Addiction

My best friend Kym taught me how to sneak out when I was 15. I remember the fear I felt when we stepped on the squeaky step near the bottom of the spiral stairway. Our hands were sweaty as we opened the door to the rarely-used front porch. The screen door alerted the dogs to our presence, and we had to shush them before they got too excited. The gate was quiet, thankfully, and we were home free!

Walking toward the main drag where everyone hung out on Friday and Saturday nights, we worried about not finding anyone we knew and not having fun. This was not the case. We met some people that Kym knew from school. (She went to a different high school than I did, but we had been friends since the fourth grade – when I promised her a pony if she wouldn’t date a guy I liked.)

Kym introduced me to some people, but because I was shy, I just drifted off and sat by myself. Pretty soon an attractive guy came over and said, “Hi. You’re too pretty to be sitting here all alone.” I was so naïve I didn’t see through that cheesy pickup line. He handed me my first ever beer and I drank it right down, not wanting to be laughed at because I had never drunk before. His name was Ron. He was 22, lived with his parents, drove a cool van with a bed in the back, and worked as a mechanic at a local dealership. Whoo! The things he told me went straight to my head. I went home that night giddy with excitement.

I snuck out every Friday and Saturday night after that. I would wait until my parents were asleep and out the window I would go. Ron was so attentive. He seemed to light up when he saw me and held my hand all night, not even letting go to open a new beer. After most of the cruising died down, we would drive off. He knew this spot out where no lights would shine in the windows of the van as we parked. We talked, sang along with the radio, drank, and more.

I remember being very upset when my parents announced we were going on vacation to Utah! I kept thinking I’d never make it a whole two weeks without a drink or seeing Ron. I had enough time to tell him we were going on vacation and told him when we’d be back. 

We got back from vacation on Friday, a day early, so of course as soon as everyone was asleep, out the window I went. I ran the seven blocks to the normal meeting spot and didn’t see Ron’s van anywhere. I asked one of the closer friends I had to drive me around so I could look for Ron. I was desperate for his attention. We drove out to the spot, and there was Ron’s van. I was crushed. I opened another beer and drank it down without stopping. Then I hit the hard liquor. I got very drunk. I crawled in the window of my room about 4:30 a.m. I moped around most of Saturday and then out the window again that night. I was determined to see Ron and remind him of how much he liked me.

When I got to the meeting spot, there he was, holding another girl in his arms. He saw me and came over to let me know that he was with this new girl now and he was sorry if he hurt me.

The next week, I had a friend call Ron at work to let him know that I was in the hospital with an overdose–a lie to get his attention and bring him back to me. He showed up at my house, after discovering that I was not at the hospital. He sat down and truly talked to me about where things were between us. It was emotional and even more devastating than seeing him with that other girl.

It’s still hard to think about that summer. I learned a lot about life. I learned a lot about my body. I learned who true friends were. I also learned about addiction. I still struggle, although I have been dry for years. My name is Pam, and I’m an alcoholic.

Lump of dumb?

Have you ever felt out of place? Alone in a group of people? Here I am – sitting in a group of ten, feeling like a lump of dumb.

I am not successful, rich or famous. I merely exist. I feel lazy…but don’t know how to fix it. I have so much I need to do, but the computer sucks me in; more appropriately, the internet. There is so much there to occupy my time.

Perhaps I missed the boat on self-control. I know I need to change, but don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t like being forced to change. Am I ready? If not, what will it take to get me ready?

Kidnapping from a wedding!

Last night I dreamt that my ex-husband was trying to marry off our youngest daughter at her current age of 15. It was very strange!

The wedding was in a castle and there were lots of halls and corridors and doors to wind through, trying to find the bride’s room. She was beautiful, all dressed in white, but just too young (for today’s standards – back in castle era it was a good age).  Her intended husband was young as well – and gangly with hair that covered one eye.

She was at the altar and I grabbed her, said we forgot something very important and dragged her back to the bride room. We were changing clothes and her dad came to the door and I said, “Wait! We’re dressing again!” He wandered off, or so I thought. After she and I were dressed in our street clothes, we snuck out of the room only to be trapped by her dad and grandpa. They tried to stop us from running, but we took off quickly. The next few minutes of the dream was spent running through the castle trying to find an exit. I could hear the breathing and footsteps of the people chasing us. My mom appeared and led us to the exit and we got away.

That’s when I awoke to the sound of our neighborhood woodpecker knocking to come in to the house.

I just can’t get the dream out of my head. I sent my daughter a text asking if she was getting married today. I hope she doesn’t think I’ve lost it.

Home and Garden Shows

I love working trade shows. You see, I’m a people watcher. If I could get paid to do it, that would be my full time job! Working for a decking material supplier, I work a lot of home and garden shows.
There is a huge variety of people that attend these events.

This weekend I’m working a show in my hometown. I volunteered – mostly to see my family – but the company is paying me. (Woot!)

So in watching people today, I realized that there are some truly scary people in this town.
There was a woman who kept staring at me each time she walked by. I’m pretty sure she was gay. But I don’t know if she was attracted to me or trying to decide where she knew me from.

I love watching the older couples walking along holding hands. They look so content.

The kids are funny to watch. So many emotions: happy, sleepy, sad, cranky, bored – and often on the same kid, depending on how long their parents stand at one booth.

I saw the best color-coordinated guy today. He wore a cerulean blue ball cap that matched one of the stripes in his western-style shirt, and a black belt with a cerulean belt buckle. That guy had it going on! Too bad he was my dad’s age.

There are several kinds of husbands. The I-don’t-want-to-be-here guy and the we-just-got-married-and-I’m-only-here-because-she-wants-to-do-it. Those two types feign interest because they want to make their wives happy and avoid a fight. There is the let’s-rush-thru-it-so-I-can-go-do-what-I-want-to-do guy. The I’m-here-to-find-a-bargain man who is dragged there by his let’s-go-see-what-we-can-max-out-our-credit-cards-on wife.

There’s a small percentage of guys who genuinely want to be there – and they’re probably only  there to get out of doing what’s on the honey-do list.

Sorry guys, if you are offended by my man-bashing. It’s what I see when I people watch at home and garden shows.

People watching :)

I love to people watch. It’s my favorite pastime, besides playing World of Warcraft. This morning I was at a local coffee house and working on a story with this family caught my eye. I wrote this little passage about the adorable oldest child of the family. If only I could write like this every day! Enjoy.

The adoration in the girl’s eyes is evident. She loves the attention from her dad, sharing her breakfast with him and making him laugh at the faces she makes. She sits like a little lady, legs crossed, her brown hair in pigtails with pink pony ties and little gold earrings adorning her ears. Dimples appear when she smiles impishly while chewing with her mouth open, clearly enjoying her breakfast pastry. She has a younger sibling and is jealous of the attention the kidlet garners from the other patrons of the coffee shop. She notices me watching her and grins, revealing two missing front teeth. She is wearing a black sweater and black and red plaid leggings tucked into boots. She is adorable, this little girl, and makes me long for my children who are miles away and already teenagers.

Basket Therapy :)

I have become addicted to basket therapy.

“What is basket therapy?” you ask.

Well, let me explain.

First, you go to the thrift store and buy a basket. Not just any basket – a SALE basket. Something that cost under a dollar (we’re in a recession, don’t you know).  You take the basket out to the parking lot, remove the tag and place the basket upside down on the ground (you may have to remove the handle). If you don’t care if anyone is watching, you proceed to jump up and down on the basket – effectively smashing it to bits. (For those of you who don’t like public displays of embarrassment, do this in the relative safety of your own home.) When you’re done, please, please pick up the bits and put them in the trash. Trust me, the thrift store employees do not like it if you don’t.

Have fun stomping baskets. It’s great therapy when you’re having a rough day. )

Happy New Year!

Okay, okay. So it’s the 4th of January. I’m a little late.

I had a great New Year’s Eve (once I got off work). I went to the zoo with my best friends, my hubby, and a bunch of kids. There were 11 in our group. We laughed, pointed, oohed and aahed over the lights and the critters. I took lots of pictures, but only a few came out well enough to share. The others go in my folder of “Shame on you, RTFM!” I’m sharing them here for my friends and strangers alike. Any comments? Feel free to email me.

Christmas sadness

Here it is, the holiday season. My husband doesn’t really celebrate, doesn’t really care about the holidays. He doesn’t like to get gifts (mostly because he’s a freaking psychic who already knows what he is getting!), he doesn’t like to decorate the house, he doesn’t like anything about the holidays (and we always spend too much money on gifts). So the house isn’t decorated other than what his grandmother has put up, which is three wreaths and her little tree in her room. When driving home at night and seeing all those houses decorated and cheery, it makes me sad. I feel like I’m missing out on all the happiness and excitement of the holiday, which is really about the birth of our little baby Jesus. I love giving presents, especially “the perfect” gift. I don’t think I’ve accomplished “the perfect” gift this year. Maybe when the doctor took out my appendix, he took out my holiday spirit.

Of surgery, men in green masks and funny nurses

So last weekend I became ill on Sunday morning. All of a sudden. No explanation. I suffered through the day and night and finally went to Urgent Care at 7 am on Monday morning. I thought it was a raging bladder infection. Well, my urine showed up with a little infection, but nothing to account for the horrible pain. They drew blood and I had a way high white count. Urgent Care doesn’t have an ultrasound machine, so they sent us over to ER.

ER was cold, I was shivering and crying and nauseated and just feeling like crap. They put in an IV for fluids and meds and gave me the lowest dose for pain they could. They then sent me back to a room. We wait. Talk to the docs, who were fabulous! My main doc (he had a PA with him) put his hand on my forehead…like a parent does when a kid is feeling icky. I felt so cared for.

They ran my white count again, drew some more blood, sent me for a cat scan (no lab results LOL). Yep. Appendix – and it had ruptured at some point. So we joked around while waiting on a surgery consult. Then moved down the hall to surgical waiting room. My surgeon is a funny funny man. Came in there cracking jokes and whatnot. Fabulous. So then they decide it’s time and send me wheeling to OR.

Back to the room, it’s fuzzy and warm and all just fine. Then comes the pain, the funny taste from the dilaudid pain meds, the getting up to pee, the vital checks. But through it all, I had fabulous care. There were a couple of CNA’s who wore way too much perfume, but I did mention it to the nursing person.

They kicked me out on Wednesday afternoon and I’ve been sleeping – a lot – and just resting. I wander back and forth between the computer chair, the bed, and the toilet. Passing gas hurts. Coughing hurts. Laughing hurts – but I have 5 cats, so I have to laugh.

Now come the wierd dreams. Boy have I been having them. I play World of Warcraft, right? Well the new expansion is coming out next week (which I can’t afford to get) and I’ve been having dreams about it being extreme mini golf with water, floating computer platforms, people losing eyes because of the shape of the ball. Transformers appear in my dreams too – and I didn’t see the live-action film!

This has been an interesting week. I am mad about the whole thing though – had to send my kid back early because I was sick! I missed out on 8 hours of visitation with her!

Children of divorced parents

My children are the victims of a divorce. For a long time, they wanted their dad and I to get back together. Especially the youngest.  She was only three when we separated, so she doesn’t really remember the good times. She was so cute then and has grown into a beautiful young woman. She’s popular, smart, funny and beautiful. Everything I wasn’t as a teen. I just love how she is so resilient. Or so I thought. She recently was hospitalized over suicide threats. When she told me how she planned to do it, my heart just jumped into my throat. You know how you feel when you think of someone you love getting hurt? That’s how I felt. Scared the hell out of me.

So jump to the part where things became muddled. I felt like part of the reason she ended up in there is because her dad and stepmom wouldn’t let her call me. I feel like the bargaining tool when she is acting badly or doing something wrong – they threaten her with not being able to talk to me to get her to behave. That hurts my chances of having a relationship with her.

When we had a family counseling session today (I attended via phone), the counselor was fabulous at being the moderator. I’m sure one of the classes a therapist has to take in school is Moderator 101. We parents were able to communicate effectively to each other their feelings and concerns.

However, I feel like they won’t hold to some of the things we agreed to, like letting her call me when she’s upset. Or she’ll forget to ask if she can use the phone and it’ll get unplugged again, effectively ending our call.

In the end, I’m sure nothing will change, just like always. ( Except the fact that I absolutely LOVE MY DAUGHTER!