God Maertz

Until recently the word God really didn’t have much meaning to me. It sort of scared me when I saw how many times the term was used throughout the steps, and in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. I couldn’t get my head around the fact that I couldn’t do this according to the book unless I had a relationship with God of my understanding. Now, that last sentence made it easy for me. I could just say that Mother Nature, or a group of people was my God, right? Well, yes. It’s true to a point, but what I came to realize recently is that this program will never work for me if I can’t humble myself, and admit that I’m not the greatest, most powerful thing on this world.

It’s not about worshiping a God and fearing not getting into heaven. It’s not about religion, so I don’t need to pick a side and start going to church. I just need to believe in God. It’s that fucking simple! And ever since I made the decision to stop resisting that one last piece of the puzzle, things have started falling into place.

It all happened in a meeting a while back. Obviously I can’t get into specifics, but somebody said something that just kept repeating in my head. If I’m not to the point where I haven’t suffered enough to humble me to get down on my knees and ask for help, then maybe I should go back out and feel some more pain. I knew then that I had done enough field work to not need to try it out again.

It didn’t happen right away, but slowly I made little steps toward turning my will over to the care of God. I first started praying in my head. But I wasn’t doing it right, I was asking for things for myself. Then I started doing my fourth step, and that’s when I realized I needed to pray for others, and knowledge in how to help others. And that’s when I noticed that I was no longer having mean, hurtful thoughts and feelings toward others. And that includes all of the drivers I used to think were ass holes!

I’m calmer, cooler, and more level headed than I have been in years. I catch myself using old behaviors and I stop myself. It’s not perfect yet, and it probably never will be, but I’m going the right direction. I’m not trying to control the room with body language. I’m not trying to manipulate the boss into getting something I want. I’m communicating my thoughts, opinions, and needs, and I believe it’s a direct result of my decision to let go of control.

I never was very good at decision making in my life. I mean, I used to love smoking crack. Oh, man, I loved that shit. But it didn’t really help my life out. So, instead of smoking crack, I’ve decided to believe in a Higher Power. Can I make it any simpler than that? I highly doubt that any decisions I make whilst praying to God will land me back in prison or out on the streets. Again, the opposite of crack. So, the opposite of crack is God, it’s love. Because drugs were pain. And for the first time in years, I feel love for this life, this world, and its people, and I want to keep that going because it feels good. Now put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Platypeople

For two weeks now at work I’ve been laminating yearbook covers for various schools in America, mostly up and down the west coast, to include Hawaii, and the lower east coast, mostly Florida. I’ve watched hundreds of versions go by, most of them in the range of 200-400 per version. The whole order is for 60,000 sheets, so that’s a lot of schools. Anyhow, I’ve noticed a trend and I must say I don’t like it.

For the most part, schools have picked out a generic layout and have added their name. A few have been creative, a few have been drawn by students themselves, and my very favorite one is very simple, but a colorful drawing of the school in Crayon, and the school’s name written in cursive by a fourth grader. Cursive isn’t quite lost yet.

What I don’t like is the high percentage of school mascots, and team names that are all the same. Or, within a few similar names. First off, cats win hands down. In order, Wildcats, then Tigers, then Lions. What the hell is a Wildcat? Beats me. But next we have birds. Very specifically the Roadrunner(s). In the cartoon, the roadrunner stands as tall as his arch nemesis, Wyle-E-Coyote. But in real life, they are much smaller, and hardly deserve to be chased by a large dog. I get it, they’re fast. Anyway, Eagles are next, and then Falcons. And that makes up about 90% of all of the team names for the high schools that I’ve mentioned above. The remaining ten percent are mostly super heroes, horribly depicted Native-Americans simply labeled, “Indians”, and then obscure, I’m sure local, animals.

I was thinking of what I would use for my team mascot for my life. Of course my life-team is made up of sooo many players. It would only make sense to use the platypus. I didn’t say duck-billed because they’re all duck-billed. I did think it would be neat if there were people-lipped platypuses, because in my head, I could talk to them.

Here are some reasons I think my team should be the Platypi, which is absolutely not the plural of platypus, but for the sake of the team, I’ve created the word. The male platypus has spurs on his hind feet that are connected to a gland that produces toxic venom. I would use this to kick my opponent before a big play to render him useless. This wouldn’t work well on a pitcher in baseball because the defense controls the ball, and the pitcher would just be laying there on the mound, foaming at the mouth. Grow up. The poison would kill a dog, but not a person, so stop letting your dogs play with them at the platypus park.

It's a mammal, but it lays eggs! I’m not a Doctor, but I think eggs are fertilized outside the body? I don’t know, but I think people can fertilize eggs, which means I can make a whole army of platypeople and I can train them in all sorts of intramural activities both during, and after school.

Here’s my favorite platypus superpower: They don’t have nipples, but they do produce milk! Much like my friend Erik Paulsen, their milk oozes from the ducts of their mammary glands onto special patches of skin. That is my favorite sentence that I have ever written, anywhere. I hope he reads it.

Last but not least, another platyfact as I now call them, they don’t have teeth. Sort of like birds, they have grinding plates, so as they are hunting, underwater, the only place they hunt, they scoop up gravel and rocks which they use to grind their food into digestible pieces.

And that is my recipe for a school mascot. Don’t judge me.

Moving Day

Every now and then He throws in a little surprise to test you. Yesterday it was in the form of a flat tire during the shopping portion of my move.

I had been driving at highway speed on a tire that was so low, I could push in on the side with one finger. I went to a gas station to fill it with air and it seemed good. I then went to T.J. Maxx to buy new kitchen tools and towels and what not, and when I came out, my rim was almost to the ground. I walked over to Walmart and bought s can of Fix-A-Flat and applied it to the tire. Immediately the fluid started pouring out of the side of the tire. Fortunately, it did its job and I was able to drive over to Discount Tire to have it looked at. When the guy came out to look at it, he asked if he could measure all the tread on the tires and I said yes. Bad news. They were all at 3/32 or less. I know enough about tires to know that that isn't very safe, and I knew then that it would be an expensive day.

He fiddled around with some prices and I walked out spending under $300 for four new tires installed, not too bad.

I wouldn't let that bring me down and I kept going.

I needed to buy a vacuum because the previous resident left the house and my room in shambles. The floor was a disaster, and there were piles of clothes covered in cat hair and an old chair so battered it could only have been used to store piles of said clothes, which they were.

I cleaned for two hours, and I'm happy with my room. It already feels like home. There is a lot left to do, but I'm ready for the challenge. I filled the fridge, cupboards, and counters with fresh vegetables, fruits, and other foods that will never see the inside of a microwave. I bought cleaning products to tackle any remaining projects, of which there are many. I bought a brand new TV, only the second in my lifetime. The service was a home run. (That's a call back from a prison post.)

I'm sitting in a recliner typing this from my phone because there's no internet here yet. But I have the means and ability to change that tomorrow.

I'm feeling good. In an hour I'll head out to the Goodwill to finish the last of my 96 hours of community service. Now that will feel like an accomplishment.

That's all I've got for now. :-)

Easter Interlude

The anxiety started a little over a week ago, when I found out how soon Easter actually was this year. I was finally going to jump over another big hurdle. I’ve been out of prison now for almost seven months and haven’t had the opportunity to attend a gathering with the extended family, and today was that day.

I don’t actually know what it was that I was afraid of. I guess it’s the fact that I haven’t seen them for a decade and I really don’t know that any of them have any idea about where I’ve been. I visualize a hundred conversations all ending abruptly when they ask what I’ve been doing, or why they haven’t seen me in so long. And of course it’s not their fault that they’d be curious, we’re family. My grandparents are wonderful but as far as I know, they didn’t really spread the word about my trip to prison, or my years of alcoholism and drug addiction. And there’s the shame factor for me that didn’t really want to go into any of that at Easter (or ever). I mean who wants to hear such a sad story on Jesus’ Birthday? Or whatever it is.

All the worry and apprehension was for naught. I was greeted with hugs, handshakes, and warmth. And truth be told, I felt some connection with a few of them that it turns out I really missed. And once again I was sitting at the table with my family, laughing, conversing, and feeling all the uneasiness dissipate. I didn’t recognize a few of them as they had all literally aged ten years or so (well, they all probably aged the exact amount of time I just don’t know how long my presence was absent) and were just kids the last time I had seen them.

I think what I realized is that it doesn’t matter where I’ve been for so long, only that I am here now. Not just in this particular situation, but in everything. It took me a while to adapt to life outside the walls, but now that I have been away for a while, I think I can let that place (or places) go. That time of my life is over, and even though I do constantly need to be working on staying in recovery, it’s not so much about not going back, but being able to move forward. And that’s that.

I know I’m in the middle of a series of posts involving my work experience, and that will continue. I just got home from the gathering and wanted to get those words down while the event was still fresh in my mind. I feel really good right now. As if a weight has been lifted off of me. But like many of these weights, it was put there by me. I need to quit that. I’m a work in progress.

A quick side note on progress: I’ve completed 93 of the required 96 hours of community service hours imposed on me. Next week I will be finishing out my last three hours at my usual spot, the Goodwill Outlet. I have found and seen some very interesting things in my time there, and for my last week, I will be purchasing the strangest, or possibly ugliest thing I see and mailing it to a lucky reader. To be in the pool for this, please get your name to me via comment or Facebook by Friday night (April Fool’s Day!) and if you are selected by me at random, you will know soon enough, and I’ll get your address then. MMMkay? I look forward to receiving another plethora of names. The postcard sensational went well.