10:48-ish. Clocks jumped ahead. Hello beautiful people. Today is Day 5 of my sobriety and the sun is STILL shining. But I will tell you that I had a horrible-feeling afternoon yesterday, just so awfully down on myself and self-hating.
I had accomplished NOTHING. Nothing except obsessive blogging. “What use am I to the world” and all that. My husband is the most amazing person, he does everything. EVERY-THING. Makes money, builds stuff, yard work, even cooks meals when he is home; it is RIDICULOUS. How does anyone get to be so amazing? It’s when they have a crazy childhood, alongside some brutal intense will to survive. He never expected to be happy. So he is one of the most contented and accomplished people I know. He’s outside right now getting the kids to do yard work. As any parent knows that’s one of the hardest jobs around.
I used to be that ridiculous spouse, too. I was doing everything. Working (from home), mothering, mothering (has to be said again), 24/7 obligations, correspondence to family, managing his businesses, painting houses, marketing properties, blah blah blah. I wasn’t happy then either, by the way, with all that busyness and getting things done. Because I expected to be happy. All the dang time.
And why on earth should we expect to be happy all the time? It’s impossible. Remember: “There is Suffering.” That’s the first of the four noble truths.
Then my babies got to be school-aged, and they went to school. They hated it. I was sad for them. I wanted to homeschool them but I felt I couldn’t do it on my own. I knew the teachers could do a better job, or so I hoped at least. Also I had suddenly become selfish. I had been a martyr for so long that I was literally ready to end it all.
I remember one morning I was hanging clothes up on the line, outside. I was saying horrid things in my head. “I hate them, I hate them all.” By “them all” I literally meant everyone. Awful. But I guess I was sucked dry. Because I had let myself be sucked dry.
Not by my babies. They gave back, yes they sucked milk from my breast (sorry if that’s TMI, deal with it) and children can be exhausting, like effing EXHAUSTING don’t get me wrong, but mothering so closely as I did also gave back. It gave back time, it gave back dimpled elbows, it gave intense, truthful, loving stares, it gave back gummy-mouthed smiles and laughs and wobbly sun-fuzzed heads and itty bitty toes. Babies are truly amazing, for those willing to make the time, but it is a huge amount of time — not so much money, but time, to do it right.
Anyway. Even though I never understood babies before having them, I turned out to be great at mothering them. It was when they got older that things got at once easier, and harder, for me.
I decided I want to BE SOMEBODY. You know, somebody IMPORTANT. Like with a career. Like with a title. Somebody people would respect and admire and think was smart and not “just-a-housewife”-slash-“just-a-stay-at-home-mom.” I was also sick as bloody rocks (what the heck kind of expression is that, I don’t know, I wanted to say sick as f*ck but I’m trying not to swear) of being the person everyone relied upon to do EVERYTHING. Record every single household transaction? No problem. Respond to client calls at night between baby feeds? Yes-sirreee-bob’s-your-uncle. Pick up your kid from school and babysit them? Yes neighbour. Arrange huge drink-your-face-off barbecues-even-though-you-don’t-drink-and-don’t-eat-meat? Abso-LEEEUWTE-ly!
Aw sh*t. Resentment’s creeping in. Plus that those were my ideas. Not theirs. Better get back to my 12 steps.
Love you all so much, so much, so much!!!! Whoever is out there, that is. Thank you so much for being here; without you this would be useless.
Sorry I didn’t finish the above storyline. I probably never will. But who knows. I have a very spirally mind. Thoughts go in circles…
p.s. I went to an online AA chat this morning. It’s definitely hard for me to do chat. I’m more of a long-form type person. But it was good to be in there this time, even though most of the people were talking about waterbeds and stuff. And some trolls came on, which I did not at all recognize at first.
I immediately welcomed one like this: “Hi [username: I suck I am a coward], I suck and I am a coward too!” Then my new chat buddies let me know I was being trolled…. LOL. No seriously, I really did laugh out loud!!! I thought it was hilarious. Before, I would have cried. So that means I am growing a pair. Of ovaries that is. (No I’m not. I already have a pair… which are no longer dropping eggs, thank the Universe)
where the heck am I going with this. Better end it while I’m ahead.
Tree, how do I end this ridiculous post?
— Just stay sober, that’s your only mission for now
— Thanks tree, I love thee. And might I add, thou look’st so incredibly beautiful this morning, with the left eighth of the moon hanging like a pearly earring from thy barely-budding branches at dawn, in the pale golden blue sky…
* * *
Notes to self: I started by typing in this title: “Reminiscing: The day I worked the 12 Steps” as I meant to simply publish my private diary entry from March 15, when I worked the twelve steps. Then I wrote an intro line, and just kept typing… I am officially insane. Started at 10:48:29 (a.m.) and ended now (11:29-ish), and now I have to change the title
oh hang on I have to find a photo to add… here we go:
* * *
20:53-ish. I did not drink today and I still had fun. This Sunday afternoon was wonderful. I drank sparkling apple juice “champagne” when my husband had his beers. He was kind and loving and he worked on the fence while I did homework with the kids. The weather was fantastic. Today was a great day. Honestly I was so grateful not to have that awful drowsy and tired feeling that I used to get even from a glass or two of alcoholic bubbly.
Side note: I actually did some digital organization tasks this morning. I’m moving a bunch of files from one server to another, it’s meticulous and kind of tedious work. This is excellent practice for getting myself out of the immediate reward satisfaction cycle.
One blogger with a blog post on addiction mentioned he’d failed the marshmallow test. I never was tested, however at the campfire I was certainly not one of those slow-roasters who ended up with a golden-bronzed marshmallow. I was all about the marshmallow flambé. I think it’s time I worked more for the long-game than the short-game rewards. I want to eat a bronzed marshmallow at the final bonfire of my life, not a blackened handful. Hmm not sure about that metaphor.
Other than that I’m still not at the point where I’m accomplishing anything besides the basics yet; I have some stacks of paper files that need sorting and some mending piling up. This is mostly due to my reading and writing (and writer’s social media) addiction. I’m not sure what to do about that. If I should tackle that now or later. My desk is an enormous source of stress…
— Goodnight, Tree, thanks for being there for me.
— Goodnight, dear one
— Tree? I don’t have the god-shivers…
— Maybe this blog is the cause.
— Is that really you talking?
— You might need to get back to private journalling to find out.
Hmmm, tackling blogging addiction alongside going alcohol free… I wonder if it can be done.
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