Hm. What a day. Two or three days of positive choices and a little bit of food and sleep, and so quickly we forget. Forget what travesties we have committed. Forget what pain we have felt or caused or both...
We forget.
Tonight I went down to a fellowship meeting to remind me. It comes flooding back, real and visceral and painful and sad, but then the obligatory dance step comes a rushin' to the surface. Shuck and jive, shuck and jive... A yadda-ta-dadda-ta-dadda-ta-Da... A-yadda-ta-dadda-ta-dadda-da-Da...
Maybe one more time... One more ride on the crazy train.
Fuck that.
Some amazing things came flying out of the woodwork today. Work stuff, personal development stuff, spiritual stuff, truths, admissions of guilt and shame, realizations of what is real and what is fucked and what is beautiful and true.
And all I have is three days under my belt. Well, in a row that is.
My friend is not home right now. Likely drinking. I smudged his house yesterday. Beautifully from bottom to top, closets, drawers, haunted rooms and coked up rooms; he was so scared the other night. Bleeding ulcers is my diagnosis but what the fuck do I know.
"Stopping drinking man; that's the only way I think," says I.
So yesterday he has Diet Pepsi. Good on you D.
Today, nobody's home, and his truck's here. Door unlocked too. Weird. Hope nothing terrible happened. But alone I am, facebooking, chatting, planning, plotting secret birthday celebrations, getaway spiritual weekends; just me and the cats.
And yet... Smudge notwithstanding, I still am uncomfortable in my own skin. My babies are not here with me due to my DIRECT FUCKING ACTIONS... guiltguiltguilt... shameshameshame...
Alone, in a basement with a cat staring at me like I'm a chocolate covered turd and I feel like a big shithead. Feel. Don't want to feel. Maybe I should... Hm.. I still have twentyseven phone numbers committed to memory; I can be euphoric (for two seconds) in ten minutes. But then paranoid, delusional, fearful, scared and fucked right up in a minute shortly following my crash.
Then I have stepped in and circumvented the Hand of God. The guiding hand of Creator is not good enough for me, and I self medicate yet again. Then likely wake up tomorrow late, miss my morning meeting, feel jittery and guilty and bomb my afternoon meeting, then miss my wife's birthday, and deny myself the chance to walk into the mountains with my spirit guides and snuggle up with 68 indians and spirits and teachers and helpers and all that is beautiful and humble and real in our culture.
And all I have to do is spend twenty bucks on some more street bullshit. All this and more self loathing, shame and blame on self.
Hm. How bout "no". How bout I show myself that I can tough it through this little ripple in the pond and step proudly and humbly into the light this coming weekend? Shine and smile and cry and sing and eat and laugh and cry some more...
If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine. Would you hear my voice come through the music? Would you hold it near as it were your own?
Jerry, RIP and help me make it through the night without using. Help me make it to the mountains tomorrow and to the sweet gentle hand of my love and her family.
Tonight, a father's responsible decision. A broken child's old pattern breaking. A battle of tears and pride and softness and protective arms. That path is for your steps alone. No simple highway between the dawn and the dark of night.
Fuck me. This ain't easy shit.
It's not what you do when you're on stage that counts. It's when no one's looking. I love you baby.
Happy birthday to the most beautiful woman I know. I am blessed by your love.
S + T forever... TL4Ever
xox
S.
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