6 Months Sober

      I did it. 6 months sober (as in I only smoke weed since it's a miraculous piece of nature that does wonders for me and should be medicinal in ALL states- that's a whole other entry.) But yes, I still miss alcohol. I miss all of it. The speed binges, rolling night after night. But mostly the alcohol. That total obliteration. Escape. Escape. Escape.  
      My drinking problem began at such a young age. It was so normal to have a glass of wine at dinner when I was 13. But then I'd steal a bottle afterwards which I guess is not quite as normal. But in these 10 years so much has happened. I've literally blacked out most of the worst but I still have the snapshots. Those glimpses of recollection that leave you shaking.     Waking up in a strangers house after the bar one night with all my clothes ripped off and memory flashes of a man on top of me. Stealing from stores, loved ones, strangers. Anything to keep it going. Grandma still hides her purse when I come over. Yes, my own Grandma. And all that falling down stairs, spraining an ankle, spraining lumbar, bruises that turn black with my B12 deficiency, the ODs, the self injury that only spun farther and farther out of control as I drank, hospital visit after hospital visit, actually living in the hospital for awhile, getting in fights, driving (sorry), etc. 
      The humiliation still haunts me. People tell me stories about myself that I can't recall at all because I was too fucking drunk. I only have a few friends now. Realized everyone else was a drinking buddy. So much for that. But the friends I have stuck through it. I was told there was something inside me worth waiting for. Always thought it was sappy bull shit but now I'm thinking I might be an ok person. Maybe even "cool" or whatever positive word you want to use. I'll go with "spunky and whimsical". Eh? Yeah, I like that.

So yeah, Day at a time and whatnot.

The Weekend of Samhain

      "Final Friday" Halloween Gallery hop downtown tonight.
Grown up kiddies dressed up as kittens and tea-baggers. Dancing around creepy art I've come to love so much. Getting lost in the festivities, whirls, swirls, lights, music...
    This journey out may be a little intimidating. All the galleries had free wine last year and I don't remember anything past the 3rd or 4th stop. The last thing I recall is standing on the roof of a monstrous building in the middle of the city, looking at all the people ants.
      Ugh, this could be bad. I'm so hesitant to throw myself out in a mess of alcohol and that warmth stemming from it. The smell, the taste, dear god my mouth is watering as I type this. Sip, gulp, chug, another. Sip, gulp, chug, another...   Maybe they'll have candy?
      So I'll be having my own little party. It involves fluffy green stuff. Wanna join? I'll be the short girl dressed as Ginger Spice lingering away from the others, probably freezing my ass off on a bench while I scribble notes about the evening, the pieces, artists, costumes, and how much I hate wearing make-up.

Saturday involves mad party held in an 18th century motel converted into an apartment complex where all the peaceniks live and make art. All doors open.
Sunday is scary movies, meditation, and a harvest feast!