Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Fire

I thought I'd share this post from the old  because I'm being lazy. That's it. I wrote it in treatment and it describes my worst 24 hours. In fact, there were probably worse but this is the experience I chose to write about. So, enjoy 


I’ve been free for a week now, and I have written very little. I decided to take a look in my treatment folder for some inspiration, and I found it right in front. This was written by me early on in treatment nearly six months ago. It’s a story from a long time ago, when I lived in Richfield. It is true to the best of my knowledge. My memories aren’t always clear, and the incident occurred while I was very near a blackout. I’m not proud of this particular incident, but I wrote about it because it had a substantial impact on my life, and the treatment assignments required an honest look back on the terrible times I put myself through. I will type it as it is. Here goes….
The worst 24 hours of my life occurred all the way back in the year 2000. 15 years ago I was in the worst alcoholic stage of my life. Drinking all day every day when I wasn’t working. My habit was supported by my girlfriend who worked as the manager at a liquor store and could steal anything I needed, which was a lot.
Cupboards well stocked that same girlfriend of two years left me because, well, I was a horrible drunk piece of shit boyfriend. She packed up while I was in jail for a D.U.I. warrant, fortunately for me, she left all of the alcohol. It took me three minutes to assess the situation and then I began drinking. Oh, I was also in the process of being evicted from our apartment. Based on those two things, I went into destruction mode. Something I am well known for is doing really dumb stuff when drunk….
I started by going into the laundry/storage room, looking for something I could use to make a mess of things. I saw some ceiling paint and the ideas started forming. I saw a few things I wanted to bring back across the hallway into my apartment for decoration. A huge drill, a fire extinguisher (I’ve never seen one work), and the paint. Before I left that room, however, I decided to fuck up the washing machines and dryers. I put a gallon of paint, equally into the two dryers and started them on high heat. I decided not to waste any more paint so the washing machines were spared. I know I can’t remember everything from that long ago, but I think I left the room at that point.
Back in the apartment I fixed myself a classy drink. What that means is I didn’t use a glass or a mixer. Straight vodka. I had finished half of a 1.75 litre bottle. I found out what fire extinguishers do. They make a lot of noise and fill the room with a cloud of powder. I opened up a window, then realized people driving by might mistake the escaping cloud for a fire. I closed the window.
I assume this is where most writers would transition. Not me. I got the idea to start a little fire of my own so I went into the stairwell and lit the cord for the sliding drapes that must have been 15 feet tall. It really didn’t do too much but after some waiting, the individual sections of the plastic curtain began falling down. Cool! The fire never got big or at all out of hand, but the falling curtains did make a lot of noise and there was some smoke and a tenant came out into the hallway to check it out. Mind you this was pretty early A.M. She saw me and I mumbled something and ran back to my apartment. In less than five minutes I started hearing the sirens. Shit, two fire trucks and an ambulance and of course, a police car.
I knew I was fucked so I really started hitting the bottle. I’m talkin bout hammered drunk. Things are starting to get blurry, both back then, and now as I try to look back.
After who knows how long, there was a knock at the door. I opened the door for the officer and gestured for him to come in. He knew that I knew why he was there. We sat in the living room where I had not yet done any damage. I don’t remember how the conversation went and I got up maybe five or six times to have another swig while he was asking questions and I think at some point I said I lit the fire.
In my mind I formulated a plan of escape. On my next trip to the freezer for a drink, I zigged instead of zagged and left through the front door and up a short flight of stairs to the rear entrance to the building. With no shoes or socks on I ran like hell. For about ten feet. On my third or fourth step, I shattered my left ankle and immediately went down. I crawled around to the side of the garage and around the back and hid under a car to wait out the cop. I never know if he actually looked for me, or just left
After a bit I started walking down to a gas station through the back side of houses and apartment complexes. The plan was to call for a ride. Somewhere along the way I met a nice man that gave me a pair of boots. I must have looked like a lunatic. I got to the station and used the phone then went into the public restroom to wait.
After 15 minutes I decided to bring the bathroom key back inside. Coming back to the side of the building, I heard tires screech. The cop pulled right up to me and got out. I tried to run but couldn’t. I made it two steps when I was tackled to the ground by the huge police officer. He punched me in the ribs and yelled, “Nobody runs from me!” And that is when somebody pissed in my pants. And off to jail I went.
In the end I was charged and convicted of 3rd degree arson. Sentenced to five years’ probation, and sat in the lockup for 60 days. I was never charged or even asked about the destruction in the apartment other than the fire. It was a horrible day in my life. I’ve had many bad days, but that was my worst.

Sunday, May 29, 2016

The Round Up



The overall success rate in the program of A.A. is estimated at somewhere between 5-10%, probably around 6%. Roughly one in 15 people who walk through the doors is able to become and stay sober. Yesterday I was surrounded by over 6,000 people who had made the decision to quit drinking. It was cool.

There were meetings everywhere, food plentiful, and conversant faces all around at the Gopher State Round Up. Whatever XLIII means, that’s how many Round Up’s there have been. I had attended one previously in 2001 when I went with a group in Hazelden. I spent most of my time with a friend handing out pamphlets we had stolen from a kiosk to random people. We thought it was hilarious.

Yesterday, I went to a meeting right when I got there, and then began circling around the main court searching for food and friends. It only took a few minutes before so many memories came back.

Joe, Ben, and myself were alike in so many ways. We were fun, friendly, caring people, who had lost their way. We had all met nine or so years ago in Rochester shortly after I had come back from my cruise. Joe and I actually lived in the same duplex, and we started hanging out and drinking right away. It didn’t take too long after we had a conversation about never doing hard drugs again before we started doing hard drugs again. And that’s how we met Ben. Ben had drugs. Drugs, Ben, drugs.

Like I said, I was pretty fresh off the wagon, but I started hitting it pretty hard. Within a few weeks, my group of friends had changed exclusively from one set to another. I could now stay up all night, because of the active ingredient in methamphetamine. And I used my new found time to play cards and search for agates with my new best friends. Truly, honestly, Joe and I became good friends even in the world of shit. And Ben began to come over, and we went to his place more often because I believe we offered an escape from the reality of his life as he knew it, and there was some comfort for him in having a place to just relax and get high with some “normal” people.

My life, my job, and my family were quickly slipping away, and that’s when I made the decision to start my career as a professional drug salesman. It looked easy, and I would surely reach peak popularity with the masses in no time at all. So naturally my life slipped away from me. I became isolated, alone, and afraid of every movement and sound. People became my enemy, and everything was being stripped away from me at an alarming rate. My pride, my dignity, my self-esteem were all washed away with every hit I took. I could see myself wasting away in the mirror, and I weighed in at 135 pounds. I could see my heart beating through my chest.

Flash forward nearly a decade as I’m wandering through the poolside area of the largest sober get together in Minnesota, and I’ll be damned, there they were. I saw Ben first. He turned when I said his name and I don’t think it quite clicked, I mean it had been a while. That’s when I saw Joe. That’s also when I couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day. The last time I had seen these guys we were all so disheveled and desperate I definitely had thoughts that I never wanted to see them again shortly after I got out of that mess. But here they were, sober and smiling. And they had some time under their belts which I was happy to hear. I’m not going into details about an anonymous program but we spent a couple hours catching up and it was by far the highlight of my day, my week, maybe even since my release from prison.

We are part of the tiny little miracle: the 6%. I’ll finish by stating the obvious, that leaves 94% unaccounted for out there. Any of you who know somebody out there still struggling, there is hope. I found proof of that yesterday over and over. It’s never too late.

Saturday, May 28, 2016

My Biggest Fan



Well, my only fan, really. Sometimes I’m inspired to write in the strangest ways. Last night I purchased a $13 oscillating fan from the king of stores, Walmart. It’s not so much the fan itself but the fact that it came with an owner’s manual that it recommended I read before trying to assemble the four components. Not just for assembly, however, this manual it is recommended I should keep for precisely one year, the extent of the warranty, at which time I have determined it would be safe probably to discard both the fan and its directives. At this time, I’m going to walk you through the manual so you may have a better understanding of its functions and dangers.

First, the warnings:
1.        To reduce the risk of electrical shock, do not use this fan with any solid-state speed control devices.   Sure. But what the fuck does that mean??? Google says that it’s pretty much like a light dimmer. Or, kind of like the switch on the fan if you ask me. But why would I get shocked if I plugged it in to the wrong outlet that happened to be controlled by a light dimmer? Great question.
2.       If the power cord is damaged, it is strongly recommended to request a specialist to handle.   So, if the cord on a $13 fan is broken, I should pay $100 to get it fixed? This is how I read that. I am now switching careers from laminating expert to Walmart fan cord replaceman. I just made up that word and Microsoft hates it.
3.       This appliance has a polarized plug (one blade is wider than the other). To reduce the risk of electric shock, this plug is intended to fit in a polarized outlet only one way. If the plug does not fit fully in the outlet, reverse the plug. If it still does not fit, contact a qualified electrician. Do not attempt to defeat this safety feature.   Well there goes my fun Saturday afternoon. Instead of trying to defeat the safety feature of a cord on a fan, I now have to contact a Walmart fan cord replaceman, and a qualified electrician. The bills are starting to add up. This is an expensive fan.
4.       Do not leave fan running unattended.   Fuck! Now I have to pay my cousin to watch the damn thing while I go to work. This is the worst fan I have ever purchased. And I haven’t even gotten to the rules for safe operation yet.
Rules for Safe Operation
1.       Never insert fingers, pencils, or any other objects through the fan housing when the table fan is running. Unplug the fan when moving it from one location to another.   The first sentence is logic, the second blew me away. I kept trying to move the fan but it wouldn’t go any farther than three feet from the wall. It’s as if it was somehow connected to it. And now I know.
2.       To avoid overturning, be sure the fan is on a stable surface when operating it.   No shit?
3.       Disconnect he(sic) fan before cleaning.   Now that we’re assigning gender to a table fan, I suppose it wants rights.
4.       To reduce risk of electrical shock DO NOT use fan near a window.   Does anybody remember the old S.N.L. commercial for Happy Fun Ball? This fan seems to come with just as many warnings.
5.       Do not use fan in a window, rain may create an electrical hazard.   Was instruction #4 not clear enough about the windows? In a window, near a window, I get it now.  
6.       Ensure that the fan is switched off from the supply mains before removing    And that is where it stops abruptly and switches over to Spanish. End scene.

Thursday, May 26, 2016

A Matter of Time

This is the only picture I took because cameras weren't allowed during the show.


 Last night I had the opportunity to go see my cousin Laura perform in a High School musical called, “It’s a Matter of Time.” First things first: I was absolutely blown away at the level of flair and imagination presented by these teenagers. From start to finish I was glued to my chair with wonder, astonishment, and occasionally maybe a piece of sand or grit got into my eye and some sort of fluid began to leak out. That happened almost immediately when they brought a piano out and a girl played a song called 7 years old. I had never heard it before, but I would imagine she offered it flawlessly.

I’m going out of order as usual because my memory doesn’t always serve me right. The first song was actually The Time Warp, which I’ve heard on the radio before, but I don’t know what it’s from. If I had to guess, every kid in the school was involved in this piece. They flooded the aisles and the stage and singing and dancing was all around me. It was a good intro for an even better show to come.

Next up a song called Seasons of Love. I had only heard a version of this song maybe in a commercial before but I’m fairly certain it’s famous for something. Only briefly, but for the first time ever I got to hear my little (not so little anymore) Laura sing. I now know what it means when somebody says, “She has the voice of an angel.” It was beautiful, soft, and sweet.  I was truly disappointed that she didn’t get more time.

I’ll skip ahead a few songs to one that I was quite captivated by. Cell Block Tango sounded like a classic show tune from a musical off Broadway. It might be just that, but I refuse to use Google for this post. My memory alone will try to paint the picture. Six girls sat in a row on stage, and I think the chairs were backwards. They started saying funny words like squish, snap, crackle, and pop. Maybe not quite those words, but close. Then they each told a tale of a mischievous man and how they killed them. It was funny, inspired, and undeniably entertaining.

And backwards I go again because I forgot about two solo acts that were really good. I have the program from the show in front of me now so hopefully that will keep me on track. Writing’s on the Wall and Viva la Vida were both sung powerfully, passionately, and from what I could tell, spot on. I can’t be held accountable for my lack of musical awareness pertaining to Broadway or Coldplay, but I do know a good voice when I hear one, and they had talent.

When was the last time you saw tap dancing? For me it was last night. And, it was the first time in my life I had seen it live and I was quite mesmerized. All of my skills either involve food or uh……. Hmmm I’ve got to be good at other things, more on that later. What I’m trying to say is that if I tried my hand (or rather foot) at tap dancing, I would surely break my leg and those of anybody near me. It takes dedication and practice to get to the level at which they performed, and they should be very proud of themselves.

Blast forward to Rocket Man, the only solo by a male last night. I was a little worried at first that he couldn’t hit the high notes, but sure enough, I was phantom-singing along with him half way through. He actually even kinda sounded like Elton, which I would take as a huge compliment. Keep singin’ kid.

I don’t have enough room to go over every performance, and I couldn’t possibly remember every minute even if I could, so here’s the last couple…

Transitioning us through the whole performance was a core of kids travelling through time in a Tardis as seen in Dr. Who. Between every song they would come out and say a few lines and meet up with various personalities in music history. I’ll just say that my favorite was Beyonce. Anyhow, right before every song, they would have a few lines which inevitably lead to them saying the title of the number to be performed. Numbers like 25 or 6 to 4. See, I did it! The Cabaret House Band played this ditty by Chicago quite well. The saxophone player got up front and center and showed off his skills in a little solo that got the crowd going.  

And I have to skip to a little a cappella originally performed by Billy Joel. I’m terrified of a cappella since I saw Rajaton dismantle the Beatles a few months back, but this was enjoyable and in tune. I never realized how few words I actually knew to that song until last night. I might have been good as one of the hummers, but I would look like a fool if I had to sing.

Overall it was an incredible evening. This is where I say how grateful I am for sobriety, and for being back in the lives of my family. I know I’ve missed a lot over the years but I’m trying to make up for lost time now. Laura if you read this, know that I love you and that I’m proud of who you are and what you’ve become. You have so much life in front of you and it looks like you’re on the right track. I’m sorry if this post didn’t do the show justice, I’m a work in progress!

And Counting

I remember vividly waking up at 5:19am, one minute precisely before the lights would come on; the indication that it was time to stand a...