Random Ramblings Of A Dry Drunk (Pt. II)

                Okay, so I made it through the weekend.  And, yes, I guess this blog is still a sounding board for me to vent my frustrations.  If you don’t like it, don’t fucking read it!

                Now, on to more important things…. 

                I’ve noticed lately that I have a lot of fair-weather friends and even fair-weather family.  You know, the ones that only call or come around when they need something, or want something, or when it’s convenient for them, or there’s no one else to talk to or hang out with, or nothing else to do… You get the point.  I’m becoming incredibly fed-up with these people, and I’m debating getting rid of them all entirely or just keeping them around for when I need something.  I mean why not fight fire with fire, right?  If I get rid of them all completely I risk burning bridges that could become useful in the future, but I risk becoming a fair-weather friend myself.  However, if I just tell them all to fuck off, aside from the instant gratification, I also open up space for more friends… maybe even better friends.  Although, I’m not quite sure that there’s a limit on friends so that might be a moot point; there is, however, a limit on family.

                Hhhmmmm…. 

Random Ramblings Of A Dry Drunk

                I haven't posted anything in a while.  I had to take a step back because the blog veered off course.  It became more of a sounding board for me to vent my frustrations than a blog about drunkenness and sobriety.  And, who the fuck wants to read about MY frustrations???  So, on that note…

            I’ve been thinking about drinking lately.  Not because things are bad, but because I’m slowly becoming aware that sobriety is fucking boring.  My sister was the first one to point it out to me a couple of months ago.  God bless her soul for being the blunt woman that she is, she told me in her snottiest, most stuck up voice, with her Louisiana drawl, “I liked you betta when you was drunk!”  Thank you Chelsea!

            Then, my therapist stopped me mid-conversation one day and asked me, “Do you ever have any fun?  It sounds like you’re constantly juggling all these responsibilities, but if you don’t take a break and have some fun every once in a while… Well, it’s like a battery that needs recharging.  You’ll end up drained out.”  I had to think about it for a while, about two weeks (yep it took that long), but I realized that I don’t have any fun anymore.  Upon further investigation I’ve realized that, without alcohol to loosen me up, I don’t know how to have fun.  And, judging from the looks of things, not too many people do. 

            Everyone’s always quick to throw in a, “No! Don’t throw it all away! You’ve come so far!  Don’t give up now!”

 Meanwhile they’re tipping there glasses back and getting geared up to dance the fucking Macarena with those stupid, drunken grins on their faces.  Well, I’ve got some questions:  If I’ve come so far, where the fuck am I supposed to be going??  Don’t give up now?  Give up what??? Throw what away???  There’s no goal here.   When I make it two years I don’t get a fucking prize!  Hell, if I go the rest of my life without drinking, you know what I get?  Dead!  That’s right, dead!  Just like everybody else. 

            Furthermore, being sober is no magic cure for life.  Did things get better when I quit drinking?  Of course they did!  I was at wits end when I quit drinking.  I was standing in a deep hole; it was either climb out or jump in the fucking steaming pile of feces below.  But, it needs to be said that I probably would have been in that hole whether I was drunk or not.  God knows I’ve gotten myself into plenty of shit sober!  On the other hand, there were plenty of times when I was drinking when things were WAY better than they are now.  Life is life; it goes up and down whether you’re drunk or not.

            Did I drink too much?  Hell yeah!  When you’re idea of a healthy breakfast is cheap champagne and any kind of juice you can find, you’re drinking too much!  When you don’t eat for days because if you do, you won’t want to drink for a couple of hours, you’re drinking too much!  When you’re sitting in the dark corner of a dive bar trying to stay awake by only closing one eye at a time, and you decide that it’s time to go to bed, and you walk outside only to have the sun beating down on your face because it’s only noon, you’re drinking too much!  When you’re beating on the back door of…. You get the fucking point.

            I guess the real question here is, “Could I control it?” 

            Well, the truth is, I don’t fucking know because I’ve never tried.  The experts all seem to agree that it can’t be done.  Although, even my therapist agreed that there are exceptions to every rule… so it can be done.  Am I an exception to the rule?  Please reread the first sentence of this paragraph.

            Okay, so now you see my dilemma.  Do I try and control my drinking in an attempt to live my life, have some fun, and stop being so sad all the time?  Or, do I just keep on being irritable, restless, and discontent?  (Yes, I know there are plenty of other options.  I am, however, officially fucking tired of typing.)

            Goodnight all.

~Jorge

Flash Fiction - Fuck My Life! (Blasphemy)

"God has a plan and the Bible unfold this wonderful plan through the message of prophecy."  -Tupac Shakur

*

Why do all these bad things always happen to me? Don't I deserve a fucking break?, he thought as he jogged down the street, the rhythm of his feet pounding against the concrete calming his temper a bit. He couldn't hear the sound of the diesel engine over the angry music pumping into his ears from his iPod as the truck approached. He didn't see it as it crested the hill just as he crossed the street, the crisp, refreshing scent of early morning dew filling his nostrils as he took that first step off the curb. Fuck my life!, he thought, and then everything went black.

The Story Of My Life In One Sentence:

The story of my life in one sentence: People come in like a whirlwind all full of hope and promise, things get intense, reality sets in and then they leave because it's too much for them.

I suppose it is too much for me to expect someone to actually stick it out with me when I don't ever really want to be here myself; I'm stuck with myself, they're not.

And now, for some sappy love quotes:

“If I never met you, I wouldn't like you. If I didn't like you, I wouldn't love you. If I didn't love you, I wouldn't miss you. But I did, I do, and I will.”

“When you smiled you had my undivided attention. When you laughed you had my urge to laugh with you. When you cried you had my urge to hold you. When you said you loved me, you had my heart forever.”

“I love you not because of who you are, but because of who I am when I am with you.”

“Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was a choice, but falling in love with you I had no control over.”

“Love is when you shed a tear and still want her, it's when she ignores you and you still love her, it's when she loves another man but you still smile and say I'm happy for you, when all you really want to do is cry.”

“Find a guy who calls you beautiful instead of hot, who calls you back when you hand up on him, who will lie under the stars and listen to your heartbeat, or will stay awake just to watch you sleep... wait for the boy who kisses your forehead, who wants to show you off to the world when you are in sweats, who holds your hand in front of his friends, who thinks you're just as pretty without makeup on. One who constantly reminding you of how much he cares and how lucky he is to have you... The one who turns to his friends and says, “That's her.””

“For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.”

“I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.”

“One of the hardest things in life is watching the person you love, love someone else.”

And, finally the fucking coupe de grace:

“If you love someone, let them go. If they come back, they're yours. If they don't, they never were.”

God Has Infinite Patience & A Sick Sense Of Humor...

When I was twenty-two years old. I started stopping by my grandmother's house a lot, my father's mother. We saw each other randomly, but had never really gotten to know each other. At the time I was fighting a court battle and was set on the idea that I was going to jail for a while. I wasn't sure for how long, but I had this idea stuck in my head that by the time I got out she wouldn't be around anymore. Her and I grew very close during that time.

At one point I asked her where my grandfather and my uncle Romy (her first born son) were buried. I figured I would need to know for when I got out of jail. I knew where the cemetery was because members on my mother's side of my family were buried there as well. I had looked for my grandfather and my uncle's tombstone several times, but could never find it. My grandmother sat down and drew me a map telling me exactly where they were and how to get there.

Several days later, I went to the spot she had told me about. I wandered around for what seemed like hours reading one tombstone after the other. Getting frustrated, I prayed to God to help me find it and I wandered around some more. Still nothing....

I got more and more frustrated until I just couldn't take it anymore. I was ready to give up. I looked up at the sky and cursed God out.

“Fuck you! There's no such thing as God! If there was he wouldn't have me wandering around this cemetery all day looking for my dead relatives!”

I turned to walk away. As I did, I looked down at my feet and realized that I was standing on top of them.

The whole time I had been searching for a tombstone never stopping to think that I come from a modest family who would never spend a significant amount of money on an ornate rock to mark the spot of their deceased. There were just the two headstones pictured above with their names on them, right where my grandmother said they would be....

What I Deserve....

“Isn't it great that we don't always get what we deserve? I know, if I got the things I really deserved, I'd be dead or in jail right now.” ~Anonymous

*

“Just give the program 30 days, and if you don't like it, we'll be happy to refund your misery.”

That's what my sponsor told me when I first met him. That was twenty-six days before this day. I was already dealing with the fact that what was left of my life was crumbling down around me. I didn't have any where else to turn. I figured, why not? I took his suggestions. One really bad night in the beginning he told me to pray.

“Pray for what?”, I asked.

“Pray for God's will to be done, not yours, because your will sucks. Then turn it over, leave it in his hands and see what happens.”

So, that's what I did. Man did God have some shit stored up for me! Things spiraled out of control fast. One revelation after the other... Things weren't crumbling down around me anymore, they were already dust and I had just been too blind to see.

I did what any good alcoholic does, I isolated. I locked myself into a prison of my own making. Praying in between exercising; begging for answers. Leaving the house to go for walks late at night because I knew that the bars and package stores would be closed and because I couldn't sleep. And, when the answers came I didn't listen because they weren't what I wanted to hear. That little voice kept whispering in the back of my mind, and I kept pushing it out until I finally got fed up.

I let the anger take over. Anger is the only emotion I've ever known how to deal with. I've had lots of practice. I can direct it here or there with ease. Anger is such a fickle emotion though. It never does what you want it to do, and always just makes things worse.

That day, I directed my anger towards my sponsor. I called him for the first time in days. He was worried about me. I very calmly asked him, “Do you remember when you told me to give you 30 days or you'd refund my misery?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you've got four fucking days left. I don't deserve the shit's that happening to me. If this is God's will for me, he suck my fucking cock.”

Then, I looked up at the sky and told God the same thing. I walked out of the house and drove to Hartford to visit my grandmother. There's something about her and her house that always have a way of calming me down. She's a sweet old Cuban lady who believes in some of the old Cuban religion. There are statues of saints and candles everywhere, rosary beads, and even glasses of water for the spirits of the dead. Strange things have happened in that house, and sometimes I honestly think she's psychic.

I don't recall what we talked about or how long I stayed. I just sat on the couch and stewed in my anger and misery when suddenly the room started to spin. Things got blurry. My chest got tight and I could hardly breathe. I looked around the room and the statues and pictures of the Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus kept popping out at me. Everywhere I turned they were right there; the only thing I could see clearly. I was suddenly reminded of something awful that I had done in the past. I tried to shake the thought, but it wouldn't leave. Every ounce of me wanted to break down crying, and begging for forgiveness.

I felt trapped. I needed to get out of there. I think I said goodbye and left as hastily as I could. I got in my car, rolled the windows down and started driving hoping that the fresh air would help. I got one, good, deep breath in and it hit me; I was acting like a spoiled child. I was just a fuck-up and I didn't deserve shit.

I went home, got on my knees and asked God to forgive me, laid down and fell into a deep sleep. The next morning I met my sponsor at a meeting, and told him what had happened.

“Isn't it great that we don't always get the things that we deserve,” he said, “I know if I got the things I really deserved, I'd be dead or in jail right now.”

Dear NETWORK (God's A Car Salesman Pt. II)

Dear NETWORK,

This is me reaching out. It's no secret that I've been on the edge for a while now, and I haven't fallen in yet. But, I'm tired of holding on and I'm ready to jump. The water looks nice from here and a pack of cigarettes, a case of beer, an oz of weed, an eight-ball, and some strippers are starting to sound like the promises coming true....

Thank you for imparting this little bit of wisdom in me over the last year: I can't control the actions of other people, only the way that I react to them.

Everyday for over a year now I have taken the advice of strangers and prayed for God's will to be done, "because my will sucks". Well, if this is God's will for me after a year, then his will fucking sucks too! He can keep his fucking Porsche! (Read my last post.) If he dares to give me the keys again, I'll return it this time after a few weeks with one headlight broken, covered in mud, the engine overheating, exhaust hanging down shooting off sparks as I pull into the lot, convertible top ripped and bent beyond recognition, bucket leather seats missing replaced with old milk crates, and the interior smelling like blueberry-scented pine-tree air fresheners, burnt flesh and dirty Mexican pussy! (Don't ask, I won't remember.)

I can see the conversation now:

"Welcome back Jorge! How'd you like the ride?"

"That ride was fucking awesome God!"

"Glad you liked it, it's yours to keep. Do what you will with it."

"Naugh, I'm good. What the fuck would I want with a busted-ass-piece-of-shit car like that?!? That thing's fucking falling apart! I'm surprised it made it back here! Give it to that guy standing over there; he looks like he'd enjoy a good fixer-upper. I'll walk from here!"

Then, I'll flip God the bird as I head out to trudge the road of happy destiny to the nearest brothel.

"Fuck you and your mother-fucking will for me asshole!!!!"