Update 10:15 PM
Three AA meetings today and I am home, safe, for the night. I got through the day, functioned well at my job, called three sober women to report that I was alive and not sucking down Bushmill’s and avoiding my Parrot (the last time I relapsed, I covered Parrot’s cage with a sheet so that she couldn’t see me drink. Not quite sure who I thought I was trying to protect there, lol).
Something pretty rad even happened when I walked home from work. I was walking through a park that had a huge statue of Abraham Lincoln in it. President Lincoln is my favorite president. Perched on the statue’s shoulder was a hugeass beautiful hawk. Lots of people had stopped to admire her. She definitely looked like a much happier bird than the self-mutilated cockatoo I posted down below.
Adler, my surname, is the German word for eagle. An eagle is not a hawk, but they are both raptors.
I would rather be that hawk chillin with Lincoln than the sad hurting cockatoo.
Finally, because someone asked, the picture at the bottom of the blog post is the great hero Herakles who retrieved the three-headed monster hound Kerberos from the land of the dead. It seemed appropriate.
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Dammit, you 8 readers! Why aren’t you voting? It is imperative that blame be assigned and a culprit publicly shamed.
Yesterday was a truly crummy day. I had nightmare that I was counterfeiting money to give to my landlord, which is crazy because I would never do that. That is a federal fucking offense. And even if I did do it–which I never would–I wouldn’t do it by downloading the image of a $100 bill off the internet, printing it out on my cheap stupid printer, and then cutting it out with the scalpel the Surgeon sent to me in my Valentine (I keep the scalpel by my desk. Whenever I miss him, I refer to it).
Nevertheless, I woke up convinced–convinced!–that I had given my landlord $400 in counterfeit money, and he found out when he tried to deposit it at the bank. Caught! Busted!
Guess how much money I earned with the French Fry.
Tell me there’s not a connection.
Feeling a little conflicted about how you make your living, Margo? Subconsciously?
My brother injured his back at work. The doctor says he needs surgery. He’s been on pain medication for months now. I am terrified that he’ll get addicted. If he takes it every day, addiction is inevitable.
He has 50% different genes than me. I pray to a God I don’t believe in that my brother will be spared this affliction. I know that he doesn’t drink. He does use tobacco, though, which is a performance indicator.
He knows about the anorexia–he saw me at my lowest weight. He doesn’t know about the alcoholism. I didn’t develop it until I moved away from home–they don’t know how bad it got, or that I’m still struggling with it now.
Maybe I need to call my brother and have a serious talk with him about this. A serious, Come To Jesus talk. He does not want to be where I am now.
It will have to be me. God knows my mother won’t do it–she doesn’t see what she doesn’t want to see. I could show up for Thanksgiving weighing 80 lbs and drink a bottle of wine by myself at dinner and she wouldn’t say a word. Denial is my mother’s chief coping mechanism. It’s not exactly healthy, but at least it is much easier on the liver. HA! Watch–she’ll live to be 105 years old, and I’ll be dead by 35. Self-destruct.
|This Cockatoo did this to herself. I know why.|
I’ll make the call this afternoon. Too early now. The time zone change.
I’m going to take a shower and go to an AA meeting before work–regular tutoring job today. Then I will call my brother. I love him and I don’t want him to suffer.
I need friends, and I need help. I’m scared, for him and for myself. This killed three of my four grandparents. I don’t want to die.
Even Hercules needed help. He asked for it and was not ashamed.
Ask, and you shall receive.