Laundry Day

OK, right outside the barracks room I was in, and next to the weight bench, there were three sets of washers and dryers.  Now, I had arrived with mostly clean clothes, but in a shelter of this size with such a few number of washers, sometimes it pays to wash even a pair of socks, when and if you can. You never know when you will find an open machine.   So, I grabbed the few dirty items I had and perused the line of washers, noticing one was empty.  There was no one around, a large jug of laundry powder was sitting there with the top off, so I got busy.  I added (what I assumed) was the right amount of this clumpy blue powder to the machine, set the load on small, and started the water in order to get the powder to dissolve.  Doing everything right so far, or so I thought.  I relaxed for a moment and stared out the window, wondering what the hell my life had become.

"Hey, what the fuck are you doin?  That's my washer, asshole."  I paused for a second, then turned around slowly to see a short, stocky dude with a snarl on his face, clearly on the edge, holding a net bag of a few items of clothing.  It was kind of surreal.  I thought about what to say for a moment, but before I could get a word out, he said, "get your shit out of there now.  I was gonna use that one."  He punctuated this statement by pointing into the open washer - the only one not in use. OK, well, I have been in situations similar to this, but usually one of us had a lethal weapon pointed at the other, not a net laundry bag.

I stared at him.  "Really?" I said." Well, no one was around, the machine was empty, and the way I see it, first come, first serve."  I was shaking a bit.  "I checked the machines and went back to get my clothes", the other dude said.  "That's the way it goes around here."  "Yeah?  Well, that makes no sense at all."  I was eyeing a ten pound dumbbell about 10 feet away.  "My advice to you is to take your stupid little bag of clothes back to your bed and come back in about half an hour, then my stuff will be done.  In the meantime, shut your mouth and get the fuck out of my face."   I took a step toward him for emphasis, then stopped.  I knew violence could get me booted, and I certainly had no place to go, so it wasn't worth it.  But I WAS going to wash my socks.  "You're an asshole", he said.  "This isn't over."  But I could tell by the look on his face and the way he skulked away, it certainly was over.

This place might pose a few more problems than I anticipated.

Laundry is Over

Well, laundry is over, found a computer, sitting here listening to the Brian Jonestown Massacre.  It could be worse, I could look like Anton.  What a train wreck.  Not much to say today, no motivation.  Looking for a long term place to get into, probably somewhere in central NH.  I am so tired; things have got to turn around for me.  

I have decided to give some social recovery group a shot when I get out of here. Kind of hard to believe, but I need to add something to the mix. This is going to be a super short post today, the keyboard sucks and I am beat.  Somehow, throughout all of this, I managed to pull off an 'A' on the online course I was taking.  Will wonders never cease! Happy Mother's Day to all!  Including the mother of my kids - a day late, but oh well.  Next year I'll hit her up a day early.  Speaking of my ex and our old house, a memory came flooding back.

I was just remembering the struggle I used to have with recycling back in the day, when I actually owned a house.  I would let the empties pile up everywhere in the house, garage, etc., then skip at least one or two recycling days. Finally, the deed had to be done.  I would double, triple bag with leaf bags and take the stuff out at 6 in the morning, sure that everyone knew what was happening and what a reprobate I was (am).   I am sure they did, but not because of all the empties. The garbage guys probably didn't even care.  Nevertheless, what a stressful experience.  Had to carry the bags softly so they wouldn't rattle.  What a mess that was. Hundreds of empties.Wow. Doesn't take long to pile that shit up.

Random Thoughts

Back in Brockton,  Not sure why, blew a 0.0 when I got there and then the same an hour later.  Came in on a Thursday am, it's now Saturday, and they refuse to let me leave.  I am fuming, primarily for allowing myself to be brought to this place. It's a lock down ward, so otherwise I would simply walk out.  Hopefully I can make my escape tomorrow.  Surprising enough, there is no one here I know.  They are all 60-somethings, and sadly, I see my face in theirs. That's depressing indeed.  I am not even sure of the circumstances that got me here, can't wait to see what bridges I burned this time.  I know the girlfriend is gone, and I don't even care at this point.  Jesus.

So I am a vegetarian, and they have fucked up my food since the get go.  Here and everywhere.  "Can't you just pick around the beef in the stew'" they ask.  Fuck them all.  They just don't get it and I am tired of trying to explain my habits.  The four sublime states of Buddism are love, compassion' sympathetic joy, and equanimity.  No where is murder discussed.  I must be a bad Buddhist.  Forgive me, Buddha.  Awaken me to the truth.

I have been losing a ton of weight.  Down to 163 and can't figure it out.  Simply not hungry, especially here.  Time for a half gallon of skim milk.  Hey, if you have been hanging in this blog, please share and give me feedback.  I am trying to work with a guy in NSW to consolidate some of this stuff.  It would be a lot of work, but it is time for me to write.  The great American novel  is underway.  -TRJ

where am I going to live?

"I don't know where I'm gonna live?  I don't know if I'll find a place.
I have to think about it some.  That I do not wish to face.
I guess I'm counting on His
    divine intervention"

-Matthew Sweet, from 'Girlfriend', on of the best albums of all time, in my opinion.

Alcoholics like to make lists, so that's the chore for the day.  No arguments or debates, please.  I just need to type today and kill some time.  Stay busy.

In no particular order, ten of my top albums.

1.  the aforementioned
2. Eels - Electroshock Blues
3. Secret Machines - Now Here is Nowhere (Miss you Ben Curtis)
4. The Hold Steady - Almost Killed Me
5.The Church - The Blurred Crusade
6. Swervedriver - I Wasn't Born to Lose You
7. Sugar - Copper Blue
8. The Smiths - The Queen is Dead
9. Luna - Penthouse
10. Manic Street Preachers - Everything Must Go.

If you don't want to throw in a couple, go sot off.

Trying to Leave

So, when I arrived here on Thursday, I blew a BAC of 0.0. I was calm, peaceful, and agreeable. (How I got coerced into coming, I have no idea.)  I was sure that they would be inclined to let me leave.  Well, here I am, 4 days later, pumped full of Librium.  Yesterday, I asked to speak to the attending physician about his right to keep me here, and he truly mumbled and stumbled over words like 'policy' and 'safety.'  I said, "Dude, I am sober, the BAC proves it."

  He said nothing. Well, of value anyway.

I said, "look, break free from this dinosaur and let me out of here.  At least get a colleague in here to give a second opinion.  This is complete VA bullshit."

"You were brought here for a reason," he responded. "What reason?  I can't see how you can legally keep me."  He tugged on his ear and said, "I'll consult with another doctor and come back in a bit."

 I stared at him and said nothing.

An hour later, the same doc came back with his 'superior.'  Same questions, same response. I told them they both fucking sucked and sat back, staring at them.  They squirmed a bit, spewing forth some bullshit about responsibility to me and the VA.  They said they would check up on me tomorrow, and if there had been any significant improvement, they would reconsider.  I asked, "Have you ever let someone out for the same reasons?"  One looked at the other and shrugged.  "It's a case by case basis."

 I said nothing.

Today is a new day.  I wonder they will be serving for dinner.   Needless to say, there is no alcohol in my future, at least for the next twenty-four hours.  Maybe those idiots know better than me after all.
Next stop, out of New England, maybe a low-rent place like who knows fuck-all.  As long as there is a VA nearby.

A Lyric?

Giving a Crack at Lyrics...first blush

Your energy saps my strength,

your toes trace a line in the sand; you look at me then the waves wash it away;

the self you make me see is the one I glimpse but never grasp

the days pass in retrospectful contemplation but are soon forgotten

where has it all gone?

where has it all gone?

teach me to fall

the side of me that leaves is the one that must depart

without you my energy returns

the sand repairs itself when we try to make it our own

look away so I can see myself the way I am

let me enjoy my days as they are

where has it all gone?

where has all of it gone?

teach me again to fall

and I will rise and search for you

once again

Perhaps Out of Here Tomorrow?

So, it's a bittersweet night for me.  It appears that tomorrow I will be moving on.  Frankly, my desire to stay sober just isn't there - YET.  It usually appears sometime between when I sign my discharge papers and head across campus to put in for my travel pay.  My big concern is whether or not I will have a home to go to; which, in fact, is also up in the air.

Funny, I have felt less stress with more impending problems than I do right now.  I just have a feeling that things will work themselves out.  Maybe a thirty day stay would be in order, but that option has not presented itself yet.  It sure would be nice to ingest a pint of whiskey, but that would negate all chances that may, or may not, be available to me.  Like I said before, it's a fifty/fifty chance as to what will happen tomorrow.  I am trying not to give it too much thought.

They have pumped me so full of Librium in the last four days, and the place is empty, so they may decide to keep me one more day for observation.  I am not totally opposed to that, although I gotta lay off the oatmeal cookies and ice cream.

I wonder what my (girl friend) is doing right now?  God, I miss her; I wonder if she looks back fondly or with pity.  We have some major events lined up for the summer - an MLB game in NY, a concert in the city, and a cruise in November.  Probably all shot to hell, but in the long run, it doesn't matter.  I want to live, I just don't know how to make that happen.  It is both stupefying and horribly terrifying.  Am I one of, as the recovery book says, there are those who can't get sober because they are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves?  What a bunch of bullshit.  I have yet to meet someone who is constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves, and I mean that honestly and sincerely.  But the fact is, people like me die everyday.  Shudder to think.

A Revelation

Did you ever get to a point where you feel like you just can't make it?  I mean, on your own?  If you haven't, I suppose you are either not human or a sociopath.  It hit me like a ton of bricks this morning.  First of all, let me digress a bit.  I am not fond of people.  But I am fond of life.  The last two times I left rehab I went into what is known as an SRO (single room occupancy) unit.  Just me, the four walls, and my thoughts.  Not a good place to be, and the results were predictable. Oh, I was able to hold out for a couple of weeks, but soon there suddenly appeared a bottle of whiskey and a handful of benzos.  Potentially lethal.

So, today, if I have the opportunity, I am going to ask to be placed in a house where I would have a roommate or two.  I need accountability and, finally, I am not ashamed to admit it.  It is cathartic, really.  I'm not going to say that it won't suck, but in order to preserve this life, it is the best option.

So I'll have to make my bed every day.  Big deal.  Maybe have to clean the kitchen, go to recovery as a group, walk every-fucking-where.  Clean up cigarette butts that aren't mine, soggy ones, stick them in a rusted Maxwell House coffee can.  Have my food stolen from the community fridge. (Fortunately, I'm a vegetarian, so usually the Boca burgers are safe).

If anyone steals my laundry, though, game on.

The Dash

There is a time when I look around at the faces here in this rehabilitation center and realize that I am perhaps the youngest one.  For a split-second, that gives me a sense of satisfaction, until I remember that they, too, were once here when they were my age.  Then I begin to panic, wondering if I am also caught in the undertow, too fagged out to reach the shore, destined to return again and again until I can simply never leave.  I feel too strong, though, too smart.  How could I let my life slip away into the horrible death that is alcoholism.  That is a problem.

A while back, I read a book called The Dash.  It was basically the musings of the author in a graveyard, looking at the birth and death dates on those old tombstones, and realizing that the dates meant nothing - it was the dash between the dates that told the story.  It reminded me of an old Smiths song, with Morrissey musing about the dead poets - Keats, Yeats; and trying to imagine them living with "loves, and hates, and passions just like mine.  They were born and then they lived and then they died."  Pretty profound.  I hope my dash tells more than the story of a man broken by alcoholism, with the musings of what could have been, a wasted life.

That scares me more than anything - the regret of a life lost, potential unfulfilled.  I am running out of time; the whispering has already started.

New Day

Five in the morning, alone in the community room. I have the earbuds in, listening to the brilliant new Swervedriver album.  Music...my saving grace.  Also my nemesis at times.  It's like reading Fante, Bukowski, Burroughs, etc.  It is so easy to get caught up in the story and emotion; imagining that I am living vicariously through the romantic antics of these poor, broken individuals.  But they had a story to tell, and it was real and in your face.  They are gone, but they really lived.  I think the part that is always glossed over is the real pain, which, unfortunately, takes up most of the dash, although the authors may not want, or be able to, talk about it.  I can.

For every hour of joy, there are countless hours of hopelessness, pain, and despair.  Every once in a while you get an hour or two of relative peace, but the life of an alcoholic is a constant struggle; a scramble to keep afloat.  Once I was at a rehab and they brought family members in for a session one night.  The question was posed to both groups (family and alcoholics):  describe in a word or two how you perceive the life of the alcoholic to be.

Family responses included:  selfishness, easy, shiftless, happy, uncaring, partying, to mention a few.

Alcoholics:  pain, agony, loneliness, hopeless, unloved, desperate.

That, in itself, tells a lot.  There is a new book out there called Chasing the Scream, by Johann Hari..  It presents a pretty convincing case for the legalization of all drugs.  Sounds like too much?  Read the book.  It could change your view on a lot of things, the least of which could be your view toward the addict or alcoholic.  It is a horrible life, and compassion, not punitive measures, is the only way to stop what has made the US the laughing stock of the world when it comes to the way we deal with drug and alcohol offenders.