(no subject)
Good morning. I just took that stupid 8th grade math thing and passed. I pondered posting it here, but, as I've already seen it no less than three times on my friends page, I figured no one else needed to see it again.
Last night was a family dinner for my Aunt Bunny's 80th birthday. The obvious things were troubling, including, but not limited to: trying to find vegan food at Monterey Bay Fish Grotto (I had anticipated eating nothing, but they made a special plate for me. It was OK, but was way too much food, which I ended up somehow obligated to bring home with me, even though I didn't really want to); dealing with family in general; and being in a car with my Dad. My Dad was not the greatest driver, say, six months ago. But now, last night ... being in a car, on the highway, in a rainstorm, that's being driven by a 70-something year old man who just had a stroke a few months ago ... let's just say I kept my hand on my cell phone the entire time.
I left the table once (to smoke, and to call n0thingman). Bunny talked once about a trip to Columbus that got her lost "in the colored part of town" which surprised me, as I'd never heard her talk that way before. Anne was whipping out the camera, as always, and my Dad got fidgety and got up and wandered away once or twice, but otherwise it was pretty OK.
I came home and had a long talk with Dan, which was good. And then I sat down here and noticed something I'd written in my datebook: last night was the five year anniversary of the last time I did cocaine.
It doesn't seem that long, but then, it also seems like it's a million years away. Five years ago, Bob was in the hospital, with a mystery infection, which ended up being bacterial endocarditis. In other words, he got an infection in his heart from using dirty needles. I'd tried to teach him to be clean, tried to teach him all the good things I learned from The Chicago Recovery Alliance, but Bob would always be Bob, and there was simply no telling him anything.
I kept using for a grand total of two weeks after that night we took him to the hospital, but, in the end, every time I would shoot up, all I could think was "is this the time it happens to me?"
The infection destroyed Bob's mitral valve, and he ended up having to have a mechanical valve placed on his heart. Open heart surgery at age 29. Lovely.
Of course, if you really want to talk about "in the end," well, in the end he got run over by a drunk driver, so it didn't really matter, now did it?
Last night was a family dinner for my Aunt Bunny's 80th birthday. The obvious things were troubling, including, but not limited to: trying to find vegan food at Monterey Bay Fish Grotto (I had anticipated eating nothing, but they made a special plate for me. It was OK, but was way too much food, which I ended up somehow obligated to bring home with me, even though I didn't really want to); dealing with family in general; and being in a car with my Dad. My Dad was not the greatest driver, say, six months ago. But now, last night ... being in a car, on the highway, in a rainstorm, that's being driven by a 70-something year old man who just had a stroke a few months ago ... let's just say I kept my hand on my cell phone the entire time.
I left the table once (to smoke, and to call n0thingman). Bunny talked once about a trip to Columbus that got her lost "in the colored part of town" which surprised me, as I'd never heard her talk that way before. Anne was whipping out the camera, as always, and my Dad got fidgety and got up and wandered away once or twice, but otherwise it was pretty OK.
I came home and had a long talk with Dan, which was good. And then I sat down here and noticed something I'd written in my datebook: last night was the five year anniversary of the last time I did cocaine.
It doesn't seem that long, but then, it also seems like it's a million years away. Five years ago, Bob was in the hospital, with a mystery infection, which ended up being bacterial endocarditis. In other words, he got an infection in his heart from using dirty needles. I'd tried to teach him to be clean, tried to teach him all the good things I learned from The Chicago Recovery Alliance, but Bob would always be Bob, and there was simply no telling him anything.
I kept using for a grand total of two weeks after that night we took him to the hospital, but, in the end, every time I would shoot up, all I could think was "is this the time it happens to me?"
The infection destroyed Bob's mitral valve, and he ended up having to have a mechanical valve placed on his heart. Open heart surgery at age 29. Lovely.
Of course, if you really want to talk about "in the end," well, in the end he got run over by a drunk driver, so it didn't really matter, now did it?