"Your cat will never threaten your popularity by barking at three in the morning. He won't attack the mailman or eat the drapes, although he may climb the drapes to see how the room looks from the ceiling." ~Helen Powers

I survived yesterday without reverting to my old ways, though it was tempting.

I was hurt by something someone did (or didn't do, in this case) on Saturday and I think that carried over to Sunday. That, on top of my increased anxiety with a stressful situation (or 2) at work, on top of having a demon-satan-spawned-devil-kitten, just about did me in.

I constantly wonder how normal people do it.

For as much as I bitch about my cat(s), it's a wonder I have any at all. Every morning, the new kitten, Dale, wakes me up at 4:00AM. I don't mind being woken up at 1:30 or 2:00AM because there's plenty of time to fall back to sleep, but waking up at 4:00AM is like, "Welp, I might as well get up".  This morning, both cats got kicked out of the bedroom and I was able to sleep for an hour. 10 days of this is enough! I need my sleep!  Ahhhh, but there were consequences. Dale had unrolled the entire toilet paper roll and shredded it. Dale had pulled a hand-made quilt from my mother off the quilt rack onto the floor. Elvis dragged something to the food dish. Good 'ol Elvis. So considerate not to ruin anything. Dale, on the other hand, is torturing me. Needless to say, there is no toilet paper on the roll and blankets are in the closet until she gets declawed. Can't happen soon enough.

I thought having a kid would be difficult. This seems infinitely worse. A baby isn't going to crawl out of its crib to de-roll the toilet paper. I'm constantly worried what she's going to ruin next. I sit at work and dread going home to possibly find my huge peace lily knocked to the floor, dirt everywhere; or the living room curtains ripped off the wall; or the screen door completely shredded; or Elvis bleeding & dying. Did I say she's getting declawed? Tomorrow. Not soon enough.

I'm in high-anxiety-mode. I have this stupendously huge fear of failure...or, not so much failure, but that other people will notice I'm not perfect. I know how stupid that sounds. Trust me, I know. I can't stop myself from feeling this way, though. At least, I haven't been able to, yet. I feel completely and totally responsible for the stressful situations at work and I must fix them. Yet, I'm petrified by my fear of screwing up, of doing something wrong, of being wrong. It doesn't help that I feel alone in this; that other people don't seem to be as worried about the situation(s) as I am; that people seem to be burying their heads in the sand and don't want to ask the hard questions; and that people seem to take the easy road instead of the right road. It's an overwhelming situation to be in.

I try to let responsibility lay where it should and to not take things personally. What's happening at work wasn't caused by me and it isn't necessarily my responsibility to rectify any situation. However, I feel strongly about what I do, about my job, and about my place of work. I care. Dammit. *eye roll*  If I didn't care, I wouldn't worry, I wouldn't feel so much anxiety, I wouldn't bitch about it so much. Shiiiiiiiiiiit.

I find that planning calms my mind. If I have a plan, if I'm doing something to help, if I'm moving things forward, then I feel better. My anxiety doesn't entirely dissipate, but it wanes.

So yes, the cat will be at the vet first thing tomorrow morning even if I have to walk her there in freezing rain. Yes, a meeting will take place next week to address one stressful situation at work. Yes, another meeting will take place this week to address another thorn in my side. I've done all that I can do and knowing that, I'll sleep peacefully.....not tonight because demon-kitten will be around....but definitely tomorrow night when she's at the vet. :)

"Sometimes it helps to count to 10 on your fingers. Or just one, if you know what I’m saying." -Maxine

I'm having one of those days when everything that can go wrong, does.   It's only 7:20am. I've already cussed about 1,000 times, deep-breathed just as many, said, "I hate [insert name here], I hate [insert name here], I hate [insert name here]" repeatedly in my head, and if I had a punching bag, I would have punched it.....hard.

Do you ever experience that? An "I-should-have-stayed-in-bed" day?  When, from the moment you wake up, everything is a chore, everything is more difficult, nothing goes right, nothing is easy, and the shit just keeps piling on?

My frustration level is at its peak and that's not a good thing. I tend to cry when my frustration level is in the Red. I walked into the front office at work this morning and walked out with tears in my eyes. Today is a good 'avoidance' day, when I do my job, plaster a kind-of-smile on my face, and go hide in my office. I'm a little bit afraid of my reaction if someone bitches at me this morning, or asks me point-blank, "What's going on here?" I'm afraid I'll be honest and tell them without any sugar-coating and they'll go into shock and I won't have a job tomorrow.

Do I want to drink? You bet your ass I do. Will I? I can guarantee I won't for the next 4.5 hours, but that's all I can guarantee.

Update: Ma & Pa K showed up at 9:30 worship. Surprised me! All is not yet quite right in my world, but that helped.

This is like crack for me!

A lot has happened in a few short days.  New tattoo, new addition to the family (visit High Heel to the Crotch for an update), illness at work, and difficulties at work. I was at the church until 9:45 Tuesday night dealing with the difficulties. I'm usually sound asleep by then!

But....this is like crack for me.

Now, I've never actually done crack so I don't know what it's like, but I imagine it's a buzz, an energy, a feeling of life....and then a crash.  I love being busy. More importantly, I loved what I was working on. Finances (numbers), statistics, research, writing. Don't get me wrong; it's a horrible situation. Awful. I'm upset that we're in this situation, but......it just feels so damn good to do something. 

Do you know how often I'm bored? Maybe over 50% of my life is bored-time. There are only so many internet games to play, blogs to read, t.v. to watch, books to read, cat-play, and on-line shopping to do. That gets old, fast. I like to work. I enjoy work. It's important to me to feel like I accomplished something in a day. Today, my accomplishment was getting my shopping done @ Walmart. I hate going there, but I sucked it up, went at 5:30 this morning, and it's done.

That's all I need. One small, teeny, little, nonsense accomplishment and I'm good. Back in my depression days, it was simply showering. If I could just shower, that was enough. Thank goodness those days are long gone.

I drink a lot of coffee and I drink it fast, which means I'm up & down from my desk a lot.  Wednesday, I didn't even want to take the time to fill my cup or pee or smoke a cigarette.  Do you know how rare that is for me? Puh-leeeze. I'd drop everything for a cigarette!  Needless to say, I crashed about 2:30pm Wednesday. It was like hitting a wall. I was ready for bed, right then & there. I didn't get that. I think Dale was on crack and literally climbing the walls. I cannot wait for that damn cat to get declawed. Did I say 'damn cat'? I meant 'precious kitty'. 

I met a friend for dinner and promptly went home, put on my pj's....and did not fall asleep.  And I was up at 5:00 this morning. I've already taken a 3-hour-long-nap this afternoon. 

I don't know exactly what my point is with this except to say, I know I have to be careful. Working hard, working late is a good thing, but I also need to remember to take care of myself because it only takes one nano-second, one slip, one sip to relapse. I have to be aware, when I'm in that 'crack-stage', that vibrant, busy stage, what's happening and not to let the feeling take over no matter how good it feels.

Obviously, since I've been back in my pj's since 6:30 this morning, I'm doing just that. :)

Do Not Destroy

My neck's sore, but I'm happy!

Oh crap.

How do parents do it? How do they decide to have one child, let alone a second or a third? I have a cat, for pity's sake, and I'm going over & over & over in my mind, "Will he like another cat? What if he hates it? What if they fight all the time? Elvis doesn't have any claws to defend himself! Can I handle another cat now? What will change? How long will the adjustment period be?"  I go from ecstatic excitement about adding a member to my clan to complete dreaded anxiety! 

THEY'RE CATS!

I thought I had made up my mind during lunch with my friend that I would email the coordinator of Walnut's Feral Cat Program (takepittyonthekitties) as soon as I got back to the office. No, I will not be adopting a feral cat. I'm not that crazy. But they do offer other cats for adoption. Munchkin has been on their blog for a little while now and I've been debating for just as long. I forgot to email....until I got home and Elvis meowed at me for 45 straight minutes and I had to clean all the toys & kleenex out of his food dish. Enough already. He needs a pal. I just sent an email to WIFCaP and am awaiting a reply. With sheer anxiety. And excitement.

Wish me luck....or not. I don't know.

On another note, I'm just as anxious and excited about getting my new tattoo tomorrow. What is wrong with me? Usually I'm very decisive. I know what I want, I get it, I'm happy. Regarding the tattoo, I'm not sure I've chosen the correct font (yes, it's a word), size, location, etc. I'm so indecisive!

I'm pissing myself off.

For some reason, at age 36 and as I get older, I am more afraid of things. I'm more afraid of car crashes. How did I ever drive 60 miles one way for 5 years in ice & snow? I can barely drive 5 miles now! I drive like "Driving Miss Daisy". And I shake the entire time. *eye roll*  I'm constantly afraid someone is going to break into my apartment or attack me in my garage. I think so highly of myself-- there are mad-men out there gunning for me. ME! Really? No. But I think about it. I'm also constantly afraid of fire in my apartment. I live in a one bedroom and I own two fire extinguishers. Not stupid. Smart. But still, I'm always afraid my electrical outlets are going to suddenly burst into flame and Elvis & I will die by fire.

And now a new cat is leaving me impotent? A new tattoo scares me? Who the hell am I?

I don't like this person. 

So, I'm getting a damn cat and Elvis will just have to adjust. I'm getting a damn tattoo and it will look gorgeous.

There. Done. Happy.

If only it were that easy.

Update: I have a home visit for the cat set up on Saturday. It's like an interview. For a cat. I've already had the discussion with Elvis. He will be on his best behavior.

"Nothing is more conducive to peace of mind than not having any opinion at all." ~G.C. Lichtenberg

I do not have peace of mind. I often wonder how people achieve that. Is it through meditation and if so, how the hell do you get your brain to stop thinking long enough to meditate? Is it because people's consciences are clear, they have no worries, therefore they have peace of mind? That's what I think it is. I think I do not have a clear conscience, I worry about everything, therefore I have disaster-of-the-mind.

This afternoon, I was taking a break from work (have a meeting tonight) and trying to nap.  First of all, Elvis the Cat can't leave me alone if I'm laying down. He either wants under the blanket, on top of the blanket, or to lay on my face...then he wants out or off. He isn't a very relaxed cat. If he isn't doing that, then he's banging open/close a cupboard door, or licking the carboard of an empty Diet Pepsi case, or trying to figure out how to most disturb me. Today, as he was licking my hair, just after I nodded off, I threw him off the couch. SuperCat! He came right back. Needless to say, I gave up on napping.  Not that I was actually going to nap anyway. My mind was on work, work, work, money, money, money, tattoo, tattoo, tattoo, snow, snow, snow, when is my day off?

When I'm trying to fall asleep and my mind is all over the place, I try to count backwards from 100.  Inevitably, by the time I reach 90, my brain is right back to being all over the place.  I then try reciting the Navy alphabet. I'm not sure if the Army, Marines, Air Force alphabets are the same or not, but my brother taught me the Navy version on a roadtrip home. I'm so thankful for that.  I recite it forwards and backwards because that takes more concentration and I'm less likely to revert back to other thoughts. It doesn't really help me fall asleep, though, because I'm concentrating too hard on "Golf, Hotel, India...." Usually, I just read until I can't keep my eyes open any longer. 

I used to drink. It hasn't escaped me that drinking continues to be the first way I think of to stop thinking. And while in previous posts I've said "just the thought of drinking makes me want to vomit", that isn't the case right at this very moment. It sure does sound good. A nice, cold beer after a long, stressful day? I can literally taste it, even though I'm drinking Diet Pepsi. Our brains are amazing.

No fear, readers. There will be no beer chugging happening....tonight. Here's what I do to stop. I imagine myself being homeless-- actually preparing to be homeless.  That's exactly what would happen if I drank again. I'd have to give up my home & belongings, Elvis the Cat (though that's sounding pretty good right about now), my car (unless I 'steal' it & hide out), my job, my friends, my family. I actually envision getting rid of my 'stuff', preparing to be homeless, saying good-bye to everyone and then toodling off in my little-blue-robin's-egg to live down by the river. With my booze.  Because that's all I'd have left. That & smelly underwear.

Being homeless doesn't really appeal to me, so I don't drink.

Why can't I find a simple way like that to get my brain to turn off?

"There is, incidentally, no way of talking about cats that enables one to come off as a sane person." -Dan Greenberg

Remember my post, "Don't sweat the petty things and don't pet the sweaty things"?  It was about the acronym Q-TIP. After last night & this morning, I will forever think of it quite differently. 

Elvis the Cat sleeps in bed with me. What pet doesn't, right? He curls up right next to my head. I find it comforting.....most nights. Last night I woke up to him beginning his 2 minute hacking & hurling. I, literally, threw him off the bed. He went flying across the bedroom. Super-Cat! I just washed the bedding from his most recent sneeze-spittle episode!  I do not want 'hairball' in the bed. That's where I draw the line.

You will find this infinitely disgusting, but I didn't jump up out of bed to clean up his hairball-puke. I barely even woke up to throw him off the bed. I immediately went back to sleep.  That's why I didn't find....well, grossness....until this morning. 

Now, since Chica has passed, Elvis has been incredibly bored, apparently.  The other night I came home to find a kleenex in his water bowl.  A kleenex from the bathroom trash can, which was knocked over. If you've read High Heel to the Crotch, you know I've been dealing with shit like this for years. He seemed to have stopped for awhile. Now he's back at it. Last night I came home to find the bra-pad in his water bowl. Why he can't put shit in his food dish is beyond me. No, he has to soak everything in water, which then dries up the bowl and he's probably dehydrated by the time I get home.  *sigh* 

Last night's hairball contained.......yep, you got it......a freaking q-tip. *eyeroll*

He's done this before. Swallows a q-tip, whole, then expels it via vomit. It makes my life so interesting and his, probably, a little life threatening.

Q-TIP no longer stands for "Quit Taking It Personally".  Now it stands for "Quit Taking It. Period!" as in Quit taking the damn-used-qtips out of the garbage and swallowing them! Enough already! I'm tired of finding disgusting things.

“Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again?” – A.A. Milne

I pulled into my garage today after work, looked over at the passenger seat, and had to pull back out again. My brain stopped working on the way home.

We got 7-9 inches of snow yesterday. It stopped snowing in the late afternoon (pre-evening). Plenty of time for the plows to get out & clear the roads and for our private contractor to clear the church parking lot by this morning. I didn't see any reason to cancel our worship services for the day. In fact, I was adamant that we have worship because we're broke and I need to pay bills and payroll this week. If we didn't have worship today, I wouldn't be able to pay anything. Not the most 'religious' reason to have church, but this is what they hired me to do.

I regret my decision for one reason. Old biddies who complain that there's ice and snow on the parking lot. It's winter, for Christ's sake! What do you expect? Would you like me to carry you from your car to the door? You're lucky it's plowed! I probably won't even be able to pay that bill! You can tell how I'm feeling, can't you? And since I'm still bitching about it after dwelling on it for 6 hours, you understand why my brain stopped working.

Not only do I have to deal with the snow, I also have the stress of our pastor being absent, suddenly. He went into the hospital Friday and was having surgery today. We don't know when he'll be returning so everything that's been planned might have to be unplanned. We just don't know. And not knowing is what drives me bonkers.

But not as bonkers as old biddies bitching about the parking lot and behaving like little jr. high girls.

Usually, I can leave work about a 1/2 hour after our last service. Today I had to stay and enter all of the contributions. I enjoy doing this, but I only do it when our regular person is gone so I always feel like I'm making some sort of major mistake, even though the entries are always correct.  As I was leaving the church, ready to head to the bank to make our deposit, there were a couple of cars in the parking lot. This also makes me nervous. Is someone going to rob me? No, they wanted to look at the church for a wedding. Fine, but let's make it quick. They looked like a bunch of gypsies and I still felt like they were going to try to rob me. They didn't and I don't think they liked my church enough so a total waste of a 1/2 hour of my life.

As I was driving home, I kept thinking, "I wonder if anybody else from treatment has figured out how to turn their brain off?" Mine won't. I keep thinking about all the people who bitched at me today about the parking lot and I think the reason I can't let it go is because it's my fault. It really is. I should have double-checked with our contractor to make sure he was laying down salt & sand, even though we don't have the funds for it. I would have found the money, somehow, someway. I should have been better prepared and I wasn't.

Since my brain was dwelling, I passed right by the bank. I didn't realize it until I pulled into my garage and saw the bank bag & key sitting on the passenger seat.  I laughed at myself, pulled back out, went to the bank and made the deposit. 

Now I'm home, my brain still won't turn off, my neighbor is going to have a Super Bowl party and be extra loud and it all just pisses me off. I'd like to take a Tylenol PM or some NyQuil or just knock myself over the head to make me relax. None of those things are the way to deal with this.

Folks, how do normal people do it? How do you let things go? Treatment friends, have you figured it out yet?

I'm off to put in my ear plugs, crawl under the covers and try to nap. Wish me luck.

"How come if alcohol kills millions of brain cells, it never killed the ones that made me want to drink?" ~Author Unknown

Today is February 3, 2012 and it's my 6-month birthday.

My sponsor laughs that I count the actual days instead of just going by the 'number-date' I got sober (August 8). She can celebrate my 6 month birthday on the 8th. I'm celebrating it now.

I remember my last week in treatment, I was so worried that I wouldn't make it one single day in real life sober.  I was terrified of leaving the Ridge-- that safe, warm bubble.  I was petrified. Now I have 180 days! Who knew it could be done?

If I could offer anything to those just starting treatment or trying to get sober on their own, it'd be this: Hang on with a bulldog grip. It really does get better. The urges, cravings and triggers decreased for me after 3 months. Hang on and don't let go. You'll be amazed how things can get better from one day to another.

I'm not saying life is suddenly rainbows, lollipops & unicorns. I still have to live with myself. I still get irritated, bitchy, lazy, controlling, judgmental, self-righteous and many other horrible things, but at least now I'm aware of it and don't drown all my frustrations, boredom, etc. in booze. It's so nice to wake up and my mouth doesn't taste like ass! It's so nice not to have to hide! It's so nice to save my money instead of blowing it, daily, on alcohol! It's so nice to be proud instead of ashamed! It's so nice to have a clear head...one that doesn't wonder when the next drink will be!

I still think about drinking-- don't get me wrong-- but the thoughts are few & far-between. At least now I'm capable of fighting them. I'm a freaking tae-kwon-do champion at fighting alcohol! Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii-ya! Mostly I just avoid it.....like the plague. I got a text Wednesday from an old drinking buddy. I loved hanging out with him. He was such a 'good' drunk-- always fun, always philosophical, always entertaining. But a drunk he still is and I can't have anything to do with him right now. He understood and wished me well. I doubt I'll ever hear from him again. I think drunks are afraid they'll 'catch' sobriety. If only it were that easy.

I can say, with heartfelt gratitude to everyone who helped me, I am so happy I've been sober for 6 months!



“More and more, it feels like I'm doing a really bad impersonation of myself.” —Chuck Palahniuk

Who the hell am I?

My sponsor made a comment to me the other night after I said it isn't just the disease I have to battle....it's everything else, too, such as boredom, my irritability, my laziness, etc. Her response was 'that is the disease' which made me think, am I the disease? Is everything that makes me who I am part of the disease and if so, then who the hell am I?

I refuse to believe that the person I know that I am is completely defective-- that all of me is defective-- because of this damn disease.

Here are some things that I know I am and beliefs I hold, not because of the disease, but because they are part of me. Just because the majority of society disagrees with me doesn't make me wrong, or diseased.

• I have absolutely no desire to have children. In fact, I believe strongly in forced & voluntary sterilization. I would donate my uterus to a woman in need if I knew it wouldn't jack up my hormones. I believe it would be wrong to subject another being to my genetics (mental illness, alcholism, etc). Plus, I just don't like kids. They're loud & sticky.
• I enjoy winter and do not enjoy summer. I enjoy winter/despise summer for several reasons, the least of which is that winter makes it o.k. to hunker down. The major reason(s) I enjoy winter/despise summer is 1.) the clothes I get to sport in the winter, 2.) my skin is already oily & heat makes it more so which then makes my makeup melt so then what's the freaking point?, 3.) winter keeps people indoors so there's less noise outside, such as bass from cars, dogs barking outside, etc., and 4.) winter brings a sense of calm to my life. Plus, I prefer winter scents over summer. Give me pine over lilac any day.
• I am a solitary person. I prefer the presence of......myself. Only occasionally do I enjoy & choose to be around groups of people. The activities I enjoy are mostly solitary as well....such as reading. When somebody hounds me about "isolating", I always think of this quote, "What a commentary on civilization, when being alone is suspect; when one has to apologize for it, make excuses, hide the fact that one practices it - like a secret vice." ~Anne Morrow Lindbergh.  My solitary life is a secret vice. Now leave me the hell alone.
• I am an atheist. I believe facts not conjecture. Lightning has not struck me down, amazingly. 
• My aversion to touching. Why does everybody want to hug? When I have to pray at church, can't we each hold our own hands....why do I have to hold your sweaty palm? I have a bubble and only certain people are allowed in my bubble. You're probably one of them if you're reading this, but even then...every time I hug someone, it feels forced and ingenuine....probably because I'm thinking, "He's trying to cop a feel".  I'm sure this dates back to my youth & sexual history. I don't see it as part of the disease, but I do see it as a contributing factor to the disease.
• My irritability with ignorant, indecisive, stupid people. Man up, already! For pity's sake, how have you gotten through life relying on other people to figure things out for you! I keep repeating this to myself, "Forgive me if I snap at you. I'm myself today". I have a very low tolerance and high irritability for these people. I am not a compassionate or sympathetic person. Again, I don't see this as part of the alcoholism disease, but I do see it as a trigger to go drink. It certainly doesn't make my life any better, I agree with that.
• I'm a cynical person. Remember my previous post? "We're a virus with shoes". I don't believe people are inherently good. Nor do I believe they are inherently evil. They're just people and I don't have a lot of faith or trust in any of them. I believe we're killing our planet, our economic system, and whatever else you can think of and there isn't a darn thing I can do about it. I'm o.k. with that because I won't be around long enough to feel the hurt and I have no offspring's future to worry about. I enjoy being cynical and don't see a darn thing wrong with it.

This all started with an innocuous comment from my sponsor, along with the previous post's comment that I had to go for a walk. It rubs me wrong when people tell me I have to do something. I don't have to do a damn thing except not pick up a drink.

At today's meeting, one of the gentlemen told me to ask myself, "Is this going to matter in 10 years?" My thought? It barely matters now! Then he told me to look at the sign on the wall. It said, "Think, Think, Think".  He then told me, "That sign is not for you".  Apparently, I think too much. But everybody's telling me I need to battle, I need to be aware, I need to pay attention. Shiiiiiiiiiit.

Battle? Fine. My battle is with alcohol. My battle is to not drink ever again. That's my battle. I'm plenty self-aware. I'm more self-aware than anybody else I know. My battle is not to change who I inherently am.

So get used to it.