It’s been a few days over a year now since my mother and I
published (with much assistance) in book form the first year of the original
blog. The first pages of that book are still alive in real life inside my mind
even from over five years ago. Recently, I had a dream in which my friend who
passed away this last summer (the one I met in prison and lived with on the
outside) was with me at my current place of employment, telling me he had a
choice to make. He could go back to prison, or go back to working at the
laminating factory we worked at together when we got out. To both of us, this
was a true dilemma, and we never did get to a solution before an alarm went off
in my head.
For some unknown
reason, I have been waking up well before 5am for a few weeks now. I’m not
tired; in fact I feel quite refreshed, and most days I even stay up well past
my old-man bedtime of 8:30. I’ve spent a few mornings at the gym before work—just
me and the cotton balls. Some days I play with Roofus outside then bring him so
he can piss and shit. And some days I lay still and contemplate my next move in
life.
What should I do? Should I actively try something new,
different, and challenging? Should I try to refinance the house? Should I try
to break the land-speed record? Or, should I just enjoy what I have for a
while? Doing or trying anything ever always costs money. My minivan isn’t very
fast, and my credit probably isn’t yet back to a point of being able to lock in
a good rate on a new mortgage. I’ll probably still try.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. This year, Amanda and I are
cooking the feast for our neighbors. (I will do the cooking, Amanda will
probably drink wine.) They were kind enough to host our wedding, and they don’t
have family around these here parts, so we decided to stay local on account of
both of us having to work the day before and after the holiday and fix them a
proper meal.
Tomorrow, I will deep fry a turkey in peanut oil, make amuse
bouche with black garlic and Indigo Bunting—a delicious bleu from Deer Creek,
and make a mashed potato dish with black garlic molasses and bacon. I will try
desperately not to set their house on fire while frying the turkey. I will use
common sense and if that doesn’t work, I will use a fire extinguisher.
I’m excited to host our first Thanksgiving (although
technically not at home.) And I’m more grateful than ever for the people,
things, and feelings I have in my life. 2019 has been without question the
saddest and happiest year of my life. I married my best friend, lost my best
homie dog, lost a great friend, a great aunt, and Amanda lost two grandparents.
We got a new dog, lost a rabbit and a cat, and for Halloween, I put a
wild-wacky-inflatable-arm-flailing-tube-man on our roof. All of our bills are
paid, we have food in the cupboards, and the girls are doing amazingly well in
their respective schools. I am so fucking grateful for my life I could just
shit. I love this thing, and I want to keep it.
In order for me to keep what I have earned through my
program of recovery, I have to give it all away. Of course I don’t mean the
house, kids, and the wife. I mean the knowledge that got me all of these
things. This I will continue to do through bringing meetings to jails and
institutions whenever possible, and writing this blog which—for the most part—tells
that story of a washed-up, unsuccessful drug dealer that turned his life
around. At one point, I had my first day of sobriety. Somebody has that today,
and is capable of doing amazing things. If you know that person, encourage them
to become something, and to share their journey with others.
Tomorrow, be kind and loving. Be grateful and humble. Be
thankful, and be generous.
Or, start your neighbor's house on fire.
