime in March, I finally acheived an undetectable viral load. My T-cell count has risen at every test, and currently stands at just under 800. I am so far not showing any issues with my liver function or my cholesterol. Getting the HIV treated had side benefits. My extreme gassiness abated (sorry). My bloated belly lessened. And my gums stopped bleeding. I'm sure some of it is psychological but I actually feel better than I have in years. After trying dietary changes, acidolphous supplements, quitting coffee, it seemed that nothing would help with the Kaletra- induced diarrhea. Then my health care provider prescribed Loparimide. My experience improved dramatically. I stopped worrying about what would happen at work. I stopped scoping out department store bathrooms, and I stopped planning my day so I would always be near a branch of my gym. Turns out, being in control of your bowels is ridiculously more important than you would think (again, sorry).
In April, I got a new best friend. I wish that I could tell you how much I love Jet. Adopting a dog was the best thing I've done in a long, long time. I love walking him even when It's shitty out. I like shopping for him and playing with him. Yesterday we were playing in the park and he took off running in circles. My heart soared and I teared up a little watching him go. I wake up every morning and spend a few minutes hugging him and rubbing his belly and greeting the day. I am grateful the Universe helped him find his way to me.
I started the year without a job. Than I got one and a month later lost it. At the time, I was hurt and angry. I see two things now. One, I was done with the restaurant/bar business. I have no desire to watch people sit at a bar day after day drinking. I have no desire to deal with people addicted to cigarettes and/or drugs. I don't want to see people that have given up. Two, I had grown too passive. I was so preoccupied with my mental and physical health, that I didn't have anything left for other battles. And make no mistake, whether you understand why or not, the world is full of people who will try to take advantage of you. I wish this weren't so. But unfortunately, doing a good job at your job isn't always enough.
In September, I started my new job. It's not perfect. I'm not working full time and I'm not making enough money. One of my supervisors is an angry dyke that tries to cover up the fact that she's cluless by attacking other people. But I actually look forward to going in to work. I learn something new every day. And I am never bored. There's always something for me to do. I frequently help people. I answer a lot of questions, and at the end of a shift, I usually feel like I accomplished something. I'm going to fight to keep this one.
This was the year I stopped going out to the gay bars/clubs. I was never much of a club-goer anyway. And I sort of disappeared at the bars. I noticed sometime this year that I had turned somewhat invisible. I was the guy the cute man looked past to see the cute boy behind me. I was one of the guys drinking at the bar talking to no one, getting slightly buzzed and going home alone. And I refused to be that guy, so I stopped going. I didn't become a recluse. I took my dog for long walks. I went to outdoor movies in the summer. I saw some theater. I went to some staged readings. Of course, I shopped. I joined an HIV+ support group. I just sort of decided the bars were over for me. I may go on occasion. Certainly if I'm with someone and we stop for a drink.
The Ex is out of my life. We haven't spoken and I don't intend to ever again. He let me down. On so many levels and over so long a time. We were together over 20 years ago. And at some point we found our way back and started a weird friend/relationship. But he's not the man I need him to be and he's not a friend and he will never be there for me. He's too selfish and self-involved. The Hellcat is a drug addict I let into my life, despite everyone sane telling me it was a huge mistake. I have no regrets. He was killing himself and I couldn't bear to let that happen. He uses people, and discards them when they have no more use. I get that. Still, part of me wonders if he'll ever thank me for saving his life. Unfortunately, I doubt it. My life is infinitely better without either one of them.
Now for the resolutions:
I need to reign in my overextended credit. I've already started, having paid off my smallest outstanding credit card last week.
I intend to be more adventerous and take advantage of living in the greatest city in the world. Museums, art galleries and more theater.
I want to travel more. I'm thinking of going to New Orleans. When New York was attacked and tourism tanked, many people from all over the world came to show support and spend some much needed time and money. I think New Orleans post Katrina is in a similar situation, and I'd like to return the favor. Also, I've never been to Peurto Rico, shocking, given my predilection for Peurto Ricans.
Happy New Year everyone.
Oh My God. It's Alive!
Sunday, November 12, 2006
She's A Busy Bee
So I pretty much have the apartment organized and cleaned to my satisfaction. I still have part of a closet in my bedroom to sift through. I threw out some old electronics I'd forgotten I was keeping, as well as files of promotions and ads from old bar jobs I'd done. No one has ever asked to see them and I've never used them to refresh my memory or give me an idea. The hardest thing to keep up on has been the dog hair. Jet really does shed a ridiculous amount of hair. Granted, I don't brush him often enough but christ, his hair gets everywhere.
I took advantage of the extra room and doubled my closet space. And I also had the chance to really spread out and dig into my comic book collection. I now have a really good idea of what I have here. Basically, all my post 1980 comics are here. Which means that my parents are holding my much more valuable pre-1980 collection at their house. Still, I found some interesting little gems that will be up for sale in the coming weeks.
I didn't work out at the gym this whole week. Well, that's a lie I did 1/2 hr. of cardio on Friday and maybe one other day. But I work out pretty much religiously and feel extremely guilty when I start to slack off. I have to remind myself that a lot, a lot of people don't get any exercise at all, and my missing a week isn't such a big deal. It's not like I'll devolve into a blob or anything.
I got my first real paycheck on Friday. A good indication of what I can expect every two weeks. It was satisfying to earn money, and a relief to have my checking account bolstered by many hundreds of dollars. But it's obvious that one of two things has to happen. I need a roommate or I have to find a way to double my income. A second job is a possibility. I wish it was fifteen years ago. I'd just sell my hot tight ass a few times a month. There's just not much market for a 40-something prostitute.
I took advantage of the extra room and doubled my closet space. And I also had the chance to really spread out and dig into my comic book collection. I now have a really good idea of what I have here. Basically, all my post 1980 comics are here. Which means that my parents are holding my much more valuable pre-1980 collection at their house. Still, I found some interesting little gems that will be up for sale in the coming weeks.
I didn't work out at the gym this whole week. Well, that's a lie I did 1/2 hr. of cardio on Friday and maybe one other day. But I work out pretty much religiously and feel extremely guilty when I start to slack off. I have to remind myself that a lot, a lot of people don't get any exercise at all, and my missing a week isn't such a big deal. It's not like I'll devolve into a blob or anything.
I got my first real paycheck on Friday. A good indication of what I can expect every two weeks. It was satisfying to earn money, and a relief to have my checking account bolstered by many hundreds of dollars. But it's obvious that one of two things has to happen. I need a roommate or I have to find a way to double my income. A second job is a possibility. I wish it was fifteen years ago. I'd just sell my hot tight ass a few times a month. There's just not much market for a 40-something prostitute.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
It's The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown
No. Seriously. That's a great pumpkin.Wondering what I did on Halloween this year? I worked my ass off at home. The Hellcat finally moved his things out. After blaming anything he may have taken that didn't belong to him on "the seizure", he also dropped the bomb that he replaced the shower head with the old one, but he didn't really do a good job and didn't test the seal. In other words, as a final gift, he left me with a broken shower that was just dangling down the wall on a flex hose. As to "the seizure", it's his newest catch-all excuse for anything he fucks up or fails to accomplish. First year it was the ex-boyfriend dying from AIDS, the next year it was depression and the meds he was taking to treat it, now thankfully for him he had a seizure. So now he can use that when he doesn't get a job, or sleeps until 8 pm, or misses an appointment. It's typical behavior when you spend your life as a Professional AIDS Victim. Whatever, he's the rest of the world's problem now.
So yesterday I returned his cable box to get that off my bill. He generously offered to do it himself but I declined since I wanted it taken care of this year. Then I released my inner lesbian and headed to Home Depot. I bought a replacement shower head that would hang directly overhead. While I was at it I bought a replacement cylinder for the apartment deadbolt. The Hellcat mumbled something about having two sets of keys, translation: he had an extra set made for his nasty cunt boyfriend after I expressly told him not to. The Ex still hasn't returned his. There was absolutely no way I was going to relax knowing any of them had keys to my apartment. All of my trust has evaporated.
After having lunch I set about installing the new shower head. It was surprisingly easy. And I've replaced the entire deadbolt on more than one occasion so changing just the cylinder went smooth as well. Once that was sorted, it was time to give Jet a bath. The weather report said it would be in the 60's, and I wanted to give him a bath while it was still warm outside, in case I walked him wet. Besides that, I was about to scrub down the living room, and bath time is a decidedly damp affair, so I figured I would get his bath done before I spent a couple hours cleaning. As expected the apartment got soaked, but Jet is great at bath time. I think he likes the attention and I don't make it a big drama.
Being in full purge mode, I ended up cleaning out the bathroom cabinet. Anything unused or expired or of questionable quality got tossed. Gels, lotions vitamins all out. I filled a small bag.
I took Jet to pick up some prescriptions and by then, the kids had started trick or treating. This being NYC, they went business to business down 2nd Avenue. Restaurants, Nail Salons, bodegas were all fair game. And yes, they all had candy for the kids. Including my pharmacy. Only in New York. I stopped at the dog run and of course, some of the dogs were in costume. It was something of an unexpected celebration. People brought cameras, one woman made bags of doggie treats for all the dogs, and another lady made cupcakes for all the owners. Who knew? Jet didn't get a costume, but I reserve the right to dress him up when I feel like it.
After a dinner/Dancing With The Stars fix, I set about cleaning the living room. I moved all the furniture out. Between the dog hair and the dust bunnies, there was a mountain of dirt behind the couch. I threw out a bunch of lumber and a rusted window screen that has been back there forever. Then I swept and mopped the floor twice. I loaded all the furniture back in and vacuumed all the fabrics. At some point, I rearranged the storage in my bedroom and started working on my closet, but I was practically possessed at that point, so I'm not really sure what order things happened. I can say I have a lot more personal space, and the living room is finally clean after months of squalor.
On Friday, I'm putting down a new floor in the kitchen. And I'm currently shopping thrift stores for a new coffee table and a new dinette. The whole apartment is getting a budget makeover. I wrote here once this year that I had finally bought a matching dinner service for 6. Something I had never had my entire adult life. The other day while reorganizing the kitchen cabinet, I noticed that one of my "friends" had broken a coffee cup. I have no idea when, but I do know that neither one of them said a single word, or apologized, or offered to replace it. Good riddance to a couple of no-class assholes.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Rainy Days And Roastbeef
I love The Carpenters. They seem to have a direct link to the gay gene. Back when I was a less enlightened soul, I rewrote the lyrics to one of The Carpenters hits after Karen died. Thus, Rainy Days and Roastbeef Always Gets Me Down was born. I thought it was riotously funny at the time. 20 years later, I still get a guilty little smile when it rains on Monday.
Since you can't spend the entire afternoon inside masturbating, well, I can't ... anymore. What's a gal to do but pop out to the hardware store for some paint? My local hardware store will put out pre-mixed paint at a discount. I assume it's paint that someone wanted but changed their mind. Maybe the color wasn't right. The point is they sell you a gallon of a custom color for $4.95. That's a tip from me to you. Home Depot in Manhattan does it as well, so be sure and check. I just take a color I think will work and slap it up on the wall. 9 times out of 10 the change will totally cheer me for weeks.
So I re-painted my kitchen wall a gorgeous deep green. And I replaced the clock that The Ex gave me with a $10.00 lucite clock I got from a now defunct home furnishings business. I've always loved that clock. Then I went out and bought a wall mounted pot rack (at a 40% discount), so I can properly hang my pots and pans. They've been hanging on finishing nails for years. Then I reorganized the pantry area ... OK the pantry cart, and scrubbed the wood on the kitchen bar. I'll hang the pot rack tomorrow and I think I'm going to paint the bar black on my next day off. The Ex painted the kitchen several years ago and did a horrific job. He got paint everywhere including all over the bar. And it was an ugly color.
Why the nesting? I'm getting ready to start another new phase of my life. In which our hero becomes the sole occupant of a (soon to be) spacious Gramercy Park apartment. I could probably pay the fare myself, but it would be financially foolish. So I will find a roommate for December. But November belongs to me. And I'm only planning to rent out the bedroom on the other side of the apartment. I intend to remake and fix all the issues I've had around the place. I'm throwing out anything I haven't used in the last two years. I'm taking back the extra closet space in the bedroom next to mine. Did I mention I get a generous 40% discount at work?
Thursday, October 05, 2006
A Revelation
So I never did get around to recapping the weekend with my brother and sister in-law. Truth to tell, nothing overtly dramatic happened per se. Several meals, some nice conversation. As I've said before, they don't have a lot of outside interests. Don't get me wrong, I was very happy to see them.
What was unexpected was that I flashed on their visit last year. I managed to dig up the relevant post in the archives. I was in the midst of a depression. I was still adjusting to the meds. Even though my Dr. at the time insisted the medication I was on couldn't be giving me problems emotionally, I was in such bad shape that I will never believe that.
What struck me during this visit was how far I had come. I. Feel. So much better. My energy level is back to normal. I exercise regularly and my appetite is great. I remember during their last visit, I could barely get through a dinner with my brother. I was ready to jump out of my skin. This time, I was relaxed and eager to see them.
Things aren't perfect. I'm still having some side effects... in the bathroom area... that I plan on discussing during my next Dr. visit this month. But the best part of my brother's visit this time was the fact that I ended up realizing just how far I've come and how really good I've been feeling.
Besides the new job, there's a whole mess of shit going down. Bring it. You can't touch me.
-Also- It's been on my mind that I haven't done some new self photos. I have a new head of long(ish) hair. It's my version of a rejection of the Chelsea buzz cut. And I've upped my cardio and lower body work lately. The result? My ass be lookin' fine. It needs to be documented with some photographs.
What was unexpected was that I flashed on their visit last year. I managed to dig up the relevant post in the archives. I was in the midst of a depression. I was still adjusting to the meds. Even though my Dr. at the time insisted the medication I was on couldn't be giving me problems emotionally, I was in such bad shape that I will never believe that.
What struck me during this visit was how far I had come. I. Feel. So much better. My energy level is back to normal. I exercise regularly and my appetite is great. I remember during their last visit, I could barely get through a dinner with my brother. I was ready to jump out of my skin. This time, I was relaxed and eager to see them.
Things aren't perfect. I'm still having some side effects... in the bathroom area... that I plan on discussing during my next Dr. visit this month. But the best part of my brother's visit this time was the fact that I ended up realizing just how far I've come and how really good I've been feeling.
Besides the new job, there's a whole mess of shit going down. Bring it. You can't touch me.
-Also- It's been on my mind that I haven't done some new self photos. I have a new head of long(ish) hair. It's my version of a rejection of the Chelsea buzz cut. And I've upped my cardio and lower body work lately. The result? My ass be lookin' fine. It needs to be documented with some photographs.
Friday, August 25, 2006
411
Went to a HIV+ support group that meets every Thursday evening. I was late all day yesterday so I missed the first 1/2 hour but I still found the discussion lively and in progress. I don't go every week. Sometimes something else is going on, sometimes I forget it's Thursday. But every time I do make it I end up walking around in a much better mood the rest of the night. Even if the conversation gets heavy or raw. It makes me think, and that's always good. And I guess I leave feeling, not so much less alone, but with a sense of camaraderie. For better or worse a part of something with a lot of other people. If you've never been, I highly recommend trying to find one in your area.
A new class of HIV drugs called integrase inhibitors show real promise in virus supression.
Out of Control: AIDS in Black America. Watch the video links. Read the articles. This is here. This is now. This is home.
Spent the rest of the last couple days shoring up my vast financial empire. Everything isn't perfect but I feel like the wolves are no longer howling at the door. I still know they're out in the woods though.
And Also ...
I spent the rest of this afternoon and evening answering help wanted ads on-line. I love The Internets and how it's become perfectly acceptable to apply on-line. I remember very well when you had to pound the pavement for jobs only to arrive at a "bartending" job at a diner with 3 stools. Plus it was exhausting.
I got a fit of determination late today and finally located the missing remote to my bedroom TV. Now I don't have the daunting task of adjusting the volume with the button on the TV. Whew! And while I didn't locate the extra printer USB cable I bought the other day, I did find the one I thought I threw out that I bought the replacement for. AIDSheimer's, it's not just for breakfast anymore.
And is it just me, or does anyone else have a dog that sits directly in the doorway of the only way in or out of a room, looking at you like he can't imagine how this is a problem for you? If I didn't love him so much I'd punt him like a football.
A new class of HIV drugs called integrase inhibitors show real promise in virus supression.
Out of Control: AIDS in Black America. Watch the video links. Read the articles. This is here. This is now. This is home.
Spent the rest of the last couple days shoring up my vast financial empire. Everything isn't perfect but I feel like the wolves are no longer howling at the door. I still know they're out in the woods though.
And Also ...
I spent the rest of this afternoon and evening answering help wanted ads on-line. I love The Internets and how it's become perfectly acceptable to apply on-line. I remember very well when you had to pound the pavement for jobs only to arrive at a "bartending" job at a diner with 3 stools. Plus it was exhausting.
I got a fit of determination late today and finally located the missing remote to my bedroom TV. Now I don't have the daunting task of adjusting the volume with the button on the TV. Whew! And while I didn't locate the extra printer USB cable I bought the other day, I did find the one I thought I threw out that I bought the replacement for. AIDSheimer's, it's not just for breakfast anymore.
And is it just me, or does anyone else have a dog that sits directly in the doorway of the only way in or out of a room, looking at you like he can't imagine how this is a problem for you? If I didn't love him so much I'd punt him like a football.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Call For Help
I'm finished. I had my last therapy session today. The program I was enrolled in was limited. Half a year went by pretty fuckin fast. But I'm grateful to have had it. We talked a lot today about where I've come from as well as my plans for the future. She asked me what I was proud of about the experience. There was a lot to pick from. My mental and physical health has vastly improved. My energy level is back to full strength. I was very proud of the fact that I was totally honest with her and by extension myself. After the first few sessions I learned to trust someone and not edit what I said or how I sounded so that I would appear more normal or acceptable. I learned to face some of the parts of my life or my personality that were causing me to feel fear or pain. I'm far from done in that regard, but I no longer feel crippled by it.
I'm proud of how I've taken on responsibility for my health. As much as I hated going on the HIV meds, as much as it really hit home for me that I was ill, and may remain that way for the rest of my life, as much as I had to confront that part of me that was HIV+ in the abstract sense of it only, I kept plodding forward, sometimes encouraged by people in my everyday life, sometimes by readers I have never met, but I kept all my appointments, I gave all the blood, I drank the Kool-Aid and little by little, it did in fact get easier. And I did in fact get better.
There was one thing I got out of my therapy that I am the most proud of. It came out of one of my earlier sessions. I was really struggling through a very bad depression. I had just started on the medication, and to this day, I would swear that they fucked with my head a bit. I was in about as bad a shape as I had ever been emotionally. Still, or because of that, I kept my appointment. And as I started to talk about what I was feeling I began to cry. And the cries led to sobbing. And the floodgates opened and I confessed how badly I had been feeling and that I wasn't sure what to do or how to fix it, and was never more afraid or felt so alone. She asked me how long I had been feeling like this, and I replied several days.
"Well, why in the world didn't you call me?"
From the simplest of questions I was tossed a lifeline. You see, it hadn't occurred to me to call my therapist about my emotional crisis. I didn't know you could. In retrospect, that seems pretty obvious but not then, and not to me. I was unaccustomed to getting help. And I had absolutely no experience asking for it. And while I never did, outside of our regular sessions, ask for that help, I took comfort in knowing it was there. And I used the lesson when I needed medical help with something that turned out to be minor. I was in pain and I asked for help. I got help. It sounds so simple but asking for help is a skill, and at the ripe old age of 43, now 44, I just learned how. I guess the first step is admitting to yourself that you need it.
As far as the future, my therapist pointed me in the direction of some gay men's discussion groups. I've done those before and we both think it might be good for me to meet a new group of men. Conversing with a group of gay men clothed is another skill I need to re-learn. She has a private practice and expressed interest in seeing me there as well. My intent is to persue that as soon as I go back to work and have a steady income. As I said, I don't think I'm finished. In my opinion it's always helpful if not interesting and a little painful to pick up the box your life comes in and give it a good shake. You never know what might get dislodged when you do.
I'm proud of how I've taken on responsibility for my health. As much as I hated going on the HIV meds, as much as it really hit home for me that I was ill, and may remain that way for the rest of my life, as much as I had to confront that part of me that was HIV+ in the abstract sense of it only, I kept plodding forward, sometimes encouraged by people in my everyday life, sometimes by readers I have never met, but I kept all my appointments, I gave all the blood, I drank the Kool-Aid and little by little, it did in fact get easier. And I did in fact get better.
There was one thing I got out of my therapy that I am the most proud of. It came out of one of my earlier sessions. I was really struggling through a very bad depression. I had just started on the medication, and to this day, I would swear that they fucked with my head a bit. I was in about as bad a shape as I had ever been emotionally. Still, or because of that, I kept my appointment. And as I started to talk about what I was feeling I began to cry. And the cries led to sobbing. And the floodgates opened and I confessed how badly I had been feeling and that I wasn't sure what to do or how to fix it, and was never more afraid or felt so alone. She asked me how long I had been feeling like this, and I replied several days.
"Well, why in the world didn't you call me?"
From the simplest of questions I was tossed a lifeline. You see, it hadn't occurred to me to call my therapist about my emotional crisis. I didn't know you could. In retrospect, that seems pretty obvious but not then, and not to me. I was unaccustomed to getting help. And I had absolutely no experience asking for it. And while I never did, outside of our regular sessions, ask for that help, I took comfort in knowing it was there. And I used the lesson when I needed medical help with something that turned out to be minor. I was in pain and I asked for help. I got help. It sounds so simple but asking for help is a skill, and at the ripe old age of 43, now 44, I just learned how. I guess the first step is admitting to yourself that you need it.
As far as the future, my therapist pointed me in the direction of some gay men's discussion groups. I've done those before and we both think it might be good for me to meet a new group of men. Conversing with a group of gay men clothed is another skill I need to re-learn. She has a private practice and expressed interest in seeing me there as well. My intent is to persue that as soon as I go back to work and have a steady income. As I said, I don't think I'm finished. In my opinion it's always helpful if not interesting and a little painful to pick up the box your life comes in and give it a good shake. You never know what might get dislodged when you do.
Friday, November 18, 2005
How Dry I Am
Well, it's been four weeks since any form of the demon alcohol has passed my lips. Two more days and I will have reached my goal of one month. I originally mentioned I would do 60 days, but that just smacked of fanaticism. Is that a word? Anyway, I'm in no hurry to break my liquor fast. I've given myself permission to enjoy a glass of wine or two assuming I'm off for Thanksgiving and I find myself cooking or out to dinner on the holiday. We haven't gotten a straight answer from the owners about whether or not we'll be open. I suspect we will be. It doesn't really matter one way or the other. I don't celebrate Thanksgiving as a rule. It's a family holiday in my mind, and since I don't have much in the way of family around, running about trying to "invent" a family and celebration has always felt a bit desperate to me. Of course, that whole statement sort of speaks to an issue I've been dealing with in my therapy sessions. The fact that I have quite a bit of trouble forming intimate relationships, be they friendship or sexual, with anyone. But that's a subject for another day.
Coincidentally (?), I'm pleased to report that I'm feeling worlds better, fucked-up-in-the-head wise. Things aren't perfect. Some of the issues I've been grappling with regarding my above mentioned intimacy problems, my unresolved sense that I've wasted a huge chunk of my life, as well as my fears for my future are all still bubbling beneath the surface. But I no longer feel overwhelmed by it all. I'm no longer experiencing the day to day fear and extreme anxiety, a sense that I am powerless and incapable of facing even the simplest challenge. If I wasn't expressive enough in describing how much I was struggling, I would say that was the most frightening, most frustrating part. The fact that I'm a control freak is well documented and freely acknowledged. So when I felt that I had lost control, of everything, my emotions, my reactions, my ability to reason, well, let's just say I will do whatever it takes to avoid going back there again anytime soon.
So, winter fast approaches. The change of seasons usually makes me feel rather melancholy. I mourn the passing of another summer and wonder, aloud and to myself, how I will slog through another season of cold air and grey skies and (if you're me) really cute sweaters and the opportunity to layer brilliantly. But this year is different. I am renewed. My sense of balance has been restored. I have hope again. And sometimes, hope is enough to keep you going. Stay tuned ...
Coincidentally (?), I'm pleased to report that I'm feeling worlds better, fucked-up-in-the-head wise. Things aren't perfect. Some of the issues I've been grappling with regarding my above mentioned intimacy problems, my unresolved sense that I've wasted a huge chunk of my life, as well as my fears for my future are all still bubbling beneath the surface. But I no longer feel overwhelmed by it all. I'm no longer experiencing the day to day fear and extreme anxiety, a sense that I am powerless and incapable of facing even the simplest challenge. If I wasn't expressive enough in describing how much I was struggling, I would say that was the most frightening, most frustrating part. The fact that I'm a control freak is well documented and freely acknowledged. So when I felt that I had lost control, of everything, my emotions, my reactions, my ability to reason, well, let's just say I will do whatever it takes to avoid going back there again anytime soon.
So, winter fast approaches. The change of seasons usually makes me feel rather melancholy. I mourn the passing of another summer and wonder, aloud and to myself, how I will slog through another season of cold air and grey skies and (if you're me) really cute sweaters and the opportunity to layer brilliantly. But this year is different. I am renewed. My sense of balance has been restored. I have hope again. And sometimes, hope is enough to keep you going. Stay tuned ...
Thursday, October 27, 2005
I Quit Drinking.
You read that right. Now before any of you do something rash and sell your stock in the USA distributor for Stolichnaya, know this. It's temporary. At least I think it is. The plan is to go 30 days without a drink. We'll asses the matter then.
Why return to the days of prohibition? Because I'm stubborn but I'm not stupid. It occurred to me that while in the midst of treatment for depression, it may not be the wisest choice to continue to go to bed every single night with a belly full of a known depressant. And that's what I've been doing. Every night for years. I compartmentalized my drinking, just like I do every other aspect of my life. Work has a box. My sex life has a box. There's a box for creative pursuits. It stands to reason I'd construct one for drinking. You see I never drink during the day (the rare Sunday brunch being the exception). I don't do Happy Hour. I rarely drink before midnight. But every night, starting around 2 am I would get that itch. That urge. Somewhere a Stoli bottle (or Kettle or Svedka) began to call me.
"It's the end of the day! ... Finish up!... Drink me!" Not the whole bottle of course, but I've been known to make a hefty dent.
Over the course of the last few years, I further withdrew and turned my drinking into a ritual I preferred to pursue alone. Sure, I would have a couple of drinks at the end of a shift. Or I'd head out to Nowhere or The Urge or even (shudder) Spl ... sorry, SBNY on occasion. But that was always the prelude to my drinking alone time. I would turn out the lights, light several candles, find an interesting movie or TV show (As my therapist pointed out, it has all the makings of a hot date. Minus the man, of course.) and then .... woooosh! Up goes the wall. After that, nothing registers. Nothing gets in. No problems at work, no fights with The Ex, no sink full of dirty dishes courtesy of The Hellcat. Nothing. It would all just melt away in a haze of ice cubes and lemon twists.
Trouble is, after awhile, nothing really can get in. That includes other people. I spent the last year of my life working 50 hour weeks with the same people day after day and I never really felt like I got to know any of them. And I don't think I let them get to know me. I'm making the same mistake at my new job. My relations with everyone there are very surface, very non-committal. Part of that was borne out of me taking a new job while in the midst of an emotional crisis. I pulled back to try and mask the difficulty I was having staying focused. But part of it is due to the person I've become. The person I'm no longer enjoying being.
So it was in this spirit, and with the intent of taking advantage of the fact that I had a therapist to lean on, and anti-depressants to make me feel more stable, that I decided to address a part of my life that I have been reluctant to face down. Mind you, after much introspection I've reached the conclusion that alcoholism is not the problem. Alcohol abuse, however, is a symptom. A symptom of my need to feel in control. Yes, I realize the irony in the feeling of ceding control to the alcohol as representing me feeling in control. I didn't say it was logical. All I knew was that for one hour every day at the end of the day I had my spot on the couch, in the night, with the lights out and the candles burning. And I had peace. I had my space. It belonged to me.
The thing is, I can still have that if I want it. Minus the alcohol. And the dry mouth in the morning. And the lack of dreams at night. And the coffee shakes from too much caffeine. And the depression. And the lack of confidence borne from me needing a nightly crutch to hobble into slumber. Ironically, the control I'm feeling from not going to bed drunk at night supersedes the old control issues by a mile. Who knew?
Listen, I'm sorry if this all seems rambling and incoherent. This is the first time in 20 years I've felt this overwhelming desire to change the course of my entire life. The fact that I'm willing to even be this honest about my relation to and abuse of alcohol is a major achievement. I'm sort of still working a lot of it out in my own head. Hence, the disjointed post.
But there you have it. My first week without alcohol. I feel worlds better in the morning. And the dreams, good lord the dreams. This afternoon I knew it was time to get up when I dreamed that I lived with The Ex, The Hellcat, The Ex's friend Ron and the little sister from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Not the actress, the character.
I'm not sure where I'm headed with all this.
Why return to the days of prohibition? Because I'm stubborn but I'm not stupid. It occurred to me that while in the midst of treatment for depression, it may not be the wisest choice to continue to go to bed every single night with a belly full of a known depressant. And that's what I've been doing. Every night for years. I compartmentalized my drinking, just like I do every other aspect of my life. Work has a box. My sex life has a box. There's a box for creative pursuits. It stands to reason I'd construct one for drinking. You see I never drink during the day (the rare Sunday brunch being the exception). I don't do Happy Hour. I rarely drink before midnight. But every night, starting around 2 am I would get that itch. That urge. Somewhere a Stoli bottle (or Kettle or Svedka) began to call me.
"It's the end of the day! ... Finish up!... Drink me!" Not the whole bottle of course, but I've been known to make a hefty dent.
Over the course of the last few years, I further withdrew and turned my drinking into a ritual I preferred to pursue alone. Sure, I would have a couple of drinks at the end of a shift. Or I'd head out to Nowhere or The Urge or even (shudder) Spl ... sorry, SBNY on occasion. But that was always the prelude to my drinking alone time. I would turn out the lights, light several candles, find an interesting movie or TV show (As my therapist pointed out, it has all the makings of a hot date. Minus the man, of course.) and then .... woooosh! Up goes the wall. After that, nothing registers. Nothing gets in. No problems at work, no fights with The Ex, no sink full of dirty dishes courtesy of The Hellcat. Nothing. It would all just melt away in a haze of ice cubes and lemon twists.
Trouble is, after awhile, nothing really can get in. That includes other people. I spent the last year of my life working 50 hour weeks with the same people day after day and I never really felt like I got to know any of them. And I don't think I let them get to know me. I'm making the same mistake at my new job. My relations with everyone there are very surface, very non-committal. Part of that was borne out of me taking a new job while in the midst of an emotional crisis. I pulled back to try and mask the difficulty I was having staying focused. But part of it is due to the person I've become. The person I'm no longer enjoying being.
So it was in this spirit, and with the intent of taking advantage of the fact that I had a therapist to lean on, and anti-depressants to make me feel more stable, that I decided to address a part of my life that I have been reluctant to face down. Mind you, after much introspection I've reached the conclusion that alcoholism is not the problem. Alcohol abuse, however, is a symptom. A symptom of my need to feel in control. Yes, I realize the irony in the feeling of ceding control to the alcohol as representing me feeling in control. I didn't say it was logical. All I knew was that for one hour every day at the end of the day I had my spot on the couch, in the night, with the lights out and the candles burning. And I had peace. I had my space. It belonged to me.
The thing is, I can still have that if I want it. Minus the alcohol. And the dry mouth in the morning. And the lack of dreams at night. And the coffee shakes from too much caffeine. And the depression. And the lack of confidence borne from me needing a nightly crutch to hobble into slumber. Ironically, the control I'm feeling from not going to bed drunk at night supersedes the old control issues by a mile. Who knew?
Listen, I'm sorry if this all seems rambling and incoherent. This is the first time in 20 years I've felt this overwhelming desire to change the course of my entire life. The fact that I'm willing to even be this honest about my relation to and abuse of alcohol is a major achievement. I'm sort of still working a lot of it out in my own head. Hence, the disjointed post.
But there you have it. My first week without alcohol. I feel worlds better in the morning. And the dreams, good lord the dreams. This afternoon I knew it was time to get up when I dreamed that I lived with The Ex, The Hellcat, The Ex's friend Ron and the little sister from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Not the actress, the character.
I'm not sure where I'm headed with all this.
Monday, October 17, 2005
Turns Out, They Got A Pill For That.
So my psych evaluation turned out to be just that, and not the monster in a box I had worried it up to be. After explaining my depression and my desire to feel better, she asked me a series of questions designed, I suppose, to eliminate possibilities as much as diagnose a condition. So no to head trauma, no to seizures, no to alcohol and drug abuse. No (and this was a relief) to manic depression. I apparently don't experience the real manic mania you need to qualify. Sorry, not crazy enough, next!
I did express that while I no longer felt in crisis, I quite simply hardly ever felt "Good". And I would like to feel good again. So I have a new friend. It's called Lexapro. It's used in the treatment of adult depression and General Anxiety Disorder. It will eventually replace the Buspirone I'm taking and hopefully, the blurred vision, headaches and hot flashes I've had to suffer through.
Another pill.
Today I researched the best value best price for a new scanner. I wan't to scan in and create some CD slideshow pictures from when I was a kid back home. I know my brother would really enjoy something like that. That's when it hit me. This was the frist time in weeks I've thought about any creative project. Maybe I am feeling better already.
In other news .... and as a total aside I haven't had the chance to mention. As it turns out, The Hellcat has been off his meds since the middle of summer. And he hasn't been under a Dr's. care about it either.
I did express that while I no longer felt in crisis, I quite simply hardly ever felt "Good". And I would like to feel good again. So I have a new friend. It's called Lexapro. It's used in the treatment of adult depression and General Anxiety Disorder. It will eventually replace the Buspirone I'm taking and hopefully, the blurred vision, headaches and hot flashes I've had to suffer through.
Another pill.
Today I researched the best value best price for a new scanner. I wan't to scan in and create some CD slideshow pictures from when I was a kid back home. I know my brother would really enjoy something like that. That's when it hit me. This was the frist time in weeks I've thought about any creative project. Maybe I am feeling better already.
In other news .... and as a total aside I haven't had the chance to mention. As it turns out, The Hellcat has been off his meds since the middle of summer. And he hasn't been under a Dr's. care about it either.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
A Little Nervous
Tomorrow afternoon I go in for my rescheduled psych eval. I'm nervous about it. But my fear of always feeling so odd overwhelm my fear of meeting and confessing my problems to a total atranger. I'm also afraid I won't be able to re-create what I went through during this depression as I've mostly moved away from it. I'm still very blah and apathetic in the morning but I know now it's temporary. By the afternoon, aside from being tired I feel better. By the time the sun goes down my mood improves dramatically and by about 10 pm I feel right as rain. The thing is, I'm pretty sure most people don't wake up in the morning absolutely convinced that they won't have the energy to get through the day. I'm pretty sure most people don't spend the afternoon sacked out on the couch when a world of shopping, gyms or dare I say it, sex looms around every corner. Part of this, I know, is a transition caused by the new job. I'm a person who likes routine and I'm getting used to new hours and new responsibilities. It plays into my fear of loss of control or looking incompetent.
Still, I hope I can express the depths of the despair I was gripped in. I hope I can adequately express my inability some days to even dress myself. My cognitive functions went out the window. I was alternately manic and then woefully depressed. I still am, but I'm managing. I just feel like I shouldn't be experiencing these massive mood shifts every day. Aren't most people on a more even keel most days? Why can't I have that too?
Still, I hope I can express the depths of the despair I was gripped in. I hope I can adequately express my inability some days to even dress myself. My cognitive functions went out the window. I was alternately manic and then woefully depressed. I still am, but I'm managing. I just feel like I shouldn't be experiencing these massive mood shifts every day. Aren't most people on a more even keel most days? Why can't I have that too?
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