1,006

For about a month now, I’ve been paying Facebook something in the neighborhood of $2 per day to help get this blog a little more circulation, and according to my statistics page, it’s having a positive effect. Actually, my stats are down considerably from last year, which makes sense because I was still on house arrest then, and my life is substantially fuller these days, for which I am grateful.

As of today, I have been sober for 1,006 consecutive days. Some might say I had the benefit of an unfair start being incarcerated for the first 439 of those days, but there was opportunity everywhere in prison. The pill-trading game was prevalent, and if I had sought out alcohol, I could have purchased some, or even risked making my own. I didn’t. I have had numerous opportunities since my release to sneak off and imbibe that which makes me sick, inhale that which releases my inner criminal, or snort that which makes it ok for me to lose touch with my loved ones, but I have resisted. It’s not just about the opportunity for us addicts; it’s about desire, and I have dealt with plenty of that, as well.

It’s a recurring theme now as this is the second time I will have written about this odd, fleeting urge to throw it all away. For only moments—fractions of seconds—I have the impulse to inhale nitrous oxide from the whipped-cream canisters in the cooler at work. What the fuck? To divert myself, I simply look away, and after the itch has subsided, I process it by looking at my former life; a time where I could not control my desires, and I could go through a case in a day while working. I can see myself in that awful condition. I can see emptiness inside and a hollow form where my life once was. I was using drugs and alcohol to run away from my family, my friends, and myself.

So why would I see those canisters now and think — even if ever so briefly—that I could just sneak one? Maybe I am trying to hide again. Maybe there’s something I’m running away from even now. I think this is probably the case. My recent troubles in my love life have involved me running away from the woman I love when she needed me the most. I won’t take all of the blame for the distresses, but I will take responsibility for my part, and just writing this out, I can see maybe where I could have acted a little differently, and saved myself from having to start things over.

On that note, things are looking up, not just romantically, but jobwise. Heather and I are getting together for a meal of food on Thursday to start a series of long talks and lectures….. Well, not quite. I think we both know that whatever we have going on now, it’s worth fixing. Fixing broken is a difficult task, but as you’ve seen over my years of writing, hard work most often leads to happiness, and serenity, and I think that’s where we can get to if we work together on this.

I’ve been working like a horse lately. What I mean by that is that I am on my feet for eight to ten hours a day and I poop in a bag. Fortunately, there is relief in sight, as April brings the playoffs, and the Wild will be out of town for days at a time, giving me a much-needed chance to catch up on life, and enjoy the spring.

And speaking of spring, it’s a beautiful day out, and I’m going to wrap this up and take Willie for a walk. Until next time…

Break

Hi. I’ve been drifting away from my writing for a while now, and I don’t like the feeling of unfamiliarity I get sitting in front of my screen. Things in my life have been tumultuous to say the least, and today is going to be the day that I take away from the chaos.

I was scheduled to work today, the eighth day in a fifteen-day stretch in which the Wild are at home, and a couple concerts roll through the Xcel Center. I decided to talk with my bosses and inform them that I needed a “personal day” because I needed a break. I have been pushing myself for a little over five months, and today is just a prep day, and I am all caught up. So, my first goal was to write a blog post, which I believe I am succeeding in right this moment.

Unfortunately, there are other aspects of my life from which I needed a break, and my relationship is the big one. Things are on hold right now in what I will only refer to as a longer “personal day.” I know my life is very public with this blog, but hers is not, and that is why I will leave it at that.

So, what am I going to do with this day? Well, this was top priority, but while I’m writing, my first load of laundry is in the washer. It really piles up when I work every day, then go to the gym, then change into my PJs.  So my plan for the morning is to sit quietly in front of Netflix and slowly clean up after myself from the last week of nonstop action. I will eventually go to the gym, because that makes me feel good about myself, and I will take Willie out for a walk in the woods, where the air is clean, and the sounds of the city are distant. And I will send a letter to a prisoner, something I did regularly for a while, but have to catch up on today.

I start another seven-day workweek tomorrow, and the clothes will pile back up, my feet will ache, and my mind and heart will race with thoughts of my future in a relationship—my resting heart rate climbed from 59 to 64 since we decided to break it off. I just found out this morning that the Wild clinched a playoff berth, which means the month of April is now full of work. But, then there’s a lull, and I will be able to restore some sanity to my agenda. This is a six-month schedule, and for the most part, it’s been manageable, really just the past month has been chaotic. And when summer arrives, and I’m off for weeks at a time, I will really be able to enjoy myself because of all the hard work I put in over the winter.

Summer: Here comes the beauty, the fun, the timeless classic. Here comes the sun, and the magic it creates. Summer makes superior memories, brighter smiles, louder laughter, and it brings us all out of the dark that we’ve been cooped up in for too long. Come on, sun, poke your head out, we need you.

That’s all I’ve got for now. I will try to write more often because when I do, I feel more creative, and when that happens, my whole life is better. Really, I do this for me. You sometimes get to benefit from the strange thoughts and opinions that leak out of my head, but really this fixes me, and that is why I need to keep writing.

 

 

The Road Down

Somewhere between Cannon Falls and Rochester, I was hit with the feeling that this trip was significant. Back it up a little bit; this was my fourth trip down to the Fillmore County area since my release from prison, but the first time I had ever brought a companion with me, other than my mom.

This trip was special for a few reasons. Most importantly, I was bringing Heather down to meet my friends, and show her the beautiful town of Lanesboro that I talk and write about so much. In the decade that I’ve had and known my associates down there, I have never had a significant other that I could introduce to them, and I was proud to do so on Tuesday.

We began the journey at 11am in my Ocean Blue Mini Cooper. Normally, fear takes hold of me on the outskirts of Rochester, remembering that I was arrested there, and driving by so many familiar small towns on the north end that were common stops in my drug dealing days. Every exit can trigger a negative memory, or thought of the “good times” I occasionally had while strung out on meth. As we approached the inner city, I was able to point out some of my more common stops, such as the Motel 6, and the Super 8 in which I was last arrested on December 20^th, 2013. I showed her the corner just after the intersection with I-90 at which I woke up going backwards at 70mph in a dazed spiral of lunacy that landed me in a ditch in the middle of a cold winter night. And as we drove through Chatfield, I gave her directions to a house at which I stayed for a while just before prison.

Instead of these thoughts, and memories floating around in my head like they normally would on a drive, I was able to verbalize (with a subject, of course, making the sentences complete) them, and process them more absolutely than I had before. I didn’t feel any of the consternation I normally associate with passing through to Fountain.

And then there was Fountain, the town where it all began, and descended rather quickly. There’s a shot in my head that I didn’t capture with my camera that I see now. To my left is the apartment in which I lived above the pizza place for a couple years. Across the street in front of me is the Bent Wrench, a bar I’ve written about frequently. I can picture myself in so many drunken stupors and mind bending meth binges. I could see my old self, walking across the street; clothes torn, shoes worn through, eyes bloodshot for numerous reasons, and a stagger in my step caused by the same intoxicants that would ultimately get me fired from that job. For a while, my life was contained in those two buildings, and eventually just my apartment.

I lived in fear there for months while my life was overrun by addicts taking advantage of my kindness, and my own brain; afraid of what might happen if I stepped out into the light, or asked my friends for help. Quickly, the power was shut off, and everybody moved out. But I stayed, stubborn as always, and lived by oven light and fire. I had no job, no friends, and no motivation; I was lost, and alone in the dark.

That was nearly four years ago, and a lot has changed. There have been some ups and downs, but after prison, even the downs are better than the ups I had while using. Seeing those places didn’t make me depressed, rather it confirmed the worth and value of all the hard work I put into my recovery, and I could instantly see the results sitting beside me in Heather. Four years ago I was not capable of having a relationship. That was the significance of this trip; I needed to see how much had changed, and I saw development from what I was all around me, in everything I did and saw. I saw progress.

More pictures to come via Facebook album. This is the duck pond in Sylvan Park in Lanesboro. I absolutely did harass the ducks.

Coming Back (Fort Meyers Revisited)

It seems like years ago, in fact it was. The series of posts that I started writing just over a year ago on my trip to Fort Meyers for spring training keep popping up on my timeline on Facebook, and memories keep coming back.

Parenthetically, two of my friends are there right now, enjoying their time in sobriety, sun, and now in engagement, as he proposed to his girlfriend (with whom I am also friends) on a walk on the beach. Mason and I are part of a trio that still keeps in touch after our time in prison, and spell through the boot camp program. We are all Twins fans, and are all meeting up in less than a month to attend the home opener, and all with our girlfriends. Looking back on this paragraph, I should clarify that Mason’s fiancée was never in prison, I am referring to Mason, Eric, and Vince (me), as the trio. Mason and his girlfriend are in Florida.

This will be the second successive year that we will attend the first game of the year at Target Field, but the first at which we will be accompanied by our gals. I hope we can make a tradition out of this.

 

If you do take the time to peruse the series of posts I share in the link above, you will see a dissimilar Vince. I look cheerful, and I am smiling or making a goofy face in every picture, and maybe I actually was happy during that trip, but I remember the trip back was one of remorse because I knew I was heading right back into the lifestyle in which I had entrenched myself which included four ten-hour days of work, followed by two days of heavy drinking (I almost always allowed myself a day of recovery, not because I couldn’t take it, but because I drank in such excess that my body wouldn’t properly function without it. Those days were spent in cold shivers on the floor of my apartment in front of the television, drifting in and out of slumber). My work-days were not reserved for sobriety, to be clear. Often I would need to be high just to face the daunting tasks ahead of me, managing a kitchen by myself, with ill treatment from an ungrateful boss, and I would start drinking the minute I clocked out. Maybe it was all reciprocal. Maybe she treated me poorly in exchange for allowing me to show up in any condition, or maybe she was just greedy which I think was the case. Here is an entire post I wrote on the subject, so I can digress now and move on with my thoughts.

The last night we spent in Fort Meyers was used as a fitful night with no sleep in the lobby of the airport. We made the assumption that airports are open all night, which I believe in some cases they are. In this case, we were wrong, and we had to try to get in bits of rest on unforgiving plastic chairs with obstructing metal arm-rests. At one point I tried to lodge my larger-than-now torso through a length of armrests on top of the chairs. The result was disastrous and comical. Another thing we didn’t realize was that there was no liquor available to help put us to sleep, so we stayed awake all night, and stayed grumpy for the day.

When we arrived back home, nothing had changed. I was tired, broke, and all I could think about was getting high and drunk. As it turns out, no matter where I go, my disease follows me. I had a memorable experience and the vacation of a lifetime, but I wasted all of my money at a bar which is what I would have done at home anyhow. Many of my nights were recalled for me by Seth, as I was in a near constant blackout state towards the end of the days. I went back to my normal routine, and that lasted for many more years.

 

 

 

Negative

I cannot explain properly the fear that overcomes me when the topic of surgery or blood-draws is brought into light, but I know that I turn into a very different person, and until the subject is no longer in conversation, I feel weak, faint, and my mind is racing with thoughts of disaster.

There is only one thing that is the worst thing in the world for me: needles. I’ve written similar sentences countless times in my blog, and had the thought in my head for days at a time in the case I’m about to present.

On Wednesday, for only the third time in my life, I had to have my blood drawn. My hands are clammy now just typing that sentence. I had known for days that it was inevitable, and the thought would not leave me alone. Again, I can’t explain what it is that terrifies me about the act itself. Blood doesn’t scare me, and needles don’t bother me when they go in my mouth at the dentist’s, or say when I get a flu shot. It’s something about the hollow tube entering my body to take what is mine. This is exceedingly tough for me to type.

The first time they poked me, it was 2001, and it was necessary for me to get my blood drawn to enter Hazelden. I remember I was in a room with a guy who was equally terrified of the process, and we joked all night about it while we tossed and turned in anticipation. The nurse knew we were afraid, so she moved us to the front of the line, and I was first. I was told I had to keep my arm still or they couldn’t get the needle in straight and blood would fly out and I would die, and the world would explode. Or something like that. I didn’t die, and whatever they tested me for back then—I think it was routine bloodwork—came back fine, and it was over.

Flash forward ten-or-so years to my Salmonella illness, I had to go to the hospital, something I never do. I went because I actually thought something was killing me. I approached the desk and told the nurse that I thought I was dying, and she commented that I looked the part, and I was immediately escorted to see a doctor. His first comment was that they should do a blood draw. Dick. I didn’t fight it, but I was moderately upset that they found nothing wrong with my whatever they look for in blood. Eventually, they would find what they needed in my stool samples. By the time they called me with those results, I was well on the road to recovery.

This past Wednesday was a little different. I had my blood drawn because I care enough about another human being to get tested for S.T.D.s. Although it has never been a routine part of my life, I think probably that it is part of being a modern, mature adult, and to put certain issues to rest.

We went together to the Red Door Clinic in Minneapolis. I was a hot mess, she was calm and collected. Every time they called a name, my heart jumped, and I was so relieved that it wasn’t mine, but eventually it was. I went back into a room with a doctor who told me all about S.T.D.s and I told her all about my terror of the draw, and she remained perfectly calm and assured me that it would be quick and painless. She was good.

And she was accurate. My right arm was the only part of my body that I was able to control during the 20-second process, and before I could complain, it was over.

While I was still winding down, she had completed the H.I.V. test, which quickly turned out negative. She told me the rest of the results would be available online in just a couple days, and I found them this morning, all negative. Finally, a negative to be positive about.

And that’s my post for the day.

River Road

It was a chilly, if not sunny day to take the Mini out for a drive along River Road. We stopped at a couple favorite spots to check out the view and see if maybe we couldn’t find an agate or two. Heather and I both declared that “the monument” was one of our beloved hangout spots, but we also agreed that I was there first. Maybe just I agreed to that one.

The monument is a statue above a giant cliff that overhangs the mighty Mississippi River at the end of Summit Avenue in St. Paul. I may have written last summer that Mike Tambornino and I once tried to blow up the giant rock that juts out farthest from the rock-face, back in our fearless, teenage years. We filled a coffee can with black powder and possibly magnesium, sealed it and wrapped it in duct-tape, and lit a fuse. The explosion would have set off car alarms, but they weren’t customary back in the late 1900’s. The sound of laughter was blocked out by the ringing in our ears as we ran away to the idling getaway vehicle. The cliff was solidly intact, as it still remains today.

Briefly, as I stood on that same rock today, I said a silent prayer for him, as he is no longer with us. He died tragically last summer, before I had a chance to reconnect with him, and make a much delayed and necessary amend. I thought of him often on our drive today.

Not to be outdone, I thought of my present life as it is and my possible future with the woman I love as we wound our way over the blacktop, and took the steep drive down into Hidden Falls. Staying to the left, we parked by the boat launch, and we strolled to the beach where we took a few more pictures, and scouted the shore for gemstones. Yes, the sun was shining brightly today, but even with the wind to my back, the chill set in, and we made a hasty departure, with a few small agates in our (her) possession.

As I sit here in my recliner now, at 7:20pm on a Wednesday night, I am relaxed, grateful, and fulfilled. Currently, my life is filled with much love and accomplishment, and it would seem it has been as a result of working through those 12 important steps and listening to a suggestion here and there. There’s a lot more to it, I suppose, but it really is simple.

And here are a few pictures from our brief adventure today.

 That's Heather wayyy up there!

 This is the view from on top of the rock that Mike and I tried to blow up.

Mini

It feels like a lifetime since I last sat down to write. In fact, it’s been just over a week. Much has transpired since my last post, all of it significant; probably why I haven’t had a chance to share it with you yet.

Former, and foremost, my relationship has taken some twists and turns, but somehow I feel as if I’ve had a chance to become closer to a soul than I’ve ever been. I’m not sure if anybody ever told me that relationships were easy, but I think at some point I must’ve thought it, and acted on it. I realized--maybe with a little help--that I need to put in some work, be self-sacrificing, and understand that my paradigm is not without imperfection. I am flawed—greatly so—but I continue to work on these defects so that I may show up responsible in a loving bond with another person.  

Next, some exciting news in my world of transportation: I bought a new car! That’s right; I no longer drive around in the bucket of bolts pictured below. I now maneuver around town in a 2007 Mini Cooper, also pictured below. Now, I had a bit of an advantage in the buying process because I happen to know the previous owner. Actually, she gave birth to me, which should serve as payment enough in my opinion, but I do actually have to make disbursements on it. Truly, this is the first time in my life where I’ve had to make a car payment. I’m an adult!

Already, as an adult, I have to pay to have a few things done, but again I will say how grateful I am to be in a position in which I can afford to do so. I remember so many times back in my “golden” days, driving around in vehicles that were not only illegal, but exceedingly hazardous to myself and those around me. On occasion, even the driver (me) was not in complete control, either nodding out from lack of meth, or swerving side to side as a result of extreme intoxication.

Things couldn’t be farther from that now. I am a fully licensed, insured, responsible motorist. I use my blinkers, something I wish more people did, and I rarely speed although it is a bit tougher with a six-speed manual to not want to. Here are some before and after pictures of my vehicles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Last, but certainly not least, I have been taking on more responsibility in A.A. Naturally, I cannot be too specific, but I can tell you that it has been fulfilling. I have a new sponsor and he helps me understand things in life, and in the Big Book. I call him when I’m experiencing life, and I think I have truly found a good match. My last sponsor was a good one, too, but we drifted apart, and I think this is for the best.

So, that’s all I’m going to report for now. I will try to get back into a groove with writing, but there are things in my life that have become more important. I hope you understand.