Monday Blues

 

Kinda had an epiphany late last night as I was drooling over and coveting all things blue and white and chinoiserie on Pinterest and Instagram: I'm not a high-end girl! Everything I've been pinning and ❤️ing and adding to my shopping carts is stunning, gorgeous, and absolutely perfect on a Christmas tree.

In a more formal home.

One of the things that immediately drew us into our new-to-us home is how pretty, light, open, and perfect it is for our rather laid-back style and eclectic mix of inherited, rustic, and utilitarian furniture. I absolutely adore the brick on our fireplace,  and in the sunroom. I'm obsessed with the granite and hand painted cabinetry in our kitchen. I love the modern, sleek beauty of the appliances (even though I'm still getting used to them and complain about them too often 😊). The light fixtures are exactly what I would have chosen, and bring in a little modern industrial vibe that I'm OB-sessed with. And, y'all already know how I feel about the floors! Love, love, LOVE them! ❤️

So, back to my beautiful blue and white Christmas dreams... I need to keep it authentic to OUR style, and to the style of our lovely sweet home. I have so much stuff already. Roy and I go every weekend and bring back a load from the storage units. I need to cull and curate what we have down to what we actually use and enjoy. All extraneous stuff is ultimately stressing me out, and what's ridiculous is that instead of tackling the problem at hand, i.e., severely downsizing our belongings as I unpack, I start adding stuff I don't need to online shopping carts. 

I don't know where I'm going with this exactly. Just need to get it out and off my chest. I know the Holy Spirit is showing me that this is an area I need to focus on and work through, and revealing to me how incredibly blessed we are. To be grateful for and enjoy what is important: Not stuff. Not decorating. Not having everything look like photos in a magazine or on a design blog. Not outdoing last year's Christmas tree.

What IS important is: Family. Friends. Welcome. Hospitality.

Christ as the reason we even celebrate Christmas in the first place..

I need to stop obsessing about decorating for a holiday season still over 2 months away, and just make a HOME.

A place we enjoy and love being. A place that envelops us with welcome, serenity, and safety when we return.

A place where an air mattress on the floor is fine, because we want a chance to visit and catch up with friends and loved ones. A place where it's okay for a neighbor to pop in for a cup of coffee, even if the breakfast dishes are still in the sink. 

That's what I really want. Not more stuff.

Im wondering how hard it is to cancel orders?? 😳😆

Breakfast of Champions

I found out yesterday in a phone conversation with my parents that my sweet, beautiful Mama has been diagnosed with diabetes. This disease runs in my maternal side of the family. She is now on medication, eating much healthier, eliminating sugar and simple carbohydrate foods, and walking. I'm thankful, and proud of her for taking this disease seriously.

Hearing this news, I was scared and upset, and a little angry. Not at her, not at the disease or our family's genes, but at myself. I have been eating sweets and simple carbs uncontrollably lately. At 5' 0", I'm at my highest weight in 18 years. I've put upwards of 15 pounds on my small-boned frame in the past 9 months. I haven't exercised regularly in 2 years.

The additional weight affects not only my physical abilities, but my mental and emotional health as well. My hormones are out of whack, and I've been having mood swings, depression, outbursts of anger, and hot flashes again, on a pretty regular basis. Everything seems to irritate and annoy me. My self confidence is low, and I avoid going out in public, if possible. My clothes don't fit, and I've long since disposed of my larger "fat clothes."

I feel guilty even complaining or admitting any of this to anyone but Roy. People looking at me still see a smaller woman, with some healthy "meat on my bones," as one of my brothers-in-law, puts it. I'm not fat, or anywhere near obese, or even unattractive.

I AM uncomfortable in my own skin, in this bigger body, though. I'm not able to walk fast without getting winded. I lack the  coordination and balance I had when working out regularly. My joints hurt, and I pull muscles doing normal chores around the house.

I know all this, and what to do about it, but can't seem to make the mental shift to get off my big(ger) derriere and start exercising and making healthier food choices. There is something blocking me, and I don't know what it is. That makes me depressed, despondent, and angry. The really bad thing is that when I'm feeling this way, my old nature starts taking over and directing my emotions outward as anger toward those I love.

I believe in my heart this isn't just a physical and mental/emotional matter. It is also spiritual.  My weight and my body perception and awareness issues easily become an area where I allow the Enemy to gain a foothold and drive a wedge that becomes a chasm between me and the Holy Spirit. I feel insignificant to, and abandoned by God, when the truth is, I'm ashamed to come before Him and admit to Him my failures and stupid choices. I move away from Him slowly, until I'm unaware that it's even occurring.

I've dealt with body dysmorphia, eating disorders, and impulse control since I was 16 or 17. I don't think I will ever have complete freedom from these issues wanting to dominate me and influence my mindset and mental and emotional health. I still struggle with each of these issues daily, depending on where I'm at regarding my weight, exercise, and food choices. 

I don't know what the answers are. There's no magic diet, no radical therapy, no pill or potion that will snap me out of this and cure me once and for all. It's a struggle. And, a spiritual battle.

I DO know that when I make a conscious, consistent effort to spend time each day with God, it becomes easier to take the first steps toward making better choices in my everyday life. If I fail to make my relationship with the Lord my priority, it doesn't matter how fit, skinny, or strong I am. It doesn't matter if I eat healthy, if I'm starving my connection to and awareness of the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit. If my motivation stems from an image of myself that doesn't begin or align with a desire to be conformed to the image of God, it is vain and fleeting.

I know each journey begins with a single step. This is me, taking my first step. These verses are my inspiration, my motivation, and my prayer for today:

Do not be conformed to this world,.but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. (Romans 12:2)

And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit. (2 Corinthians 3:18)

But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead,  I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 3:13-14) 

Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God, and that you are not your own? For you have been bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body. (1 Corinthians 6:19-20)

Hindsight is 20/20

So... a LOT has happened since my last post. We moved to Mississippi in January, rented an apartment in the 'hood because they allow pets, sold our home in Florida, and bought a new house here 3 weeks ago. We still had a month on our lease, so have been moving our belongings over bit by bit.

As I was leaving the apartment yesterday with almost all of the last small items, I remembered I had left my iced tea inside. I grabbed the apartment key, and  locked the car. 

Oops.

Immediately, I realized I'd locked my car key and my phone inside the car. Long story short ... Yes, it was a bad situation, but I did NOT allow myself to panic!

Do you have any idea how monumental that is for me?

There was a time when this type of thing would have instantaneously, completely dissolved me into tears and a major meltdown. It's times like these that I realize I really HAVE come a long way.

I don't automatically depend on unproductive or harmful coping mechanisms  I don't freak out over the big stuff nearly as often (although the little stuff still can trigger a short period of panic.)

So, I did the sober adult thing, and assessed the situation. 

I thought through my options:

• Going to the management office (it was closed)
• Breaking a window (last ditch option only)
• Walking home (10 miles in the rain, and 3 miles on I-10, plus no way inside)
• Calling a locksmith (no phone and no way to Google)
• Calling AAA (no phone, and membership card inside my wallet)
• Finding some way to contact Roy from a number he wouldn't recognize and pray that he'd pick up, or at least see he had a voicemail

I was blessed to find a kind neighbor who let me use his phone. Roy didn't pick up, so I left him a calm voicemail explaining what happened. (I checked with him. He said it was calm.) I went back into the apartment and began cleaning.

After about an hour, my kind neighbor knocked on my door and said Roy had called him back and would be there in about 45 minutes. I thanked him profusely, and went back to cleaning.

In no time at all my handsome hero showed up to rescue his ditsy damsel. And they all lived happily ever after. The End.

Seriously, all turned out well. Roy was planning to come by the apartment before coming home anyway, so it wasn't a burden or out of the way for him, AND he just happened to have my extra car key with him. 

Funny how life goes more smoothly -- even when it's a bit bumpy -- once we realize we really were never in control in the first place.

We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us. We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

Letting Go

Just said something ugly under my breath and (hopefully) out of earshot of Roy. I know it's wrong. I know I feel judged and that I've disappointed Roy by not having things packed and ready to go, and I'm deflecting the hurt and shame and guilt. I hate letting Roy down... But, I'm not willing to let it go yet, or even to ask God for forgiveness. Because if I do, I have to let go of my self-righteous fury and admit I'm wrong, that I messed up, that it's my fault. The anger is easier to feel and less debilitating, even energizing.

I'm so exhausted. No more than 5 hours sleep per night, and that's the top number. For a week. I stay up trying to move forward and get stuff packed and end up walking around in circles because I forget what I was doing or about to do. Until I can't anymore, finally admit defeat, and crash for a few hours, and then the whole cycle begins all over again.

I'm so tired of moving, of feeling that my life is a dress rehearsal for a play that's going to get postponed, and eventually, never open. I'm tired of feeling untethered, ungrounded, and never having a sense of permanency, of being unable to nest and make a real home, because we never know how long we'll be in one place.

When we bought this house, we thought we finally had that, and then during the actual moving process, Roy realized he'd been betrayed and walked out of his job. I didn't even want to unpack anything. 

I'm so over having ¾ of our belongings in storage, only to open boxes and totes and realize that what I'd once treasured has been ruined or is no longer something I even want.

Roy is frustrated and concerned I have a hoarding problem, and I'm beginning to think he's right. I wasn't like this when we first got married. It only started after we began moving and having to leave things in storage or sell them in moving sales. We were limited to 2000 pounds when we moved to Haiti and again when we returned.

That's when it started. That year, 2002. Roy had gone back to Haiti during Christmas, leaving me with my Mom and sisters. Lowes was having a 75% off sale after Christmas sale on all their Lemax Carol Towne villages and accessories. I couldn't help myself. Our ministry was over. Our marriage was on extremely shaky ground. We had just been unceremoniously released from our Mission Organization, and had no clear prospect of our future.

I felt abandoned. By World Team, by Roy, by our supporting churches. And I felt guilty and responsible and totally alone. I had no sense of who I was anymore, of any purpose, vision, or passion. I needed SOMETHING to make me feel like a junior Martha Stewart again.

Roy was furious. Those villages have remained stored in Action Packers for the past 18 years.

Most women have a deep instinctual need to nest, to create a home that is a safe place, a respite, a haven of warmth and welcome. We want to surround ourselves with beauty, with the things that make us aware that loveliness still exists to calm, inspire and energize us. To stir our passions, to remind us of our blessings, to foster our desire for more than ourselves, to ignite our pursuit of God and spiritual growth.

When we are happy and content, we thrive. And we are most happy and content when those around us are happy and content and love being with us. 

It shouldn't depend upon or center around what we have, or what we can acquire, but when there is continuing uncertainty and an absence of being able to call anywhere "home," it's difficult to feel grounded and purposeful. I think that's where my need to fill my physical space with "stuff" began.

This is something I've realized for a while now, but I haven't been able (willing?) to change. I may need to get some outside help to really deal with this issue. I do know for certain that I can't let it continue.

Cooking with Whine, Revisited

I blogged about this topic way back in 2011, and haven't thought much about the question of cooking with wine or other spirits since. I don't actually cook very much at all anymore, so it's been pretty much a non-issue.


But, then, the other day, I decided I wanted, to make my once famous Classic Chicken Divan, and it's once again become an Issue.

.

With a capital "I."

I asked for non-alcoholic white wine substitute suggestions from friends on social media.

I googled it.

I received and found the usual white grape, white wine vinegar, lemon juice, chicken broth, etc., suggestions.

While I appreciate the input, these were all substitute ingredients I've tried in the past, without success in achieving the desired results.

In Chicken Divan, the white sauce is THE make-or-break component, and if it tastes off, odd or bland, the whole dish is terribly disappointing.

I ended up buying some cooking sherry.  I know from experience that it's off-the-charts salty, but I can use unsalted butter and leave out the salt the recipe requires. Hopefully, it will turn out fine.

But, I didn't really intend this to be a recipe sharing post.

What I found interesting, and a bit disturbing, were some suggestions I received, even from friends who know I'm a recovering alcoholic, to just purchase an inexpensive white wine, because "the alcohol cooks out."

You know what? I googled that, too.

Turns out, that's a MYTH.

Granted, the alcohol percentage remaining, especially in a recipe serving 6, requiring a total of 3 Tablespoons, is miniscule.

Certainly not enough to trigger a physical response.

But, that's not really THE issue.

I know I've eaten things with alcohol added as an ingredient during cooking since I first got sober. Not with foreknowledge, but I've been able to taste a hint in some dishes served at potlucks or dinners. It's never been a problem for me, although I probably would have avoided those particular offerings if I had been told beforehand.

The issue for me is more psychological.

First, if I decide I can eat food prepared with beverage quality alcohol as an ingredient, it's easier to believe I can purchase it solely for the purpose of cooking.

I actually perused the wine aisle at Publix before heading back to the spices for the cooking sherry. One friend had suggested alcohol-free wine, so I was looking for that (they only had red, and it was expensive!).

Now, I learned early in my sobriety to avoid people, places, and things that are threats to my recovery.

Places like the wine aisle.

Wine was probably the hardest thing for me to face giving up when I finally decided to be serious about getting sober. Not that I didn't drink it to excess, or wake up with massive hangovers from it. I did. It was alcohol.

But, unlike other alcoholic beverages, I didn't drink it JUST to get buzzed or drunk. It was the one thing I actually savored and could sip, instead of gulping. It's what I drank in public when I didn't want to get sloppy drunk or pass out (like that always worked...).

And, as I discovered Monday in the wine aisle, it's the one thing which still gives me that mumps gland twinge.

And, that's not all.

Instantly, I could taste the apple, oak and vanilla notes of my favorite Chardonnay, the crisp citrus hints of a good Pinot Grigio. I left. Quickly.

On the way to the spice aisle, I actually caught myself thinking, "I could probably have wine now, and be okay."

It hit me then how easily I could slip, and how close I had just come to a fall.

Y'all, that slope is LETHALLY slippery!

How quickly did I go from looking for a wine substitute for cooking to thinking I could "enjoy and control" my drinking?

Mere hours.

This is the TRUE danger.

I don't know what the consensus is on this among recovering alcoholics. Is there a general recommendation, an unwritten rule, or is this one of those things we have to decide as individuals striving for growth, maturity, and wisdom in our recovery?

For me, personally, I now know that cooking with beverage-quality alcohol is OUT. I saw where my brain went at warp speed after a few seconds in the wine aisle.

That's a PLACE and a THING I have to avoid.

I'm okay with cooking wine, cooking sherry, and and wine vinegars. Even at my most desperate, I never drank any of those.

(Body splash, mouthwash... yes.  And that's why I don't keep those in the house.)

But, some alcoholics might not be okay with ANY of those ingredients, and that's okay for them.

But... Have you thought about this?

What about extracts and flavorings? An extract BY DEFINITION contains alcohol. I remember a girl in high school who drank Wintergreen extract to get drunk.

Does that mean you can't use vanilla or almond extract in baking?

Just how far do you take this?

I'm asking, because I truly don't know. I don't think there can be hard and fast rules, applicable to every alcoholic, regarding this issue, either.

This is where we each have to be rigorously honest with ourselves. Pay attention to what specifically triggers us physically, psychologically, emotionally, and then studiously, determinedly, consistently avoid those things.

Which can be hard.

I know.

I live in Florida, where wine is sold in every grocery, discount, dollar, drug, and convenience store.

It's a matter of the mind, or mind over matter, I guess.

I put on metaphorical blinders, and quickly walk away from wine displays and endcaps. At Walmart, I go grab my Lipton Diet Citrus Green Tea, and immediately exit the aisle, since it's also the wine and beer aisle.

Go figure.

It's habitual now. It's only when I took those blinders off and allowed myself to stroll down both the wine section and Memory Lane that I fell into stinking thinking.

I'm not going to let this incident weigh on my mind or get me into a bad state emotionally. I AM going to let it serve as a reminder that my recovery is precious and deserves my purposeful awareness, attention, protection, and respect.

The slope is slippery.

But, the journey is comprised of many paths, and avoiding the slippery places, the traps, and pitfalls means choosing our individual paths carefully, thoughtfully, wisely, responsibly.

But, above all, HONESTLY.

This, Too, Shall Pass

This post was written back in September of 2018. I didn't publish it then, as there was still a very slim chance the situation with my husband's former employer could be resolved. That didn't happen, and although my husband was quickly rehired by the employer he'd worked for prior to the one referenced here, we are still living in a state of prolonged uncertainty.

It's still hard. Most of the time, we are apart, as his job is in another state and we aren't sure of it's duration. Meanwhile, we have our house here, and making a decision to sell or not has proven to be difficult for a number of reasons.

But, we continue to trust.

I'm numb

My husband just dropped a bombshell. He's had a terrible week, and it's kind of the culmination of a bad, incredibly high-pressure, stressful 8 months.

His credibility and expertise in his field, and specifically, its application in his new job is being questioned, and he's being undermined and blamed for things that are beyond his control. Basically, he's being made the scapegoat by his boss, who has over promised on crucial deadlines and has severely underestimated how quickly they can have a viable product.

He's utterly miserable, and feels deceived and betrayed by his boss, who talked him into giving up our lives in Mississippi and moving here.

The 2 plus years have been among the most trying for us, as, up until January, we lived in a constant state of uncertainty, waiting for this project to come to fruition. When it finally did, it was as if a great weight had lifted, and we finally could move forward.

We started to take steps in that direction, buying a house, preparing for the big move.

Now, my husband isn't sure he can stay in this job, and I can't say I'm completely surprised. You can only get thrown under the bus so much before you're flattened.

I don't know how to feel, how to pray. I think I'm a little bit in shock.

I've trusted God when all seemed lost before, but my husband and I both believed so strongly that we were following His leading in coming here, and we didn't waver, even when nothing was panning out. We thought God had answered our prayers when things finally came together in January.

My husband says his faith is not shaken. But, if I'm completely honest, I have to admit that mine is. Not so much in God's leading, but in our ability to discern what it truly is, and whether we're just trying to make what we want into God's will.

If life is showing us that our ability to discern God's direction and will for us is sadly lacking, how do we even move forward at all, let alone with any confidence?

I get that we won't necessarily understand God's plan for us  as it is unfolding, and that His ways are higher than ours, but it is disheartening to wonder if we may have completely missed the mark.

All we can do is continue to pray, to trust, and to OBEY to the best of our understanding. It may be that all of this happened for a reason that will one day become clear to us,  even if only when we meet Him face to face.

Friday the 13th

Okay, so today is NOT the 13th of April. This Friday, though, is another milestone in my Recovery Journey. 13 years ago today, on April 10, 2007, I drank my last alcoholic drink.

Dismally, a cosmopolitan, a cliché in a martini glass. Doesn't matter. Vodka under the bridge.

What DOES matter is that after countless false starts, this was the one that "took."

Since then, my life has been so... vividly REAL. In some ways, it's been more uncertain, scary, and emotionally fraught than it ever was before I stopped drinking.

The difference is, now I have to FEEL my feelings, face them, sit in them, and walk through them.

It's been, in a word, a journey. I used to think that word was so overused in relation to recovery.

It's not.

If anyone wakes up one day and just decides to quit drinking, and then encounters nothing but rainbows and butterflies, why, bless their li'l sober heart!

I've yet to meet that person.

Getting sober is hard.

STAYING sober is even harder at times, especially in the beginning. But, once in a while, even now.

I don't know how people do it without professional help. If I hadn't been blessed to find an awesome residential treatment program, I doubt I would still be sober.

Addictive in nature, I was equipped with an arsenal of negative and destructive coping mechanisms. Discovering what triggered those, and what the underlying causes were for using them was essential to real and lasting sobriety.

I've had to become conscious of how much anger I had, and how I weaponized my rage to control the people I love. Just learning how to think before speaking was a prolonged, painful endeavor.

And one I continue to struggle with whenever I'm stressed or hurt.

My husband works in another state, 700 miles away. When he comes home for a long weekend or a rare week, I want to be the soft place he lands, where he feels safest and most loved. To treat him and speak  to him only with kindness, respect, and love.

After 2 nearly weeks of uninterrupted togetherness due to the the COVID-19 restrictions, I snapped. I had been working my behind off for hours pruning, and then hauling a mammoth pile of yard debris to the curb for today's pickup. Exhausted, I sat down for a minute. Maybe two.

It was beginning to get dark and my sweet man came out front, surveyed the situation, and said, "Baby, let's hurry and finish this so we can be done before dark."

I lost it.

"Where were YOU when I was hauling this stuff to the street for the past 2 hours?!? I've been working myself into the ground, and I sit down for 5 seconds..."

Uh-oh.

I realized mid-sentence what I was doing, and way too late, the irrationality and hurtful nature of my venomous response.

You see, they lied to us in nursery school and kindergarten.

We were taught "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me."

But, words DO hurt. They are poisoned arrows shot straight into the heart. The damage is real and can be devastating, even irreparable.

And the damage can't be undone. You can't take words back.

You can, as I did, apologize immediately, profusely, sincerely, even tearfully. You can ask for forgiveness. You can wrap your arms tightly around your loved one and hug him and cover his face in kisses.

It might help. A little.

But, it will take time.

The trust you've built has taken a blow and crumbled a bit. Time and consistency is required for it to be rebuilt and restored.

A wise man once said, "A journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step."

A journey is an undertaking requiring commitment and dedication. Strength and endurance are built along  the way.

There are missteps occasionally. We grow weary, sometimes to the point of wanting to just stop.

But for those of us traveling the Road to Recovery, stopping is not an option. We tread on.

Step by step.

Day by day.

And the destination is worth it all.

Annoying Car Horn Alarms: A Gratitude List

1. I am, first of all, grateful to the person who FINALLY turned off that annoying car alarm horn and that it has only gone off twice in two minutes. So far.
2. I am grateful our lease on the house here in Winter Haven runs out at the end of next month and we HAVE to complete our move by then.
3. I am grateful for not having a drink for 11+years.
4. I am grateful for the fact that at least ONE of my wreaths has sold.
5. I am grateful for social media, which seems to be my primary (read: ONLY) way of connecting with people these days.
6. I am grateful that Roy seems resigned to our owning five cats, since not one of the kittens has been adopted yet and they're getting gangly and lanky instead of cute. (And Bitsy may be pregnant again.)
7. I am grateful for losing weight the past few months, which I attribute mainly to not eating dinner at 10 PM during the week when Roy is away.
8. I am grateful for the coming opportunity to get our lives back to some sense of normalcy.
9. I am grateful for the opportunity to discover I need the structure of an actual job that I go to, in order to feel something like purpose in and enthusiasm for life.
10. I am grateful that I am so full of BS that I can make a 10 point gratitude list when I am feeling anything but grateful.

Sorry. I know this is a bummer post, but I'm in kind of a bummer place, and thought a gratitude list might help.

It did not.

Well, maybe a little bit. I can now see how pathetically self-absorbed I am, and work on getting myself out of this dismal funk! Time to get out of my own head and just do SOMETHING!

And for that minor revelation, I truly am grateful.

A Tale of Two Cities (And the Chaos In Between)

We bought a house. 4 months ago. We are supposed to be moving. Should already be moved. Rented a Penske truck and took a huge load over the second weekend after we closed. Nothing since.

I'm still here in Winter Haven, while my husband stays in the new house 2 hours away in Vero Beach during the week, and commutes back here on the weekends.

This is no way to live.

We're now paying rent here, rent on 3 storage units (one hundreds of miles away in Oxford MS) and mortgage payments.

I don't have a job.

There are complications. Roy thought he'd get to a place in his new job where he could take a week off. That's not happening. And, he's taking on a consulting job in addition.

We have a Mama cat with 3 babies living on our back patio. Roy wants me to find homes for all of them.

To pack more than I have already means living without essential items. I've already had to buy a new casserole dish and Tupperware bowls because the perfectly good ones I own are somewhere in boxes.

I can't do this by myself and I am overwhelmed and paralyzed. I start trying to sort through my craft/junk room every week and end up distracting myself and making wreaths.

Then, to make things that much worse, I realize I'm going to need something for my new craft room, or those wreath supplies just went on sale, and I need to restock, and I buy even more stuff. To pack up and move.



What is wrong with me? Y'all know, this is not a good place for a normal person to be, much less an alcoholic. I just want it to go away. I want it to be over already. I want a normal, sane life. I want to be productive and motivated.

Feeling like this makes me want to numb out, and that's where it gets really scary. If I had pills, I'd probably be popping them. So, good thing I don't.

And it's a good thing that God still shows up. Every day.

Miles Away from The Happiest Place on Earth

I am an on a three hour flight back home to Winter Haven, Florida, having come up to Michigan Thursday for my oldest nephew’s wedding. The wedding was lovely, the bride was beautiful, and the food and DJ were okay. The weather was beyond cold.

I should be happy.

What I am is tired, hungry, in need of the potty, and pissed off.

Why?

I’m flying into Orlando. As in home of Disney World. As in every kid’s dream destination: The Happiest Place on Earth.

I’m flying Frontier Air today.

First and last time. Period. #WorstAirlineEver

To start out on the right, or rather, the WRONG foot, their website and app are USELESS.

You cannot check-in online. I tried numerous times. Coming and going.
On my phone. On my tablet. On Roy’s laptop. Mobile Site. Desktop Site. App.

Nothing. Bumpkis. Nada.

Okay. Whatever. So I get to the airport, return the rental car, and wait in line. Cost $45 to carry on OR check my bag, so I check. Go through security, which was significantly more stringent in Grand Rapids than in Orlando. Go figure.

Notice ALL the kids and think, “Great… This is not going to be The Flight From Hell AT ALL.”

*SIGH*

Sure enough, not even halfway into the flight, it’s… Actually not as bad as I feared.

Except for the one kid.

Who continues to scream and sob not-stop.

And I mean, I get it. I do. He’s tired, bored, and cranky. He needs a nap. He needs some durn Benadaryl. He needs to just STOP. Besides, this is not an infant. He’s at least three and he should know better.

For the first time in a VERY long time, the thought goes through my head that a dirty martini would make this entire situation more bearable. Just a fleeting thought, but it's there, nonetheless, and I have to acknowledge it and quash it. Because, I don't do that anymore. Period. End of story. Finito.

So. I can’t sleep. I have to pee and the Fasten Seatbelts Sign is on. Again. My eyes hurt and my vision is blurry due to lack of sleep (never can sleep the night before traveling), so I can’t read. I have a movie I can watch, but I don’t think I can enjoy it because of needing to pee.

Did I mention I REALLY need to pee?

So, I’m going to focus a moment on what I have to be grateful for right now.

I am grateful for:

1. My oldest nephew finding lasting love.
2. My wonderful family, including my 80 year old parents
3. My husband who will be waiting for me at the airport in Orlando
4. Mothers who give their children Benadryl before flying (bless you)
5. Adult diapers, one of which I wish I were wearing right now
6. Almost eleven years of sobriety
7. Frontier (at least to my knowledge), has not yet been the subject of an #AirDisasters episode
8. That I type so slow, we now only have 45 minutes left to go before landing

Did you know, takeoff and landing are the most dangerous portions of a flight?

#SackedAtSixty

Originally Posted on My Blog, Sixty Something Style, 12/23/2017

Well, it finally happened.

After a year of trying my best and failing miserably, I lost my job just before the holidays.

As in terminated

This is a job I had for more than six years, but only a year in the most recent location. I was able to transfer when we moved to west Florida last year, and it's been brutal ever since.

So, it was expected, but still devasting, hurtful and humiliating.

Worse, it means the loss of not only income, but health insurance.

I'm sixty, and will be sixty-one soon. I don't want to be brooding and negative, but what the H-E-double-hockey-sticks kind of job am I realistically going to be able to get?

I did say a while back that this is an exciting age because I can start a new career.

Yeah.

So much easier to write than to actually do.

I have zero confidence, zero motivation, and zero idea of what even interests me that I can do and get paid for at this point.

The rubber has met the road, folks, and my tires are flat.

Things I'd LIKE To Say

This is a draft from way back in 2011 when I had just started working at my bank teller job from which I was fired this past December. Guess it never did quite work out for me... Anyway, back then, I guess I was scared that someone from Real Life would see it, and I'd be Deuced as a result. Now, that's moot,  so might as well put it out there for the world to see.

(An ironic and amusing aside: this customer eventually became one of my favorites and would wait for me to serve her.)

Stupid? Maybe. But at nearly 61 years of age, I no longer give a rat's patootie! So here it is: the post that never was supposed to see the light of day:

Yesterday was the busisest day in a grueling week at work.  We didn't even get lunch hours. Just ordered pizza and tried to grab a few bites between customers.

For some reason, it seems people are ruder today than they've ever been, or maybe I've just been out of face-to-face customer contact for too long and have forgotten.

Whatever the reason, yesterday seemed to bring out the loonies, and I seemed to end up with the lion's share of them.

OR, it may be that I'm more anxious and irritable since I'm trying to stop smoking ONE MORE TIME.

Anyhoo, the worst of the day was the older lady who asked me point blank, "Why are you so slow doing this?"

The comment caught me so off guard, that instead of blinking back the immediately welling tears and choosing to respond gently or laughing it off or just plain ignoring her rudeness, I did the unthinkable.

I retorted.

"Ma'am, you're perfectly free to choose to go to a different teller in the future!" I finished up the transaction, practically threw her money at her and wished her a good weekend.

No apology. From either of us.

What I SHOULD have said was, "Oh, I apologize, but we've been so busy I was finishing up the transaction before yours, and I'm new so I'm still working on getting my speed up.  Let's see... just cashing a check? Here you go, Mrs. So-and-So. Thanks so much for your patience, and have a wonderful weekend."

What I wanted to say, and in some ways wish I COULD say is this:

1. Oh, I'm sorry, Mrs. So-and-So, but I don't know you from Adam's housecat, and you've provided no ID with the check you want to cash, so I'm having to look up your account and customer information and make a judgment call on whether to offend you by asking for your driver's license, or just take a chance and cash a $100 check for a complete stranger.
2. Excuse me? Really?? Weren't you raised with better manners than that?
3. Why are you so damn ugly?
4. Why are you such a bitch?
5. Why are you so rude?
6. I realize I've possibly waited on you in the past 6 weeks I've been here, and I know I really should remember you out of the 1200 customers I serve every week, even though I've probably only seen you once or twice, but I don't. You come in here and hand me a check and expect me to fork over money without knowing for sure this account belongs to you, and I want to take a few precautions to ensure that you are who you say you are and I'm not helping someone else have access to your money.
7. I don't work the drive-thru. That means I don't have a machine that spits money out for me that I don't have to verify.  I actually have to physically get money out of my drawer and COUNT it before I give it to you. Twice.
8. Because I need another cup of coffee. Be a doll, and walk over to McDonald's and get me a large, will ya? 2 creams, no sugar.
9. It's a genetic defect. What's your excuse?
10. Because I'm exhausted from having to wait on customers like you all week. Here's your money. Now get outta my face.

Oh, and one more thing I'd like to say: SCREW YOU, REGIONS BANK!!

(Uh-oh. Did I just type that out loud??)

One Sip Away From a Slip

So, interesting. 

I had a comment on an old post just out of the blue. Would not have even known if I didn't check my email,  since I haven't posted here for eons.

The comment was from a fellow sober alcoholic who is contemplating beginning a blog as well.  What follows is most of my responding comment to her: 

Blogging certainly helped me gain a stronger foothold, especially in the earlier days before I had a good foundation IRL. I was blessed to find a group of regular sober bloggers that not only supported me, but called me out on my BS when necessary. Unfortunately, not many of them, or I for that matter, are still very active within the blogosphere. 

How long have you been sober? For me, it's almost eleven years now. It's still hard at times. I still have drinking dreams from which I awake feeling horror, shame, and self-loathing until I realize it's just a dream. Usually, it's a sign that I'm dealing with a lot of stress. I've learned to take it as a warning that I need to confront and work through the issues at hand.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I still believe that one day I'll be able to drink "normally" again, although intellectually, I know this is a lie straight from the pit of Hades. 

My point, if indeed I have one, is that this is a disease that never goes away. There is no "cure" for alcoholism. Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. Having double digit years of sobriety isn't a badge, but a reminder that no matter how many years one has, like the newbie, we are all just one sip away from a slip. Complacency creeps in and we feel invulnerable, and that's a terrifying place to be.

I have personally seen people who were sober icons with 20+ years under their belts come back to the rooms and whitechip. Not where I ever want to be. I haven't been to a meeting in years, and your commenting on my blog is a huge wakeup call that I'm fooling myself if I believe I can do this alone. None of us can. We may think we're sober alcoholics, but we're just dry drunks, [if we believe that lie].

Blog. It's therapeutic, it keeps you honest and accountable, it's a great place to rage and vent. Just don't substitute it for being involved in a real life community of actual people who are like minded and are also in recovery. Go to meetings and develop a close group of sober confidants.

Don't try to make your spouse or significant other, your church, or non-alcoholic friends or family members your recovery community. They're not, and they cannot fill that role. Having an expectation of them to do so will end up with your feeling disappointed, betrayed, and resentful. Don't shut them out. Just let them be what they're supposed to be. 

Sorry if this sounds like a lecture. I'm writing more to remind myself of what I need to remember, rather than offering unsolicited advice! For all I know, I could well be preaching to the choir! I hope that's the case. I wish you the best in life and in recovery.

So, there it is, folks. Where I am, where I'm not, where I need to be,  and what I need to do to get there.

Are any of my old sober community bloggers still out there? We need each other, and we need to be there for the newbie or the fellow seasoned traveler who happens to stumble upon our journey journals, aka, our blogs. We need to start posting and reading and commenting again. 

I will if you will.

Same Ol' Same Ol'

Our Backyard View at Sunset

Well, maybe not so much.

Actually, it's good.

Our circumstances haven't really changed, except for moving to Winter Haven on what turned out to be  a misrepresentation of actual facts. (So only one of us is getting a paycheck.)

What hasn't changed is we continue to live by faith and prayer. We pretty much HAVE to live by faith and prayer.

It seems to be working so far.

Roy and I are happy in our relationship. Probably more than ever.

I have a job and work with a great group of people who really care for each other.

We still have our fur baby, Boots, our incredibly spoiled fourteen year old cat.

AND, I celebrated 10 years of sobriety in April.

So have our circumstances changed?

Really, not so much, except for income and location.

But, I'm learning to trust God more and more, and to be content and even joyful in the midst of our circumstances.

Not easy, but sure beats the alternative!

The Ugly Truth

I feel bad. Not just bad; more like guilty and remorseful. I responded to someone's comment in a not so nice comment on his blog. Why? Frustration and anger at his inability to grasp and keep what I found over nine years ago.

What if people had been so unkind to me? Would I have been able to finally have that aha moment of connecting the dots and going for it balls to the wall, holding on and never letting go, even if my ass was falling off?

Maybe not. Maybe I would have been devastated and would have turned back to numbing the hurt and anger and betrayal I felt in what had worked to do that for me for so many years.

But, would I have ever gotten sober if there were no serious consequences for my drinking? The people who were real with me and didn't try to coddle me or put up with my BS were instrumental in my being able to finally accept that if I truly wanted a life and a future that wasn't just a miserable existence that I numbed out hoping for and fearing death, something had to change, and I couldn't expect it to happen if I didn't actively participate.

So, to my friend who will know this is for him, I'm sorry if what l said hurt. Please know if I didn't care, I would have said nothing, or just agreed with you. I can't do that anymore. I really want you to have a life with meaning, purpose, and joy. You don't have to accept or embrace a God you don't believe in. Spirituality is individual. Just find whatever that is that works for you, because you CANNOT do this in your own power. It's not magical, but it is mystical. I hope you find it.

Another Depressing Post

I know, I know... The only time I ever post anything is when I'm super depressed. [SIGH]

Just feel like someone has died. My boss announced yesterday he's resigning to go work for a competitor. He's been my hero and my champion for the past two years, when he replaced the boss from Hell.

And the person likely to replace him loved my former evil boss and shares his feelings regarding me.

Yesterday I seriously considered what it would be like to have just one beer... and then I realized what I was thinking.

Scary place to be. Pray I can find a meeting to go to tonight in this alcohol loving town, where you're lucky to find one meeting a day.

My fault, though. Haven't been to a meeting in years, and I can tell.

Prayers (Please!)

Everything pretty much the same here.

Had a few good days after seeing the doctor and getting on new meds, but today, I'm back to where I was. 

Supposed to follow up with her tomorrow, and probably will, given that I'm barely holding back the tears at work.

Either that, or I'm sarcastic and sniping at my coworkers.

So much easier to be angry instead of sad, but that just hurts everyone around me.

It's enough that I hurt, that I'm miserable; don't need to make everyone feel the same way.

(Damn, that's mature!)

Also, much easier to write than to carry out in my actions.

*SIGH*

I just want this to stop.

I want to stop feeling like crap. Is that too much to ask?

I honestly have not felt this blue since going through menopause and we all know where that got me (although, it did also get me into recovery for my alcoholism).

I don't want to go back to self-medicating, although it's really tempting.  Not with drinking, but with pills.  Somehow, I'm able to convince myself at times that if I start abusing pills, it's not the same as relapsing by picking up a drink, and I know the truth is that it IS the same, that I'd have to white-chip all over again.

Gollygeewhiz, I could use a Xanax or an Ambien or a Valium right now.

Poor me... poor me... pour me a...

Yeah.

So not a good idea!

So, I will put my big-girl panties on tomorrow.

I will shower, put on make-up and a fake smile and phony cheerful attitude and to to work on time and grit my teeth until the end of the day when I can go to the doctor and find out what the heck is going on and hopefully get things straightened out.

Prayers, please.

Seriously, I really need them right now.

I need all the help I can get right now; this is certainly bigger than I am.

But not bigger than my Higher Power, not bigger than my God.  So...

I can't.

He can.

I think I'll let Him.

Heartsick

Still wide awake and so sad.

It's 12:52 AM and I have to get up at 5:30AM.

For work.

To get ready to go to a job that I'm beginning to hate.

A job that saps my self-esteem and confidence.

A job that makes me doubt myself, and makes me feel that I am worthless.

I'm seriously thinking of calling in sick.

After all, I'm sick at heart, sick in the bottom of my soul.

So, it wouldn't really be a lie.

But, that would just exacerbate my boss's frustrations and doubts with me.

But, how can I go in, knowing that he thinks I'm an incompetent idiot who will never learn anything, or change what I'm doing wrong?

Worse still, the one person I thought was my friend has gone behind my back and given him a list of complaints about me and my "performance."

Like she's perfect.

Like she doesn't make the exact same mistakes.

My eyes won't stop tearing, and I can't see to write more.

I hope things look better in the morning.

Kill Me Now. Please.

This is the first day in a long while that I've seriously wanted a drink.

Needed a drink.

Needed to just numb out and not feel.

I didn't drink... but I wanted to.

I'm glad I didn't drink, but I'm scared.

I'm almost 7 years sober now, and I've heard that the 7 year mark seems to be a danger point for some obscure reason.

All I know is I had one of the worst days at work that I've had in at least a year.  It ended with my sobbing so hard in the parking lot at the end of the day that at first, I could not even get into my car.

Huge, racking sobs.

The kind that terminate in hiccups and shuddering breaths, hours after the initial episode.

The kind that suddenly and inexplicably begin again while watching Real Housewives. Or some sappy, obviously manipulative tear-jerking commercial on TV.

I'm doubting my intelligence, my abilities, my personality traits, my maturity level, and even my reason for being on this planet.

Do I seriously not have the capability to perform a job that anyone with a high school diploma or GED (not judging) can do?

I'll obviously never get promoted.

Demoted or fired is more like it.

Another year on a "final warning." Fun times.

I don't know how to fix this.

How to fix ME.

I do know that a drink won't fix it. Or me.

But, sometimes I sure do wish I could have one.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Haven't blogged in soooo long, and darn it, I MISS it.  I'm a sporadic journaler, a sometime tweeter and a fickle facebooker, but I've been blogging off and on for over 6 years now, and it is the one thing, the one PLACE to which I always return, at least to visit for a while.

As I've said before, this is the one place where I feel free to be me, to express all the joy, all the pain, all the beauty, all the ugliness that is part of who I am, or have been, or am becoming.  It's not always neat and pretty or easy to understand or slog through, and I need a place where it's safe to put it all out there without fear of reprisal or judgment.

This has been and continues to be that place.

Even if no one ever reads what I write, or comments on it, this is a place where I return, maybe not as often as I once did, but the chronicle of my journey is HERE.

The good, the bad, the ugly.

The days when I had sunk so low into depression, self-loathing and despair that I could not face the thought of going on at all.  The days before I got sober, when I so desperately WANTED to be sober, but also desperately FEARED what going through life unfiltered by the blissful numbing of alcohol would mean.

That first year, when every DAY I feared I would not make it to the magic 12-month mark.

The days since then as I have grown increasingly confident, and increasingly nonchalant and complacent, taking my sobriety for granted, which I know is a scary place to be...

This is my place of real.  My place of transparency and honesty.


I've toyed with the idea of deleting this blog, of starting a new blog where everyone in "real life" knows it's me, and I'm okay with that, but that's the whole point of blogging anonymously or at least pseudonymously, isn't it?

If everyone KNOWS it's me, how free am I to really BE me?

Omigosh.  That's some deep shi.... stuff.  I think I just blew my own mind.

OK. Later.

Or, rather SOONER than later.