Crackin’, recoverin’, workin’!

Hi! Remember me? 

First, I’m so flattered that anyone would be interested in my advice for “Dear Alkie/Slushkitty”! I’m also glad that most of you got the joke of maladjusted me being an advice columnist. I hope you realize that the advice you’re going to get (one of these days) is from the same girl that thought it was a good idea to demand that the Marin County Police send a helicopter to rescue her when she got caught three sheets to the wind in the middle of a trail while hiking Mount Tam one night. “Mount” as in “mountain”, nowhere to go but down, straight down, 2572 ft down. Goddamn Germans and their Oktoberfests. And their rope swings. *Cringe*. But yes, thank you for all of your questions! I am giddy to answer them! How about this – I answer them within the week (or so)? I need to get ya’ll current on my life before I can thoughtfully answer them. For now, let’s talk procrastination and paralysis! Wheeee!!!!

But first… Second, I am so touched that some of you have been wondering where I have been! Yay! I have friends! Or as my therapist (hi, John!) calls you, my “adoring fans”! In a lifetime of lonely, he asked where all my adoring fans were. I have finally found them, the modest term being “friends”. Love love love love love you guys. Anyway, I’m still here. I have had so much shit going on in Reality, in Recovery, and in this constant Romance and Psychosis Soup in which I float, I don’t know where to start, therefore, I start nothing. Historically speaking, I crack under pressure. Historically, “cracking” meant chemically inconveniencing myself to the point of paralysis. Presently, “cracking” means suffering a menagerie of unnerving emotions simultaneously without imploding. I crack, like the walnuts on West Broadway (the nuts who sit on that wall on West Broadway), I laugh, I cry, I catch myself arguing with myself emphatically with these half-Italian hands, I whimper, my heart – it sings, it breaks, all to the point of paralysis. Oooooooooooo feel those sweet sweet emotions, my friends! It hurts! It hurts! It feels so good! My sponsor says that experiencing more than one emotion at the same time is a milestone in recovery. If this is true, I am now the President of AA (sorry, Rubbah Fox! I plagiarize and I usurp!). But really, NB asked if she would ever get out of her own way. NB, back at ya’, pretty lady! I ask you the same – will I? The distraction of work is distracting me from my blog which is distracting me from housework which is distracting me from my blog which is distracting me from work! I can’t start or finish anything! Ever! I have a work invoice that is 28 months overdue! I’m not kidding! I’ve been distracting the republican boob in finance with cat chat every Monday-Friday for the past 28 months, so she won’t ask me about it! I had to hire a cleaning person to come over and pick up frosting off the rug from when Penny knocked a cupcake off the coffee table! It was there for like two weeks and all I could do was stare at it and wring my hands, paralyzed! This is pathological! This is madness! I talked to my shrink about it, and he suggested that I either start Adderall or look for a new job. Being an adroit speed freak, I was all “ADDERALL! ADDERALL! ADDERALL!”. I nonchalantly chose the Adderall option last year, had a manageable attack of psychosis, threw the bottle at The King of Hell I was dating, and pleasantly realized that maybe the speed ship really had sailed. I hope anyway. I talked to my therapist about my behavior, and he suggested that I perhaps try to do some work to clear my conscience and also to look for a new job. I talked to my AA friends and they unanimously offered to come over and help me clean, unanimously suggested I look for a new job, and unanimously chirped, “Welcome to Sobriety”. I need a new job….

In recovery, I’ve noticed a troubling change in my work productivity – being, it doesn’t exist. Since getting my first grown-up job in 1996 (which coincidentally is the same year crystal meth stormed my scene), I have been a wreck, a spaz about holding onto my jobs. I don’t know if it was guilt, moxie, necessity, or all of them – I needed the providence of a paycheck and self-reliance to ensure I’d never have to go back toBoston. FAIL! So, now that I am here, I’m all, “Whatever. Like I care”. Haaaaaa. In the past, I identified myself as my jobs – Flower Girl, Fashion Plate. Now, I don’t have that burden of identifying myself as my job, which is really easy to do right now if you’re me – I’m a socially awkward technophobe with a crippling fear of rejection, so fittingly, I am a sales manager for a technology company – needless to say, baby don’t get no commission. In the past, all I had to do was get through the work day without barfing, do a marginally acceptable job so I could fly under the radar, then fly under that radar so that no one would notice that I looked like hell, smelled like a brewery, was cross-eyed, trembled, stuttered, sweat, blah blah. There were varying degrees of my morning/afternoon/early evening misery, but I was never non-toxic, and I was certainly never happy. The paralysis part is that now, everything is secondary to my recovery, including work. Some “sweet angel from heaven” once said that my only job in my first year of sobriety is to not drink, and that I should say that to my boss if he gives me any shit about slacking. Ha! What’s my job in Year 2? Does anyone know? Anyway, work really should indeed be secondary to my recovery, except maybe during regular business hours, when maybe I really should be working… booooooooring…. instead of Gmail chatting with “Bambie” all day about boys, love, career, money, recovery, clothes, pets, in no particular order, but boys are usually first. Bambie and my other lovelies in the fellowship keep me sober, keep me hopeful, and keep me happy, and as history dictates, if Slushkitty’s not happy, no one is happy. I see to that. Ha! But really, I’m useless to everyone if I am not sober. So really my boss and the company should be supporting me in the ways in which I decide to prioritize and manage my responsibilities. And what’s the rush anyway? I sell dial-up modems for a living!! If they can wait seven and a half hours to get an internet connection, they can wait a few days for me to get around to answering them. Chatting with Bambie and writing in my blog keep me sober, so really it’s in everyone’s best interest that this is what I continue to do all day. (Did I say I need a new job? Did I say why?).

 

 

Advertisements

3 responses

  1. I love this: “Historically, “cracking” meant chemically inconveniencing myself to the point of paralysis. Presently, “cracking” means suffering a menagerie of unnerving emotions simultaneously without imploding.”

    This: “I’m a socially awkward technophobe with a crippling fear of rejection, so fittingly, I am a sales manager for a technology company – needless to say, baby don’t get no commission.”

    And this: “And what’s the rush anyway? I sell dial-up modems for a living!! If they can wait seven and a half hours to get an internet connection, they can wait a few days for me to get around to answering them.”

    These awesome quotes notwithstanding, it seems like you’re doing a great job at your primary purpose — a good enough job, even, to get to continue it in Year 2 🙂 Being able to make sense of the maelstrom of emotions (a chaotic and glorious ball of more than one), for yourself and other people, is a gift to the world. Thanks and love!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s