Saturday, December 17, 2011

Part 1


At the bare minimum, the past year has been a rollercoaster of events and emotions.  2011 was supposed to be my year.  The year things finally went right and life was good and I shook off the misery of the past and focused on my bright new future.  It started out so well, but now I look around and I wonder what the hell happened.  Where did it all go wrong?   More importantly, why am I sitting here feeling just as crummy as I did before I told the ex to leave?  Over the last 2 weeks, I’ve wondered if I wasn’t better off before the divorce.  Realistically, I know I wasn’t, but at least when he was around I had someone who would occasionally help out around the house and take care of some of the day to day chores that I never seem to have the time or ambition to complete thoroughly.  As I’m writing this, there are dirty dishes in the sink, clean dishes in the dishwasher, dirty clothes in the hampers, clean clothes on the couch, 3 bags of garbage to take out, floors to vacuum, and a dog who desperately needs a bath.  Where am I?  20 miles away, sitting in an Alano club, HOURS before the next meeting starts because I dropped the kids off at their dad’s place and I couldn’t bear the thought of going home to my messy house and my bitey dog.  It’s all a little too overwhelming right now.  Besides, avoidance always works so well to deal with a problem, right?

My chaotic love life (or lack thereof) parallels my chaotic household.  After digging myself out of the pit of the parasitic relationship we called a marriage, I started seeing an amazing man.  It wasn’t a 13th Step, but we were both in the program, both in the process of getting divorced, both functioning as newly single parents, and both had been interested in each other for a couple of years but didn’t do anything because of said marriages.  This was the first (and only, to date) adult relationship.  We talked about everything and talked our way through the obstacles that popped up.  This was the most intensely sexual and passionate relationship I had ever been in.  We were completely open and accepting of each other’s quirks and kinks.  I felt like he was my prize for sticking it out in a loveless/sexless marriage for so many years.  He pursued me and slowly convinced me that he loved me and wasn’t going anywhere and that it was ok to fall in love with him because he would try to make sure he never hurt me. I wanted to believe him so badly that I turned a blind eye to the warning signs and end of times warnings that were starting to be quite apparent.  8 months later he looked me in the eyes and told me his heart was no longer into it and he had changed his mind about me.

Enter THE relapse.   

Just over 6 years of sobriety down the tubes.  He left me on a Wednesday.  I went to a meeting that night, but burst into tears right away and left.  I went to my sponsor’s, told her what had happened and talked and talked and talked until I was off the ledge.  Lather, rinse, repeat.  Tried to go to the meeting the next night - same thing.  Friday night rolls around, I get into the parking lot of the meeting and see that HE’S there and knew there was no way I could go in.  Apparently my van has a alcoholic GPS that locked onto the nearest liquor store and made a beeline for it.  The entire mile and a half I kept telling myself that SOMETHING would stop me before I got to the store.  WRONG.  Then, I told myself that if I REALLY wasn’t supposed to drink, someone from the program would be there and would talk me out of it.  (It didn’t dawn on me until days later that if I HAD seen someone else from the program in the liquor store, we BOTH would have avoided eye-contact and pretended that we were not there.)

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Dearest CAPTCHA - ScRewYou!

CAPTCHA is becoming one of the banes of my existence.  I get why they (yes, I've decided captcha is plural) are used, but the annoy the crap out of me nonetheless.  No one wants internet robots unleashing their unruliness all over people's blogs, but c'mon, really?  My brain has a hard time figuring out what letters are all morphed and smashed together in those little boxes.  If I were a robot, wouldn't I have moved on after the 3rd failed attempt?  Shouldn't I be granted access for persistence?  And don't even think about clicking on the box for the visually impaired.  If you do, some transit worker reject surrounded by white noise attempts to give me random words to type and hopes of cracking the infuriating code.  Have a mentioned I'm going deaf in one ear thanks to genetics? So...I can't SEE the words and I can't HEAR the words.  Lucky me.

The reason I point this out is because the soul-crushing cApTcha is completely limiting my ability to spread my twisted humor and sarcasm upon the unsuspecting human race.  Now before coming up with what I'm sure will be a prophetic response, I have to gauge whether or not it's funny enough to deal with the impending captcha doom and gloom.  I'm not being held back by The Man, I'm being held back by The Captcha!

If I had balls, and if captcha had a mouth, I'd most certain tell them to suck it.