If you feed it, prepare for it to thrive.
I'm afraid all the time. I'm afraid I'll drink again. I'm afraid of being alone. I'm afraid of companionship.
Fuck. I'm afraid I might shit my pants for the third time as an adult.
There's something under my "o" key. It feels cushioned.oooowwwoooo
I joined AA nearly three months ago. It feels like a cult. Like a dimly lit room full of ravenous clowns. However, it's helping. The bubbling buffoons are my people, it seems. I'm in a room full of weirdos who don't have their wits, but still move forward and live fully.
I'm one of them. We're all stunted in our mental and emotional development. Perhaps, I'm just seeing the reality of growing older. For instance: my soul is old, my mind is young, and my body is nearing middle age. These parts are coexisting, but not always in the same room. (The "a" key is sticking, too.) It's alright, though. I'm aware and nothing is weighing on me like a wet sponge. Not anymore.
I'm creeping up on my 3-month mark, as previously mentioned. They'll ask me to speak at meetings. I know that everyone's story is different. I feel as though mine will pale in comparison. I've heard stories of past spouses, children, fires, jail time, drug addiction, rehabs, extreme poverty, and suicide attempts. All I have is (charge-less) larceny and a whole lot of sex. Okay, I've got sexual molestation and a fucked-up childhood... but none near as awful as some of those whom I've heard speak. What am I going to talk about? I've got the basic gist: Start with a beginning, my beginning. Keep it to 20 minutes, if possible. End with the present. I didn't have a shitty rock-bottom that led me to "the halls". I excused myself from the apartment in Portsmouth after paying off the landlord an agreed-upon amount, nearly fucked things up here, and had a dream where a gone old friend told me to take care of myself. My parents haven't disowned me. My siblings still love me. I just have a genetic disease that doesn't allow me to "drink like a gentleman/lady".
I'm okay with accepting that I have this "disease". Life is a hell of a lot less expensive, until I get onto Amazon and find something I decided I can't live without. (Hellooooo, stainless steel bowl set!) So, here I am, in bed and typing this out. It's faster than writing in a paper journal. (My poor neglected journal) I'm attempting to sort out my brain, to organize my thought process. (That fucking "o" button...)
On top of this, I'm constantly worried about my job. Am I doing this right? Am I worthy enough to move up in ranks eventually? The chef says I am, but he's the type who talks a lot. So, I don't always trust the things he says.
Also, I'm probably moving out of Randy's apartment at the end of next month. He'll probably be financially fucked, but that's not really my concern. My concern is that we've been using space heaters instead of fuel because the furnace shit the bed two months ago. I'm concerned because there's no floor support in the basement below the toilet. I'm concerned because the electrical wiring is severely outdated. I'm concerned because some of that wiring is exposed in two rooms, including the bathroom. Also, some of the ceiling is missing in the bathroom. I can see the baseboards of the upstairs apartment's bathroom. I'm concerned because my room is slanted toward a different part of the basement that doesn't have any support in that area of the apartment floors. I'm concerned because there's a dog that rages my allergies if I'm not taking the pills. I'm concerned because I'm allergic to the house. I'm concerned because I need to do yoga for my mental health, and either his kid is running around yelling or the upstairs kids are running around yelling.... or stomping.
So, I may be renting a room from a gal from the group. It's a house. No children. One small Chi-Pom. The room is 2.5 times the size of my current one. It's a pale pink, which is fine with me. It has more than one outlet, and my current room has one. I want to have a cat there, but the gal is highly allergic. So, I may have to wait a while before a cat happens. (Should the opportunity arise, my friend Jewelie has the perfect kitty for me and said I can take her if possible.) It's a farther walk from work, but that means more exercise and getting up earlier. Both of which are healthier for me. I realize that this will be less comfortable in less-than-lovely weather conditions, but I'm alright with this. Also, it's quiet. So, yoga. Eventually, my goal is to invest in wireless earbuds for music, dancing, and movie-watching.
Lastly, I'm starting to organize this year's William Shatner Beat Night. I need to find judges. I need to talk with someone at Gather (formerly Seacoast Family Food Pantry). I need to find contestants. I need hope that there are still enough folks who don't hate me to get this year's off the ground. AND I NEED TO NOT STUTTER WHEN SPEAKING TO JEANNE MCCARTIN... and to do a follow-up with photos. Maybe, see if Roger doesn't mind stepping down as photog and ask Kramer to do it. I may have already done this. I don't remember.
I have to be at work in less than 8 hours. I should go to sleep.
Goodnight.
Fuck. I'm afraid I might shit my pants for the third time as an adult.
There's something under my "o" key. It feels cushioned.oooowwwoooo
I joined AA nearly three months ago. It feels like a cult. Like a dimly lit room full of ravenous clowns. However, it's helping. The bubbling buffoons are my people, it seems. I'm in a room full of weirdos who don't have their wits, but still move forward and live fully.
I'm one of them. We're all stunted in our mental and emotional development. Perhaps, I'm just seeing the reality of growing older. For instance: my soul is old, my mind is young, and my body is nearing middle age. These parts are coexisting, but not always in the same room. (The "a" key is sticking, too.) It's alright, though. I'm aware and nothing is weighing on me like a wet sponge. Not anymore.
I'm creeping up on my 3-month mark, as previously mentioned. They'll ask me to speak at meetings. I know that everyone's story is different. I feel as though mine will pale in comparison. I've heard stories of past spouses, children, fires, jail time, drug addiction, rehabs, extreme poverty, and suicide attempts. All I have is (charge-less) larceny and a whole lot of sex. Okay, I've got sexual molestation and a fucked-up childhood... but none near as awful as some of those whom I've heard speak. What am I going to talk about? I've got the basic gist: Start with a beginning, my beginning. Keep it to 20 minutes, if possible. End with the present. I didn't have a shitty rock-bottom that led me to "the halls". I excused myself from the apartment in Portsmouth after paying off the landlord an agreed-upon amount, nearly fucked things up here, and had a dream where a gone old friend told me to take care of myself. My parents haven't disowned me. My siblings still love me. I just have a genetic disease that doesn't allow me to "drink like a gentleman/lady".
I'm okay with accepting that I have this "disease". Life is a hell of a lot less expensive, until I get onto Amazon and find something I decided I can't live without. (Hellooooo, stainless steel bowl set!) So, here I am, in bed and typing this out. It's faster than writing in a paper journal. (My poor neglected journal) I'm attempting to sort out my brain, to organize my thought process. (That fucking "o" button...)
On top of this, I'm constantly worried about my job. Am I doing this right? Am I worthy enough to move up in ranks eventually? The chef says I am, but he's the type who talks a lot. So, I don't always trust the things he says.
Also, I'm probably moving out of Randy's apartment at the end of next month. He'll probably be financially fucked, but that's not really my concern. My concern is that we've been using space heaters instead of fuel because the furnace shit the bed two months ago. I'm concerned because there's no floor support in the basement below the toilet. I'm concerned because the electrical wiring is severely outdated. I'm concerned because some of that wiring is exposed in two rooms, including the bathroom. Also, some of the ceiling is missing in the bathroom. I can see the baseboards of the upstairs apartment's bathroom. I'm concerned because my room is slanted toward a different part of the basement that doesn't have any support in that area of the apartment floors. I'm concerned because there's a dog that rages my allergies if I'm not taking the pills. I'm concerned because I'm allergic to the house. I'm concerned because I need to do yoga for my mental health, and either his kid is running around yelling or the upstairs kids are running around yelling.... or stomping.
So, I may be renting a room from a gal from the group. It's a house. No children. One small Chi-Pom. The room is 2.5 times the size of my current one. It's a pale pink, which is fine with me. It has more than one outlet, and my current room has one. I want to have a cat there, but the gal is highly allergic. So, I may have to wait a while before a cat happens. (Should the opportunity arise, my friend Jewelie has the perfect kitty for me and said I can take her if possible.) It's a farther walk from work, but that means more exercise and getting up earlier. Both of which are healthier for me. I realize that this will be less comfortable in less-than-lovely weather conditions, but I'm alright with this. Also, it's quiet. So, yoga. Eventually, my goal is to invest in wireless earbuds for music, dancing, and movie-watching.
Lastly, I'm starting to organize this year's William Shatner Beat Night. I need to find judges. I need to talk with someone at Gather (formerly Seacoast Family Food Pantry). I need to find contestants. I need hope that there are still enough folks who don't hate me to get this year's off the ground. AND I NEED TO NOT STUTTER WHEN SPEAKING TO JEANNE MCCARTIN... and to do a follow-up with photos. Maybe, see if Roger doesn't mind stepping down as photog and ask Kramer to do it. I may have already done this. I don't remember.
I have to be at work in less than 8 hours. I should go to sleep.
Goodnight.