Blurble...

Just a quick update while I scarf my breakfast.

Wireless card is definitely dead, so this weekend I'm going to back it up and take it someplace to get fixed.  In the meantime, I'm going to try to get my backup laptop up-and-running so that I can get back on the internet.  (Yes, I have a backup portable computer.  Doesn't everyone?)  But that will require a complete reformatting, so I might not be able to get that done this weekend.  But, I need the internet to play Mass Effect, and I am seriously jonesing for some Mass Effect right now, so hopefully that will be a good motivator for me.  Will me luck.

(And I just have to add a quick note here.  I'm really surprised that I'm not more upset about this than I am.  My computer breaking, again [I've never had a computer break as many times as this one has - it's absurd at this point], just as we finally get the internet fixed, which is something we've been struggling with for over 5 years now, is exactly the kind of thing that would've sent me off the fucking rails at any other time in my life.  And I honestly can't explain why I'm so calm about it now.  Just more even-keeled in general, I guess?  I don't know.  If I knew how I did it, I might even be proud of myself for it.)

Got a lot of work to do today, and I'm hoping I can get a large chunk of it taken care of and off my desk.  Then we've got our double-header for the season in Kickball tonight, so that ought to be interesting.  Being a double-header, that's going to mean twice the amount to write-up, so I might not be able to get that posted tomorrow like I normally would.  Especially if I'm in the hospital.

My scale hasn't been indicating much weight-loss since I started working out (maybe 2 pounds), but my eyes are telling me a different story.  My stomach is clearly much smaller than it was in April, or even at the beginning of March.  My pants fit better, and my belt is easier to fasten.  And when I look down, I can see my dick, without even sucking in my gut.

I call that progress.

S.M.A.R.T., Take 3...

Last night felt like a decent meeting.  Finally.

There was a lot of discussion, people seemed more engaged, there was a lot more discussion of actual issues surrounding our compulsive behavior, and the chit-chat about everyday bullshit was generally short and quick.  There was also a lot more laughter and smiles this time around, which I think makes a difference.

I felt a lot more comfortable this time around.  Just getting some basic familiarity with everyone, I guess.  Felt a lot less like "the new guy."  I felt comfortable offering input on other people's stories, and when I did they seemed to find it helpful and it usually sparked further discussion in the group.  I did my own "sharing" mid-way through the meeting this time around, rather than at the end, and that worked out much better for me.  I had gone in there with every intention of updating them on my resolution to the question that I'd been struggling with and that I discussed last time, but I actually ended up giving them a bit of a synopsis of where I'm at right now and what I'm working on and what my goals are.  Not sure why.  Just felt more natural, I guess.  Went with the flow.

Talked about my mother and her mother.  Talked about how I self-identified as an addict since before I ever actually used or drank anything, and that I've basically been using for my entire career as though I were also in recovery; using what I learned from my mother as a child to maximize the pleasure while minimizing the risk.  Explained that I'm just kind of tired of it at this point, and so I've committed to at least a year completely sober from anything, which will be the first year of my adult life spent that way.  And that generally I'm not struggling with my addiction in any way on a day-to-day basis - that I feel like I have a good bit of experience here, and how this all feels very comfortable and familiar - but that every once in a while, it'll suddenly sneak up out of nowhere, and I won't know what to do.  Told a condensed version of the story of my relapse from a few weeks ago.  I got a lot of positive comments, including "Wow, good share!"  And I got a lot of laughs.

(Why is that so important to me?  I guess I feel like, if I have to essentially give a performance to a group of people - a captive group, at that - then I feel I should at least be entertaining.  If I have to tell a story, then the people who hear it should at least enjoy the experience on some level.  I strive to be entertaining here, too, as much as possible without compromising the message.  So, I guess I shouldn't be surprised to discover that I do the same thing in the group.)

I realized a few new things about the whiny woman who has apparently decided to become co-facilitator.  I realized that it's not just that she's whiny, but that she rambles.  She never seems to get to her point, and you're never actually sure what her point really is, anyways.  She just rambles on and on in this stuttering, monotonous way, that makes it really difficult to pay attention to what she's saying.  Whenever she finishes, I'm always left feeling sort of, Huh?  What were you trying to say?  What was the point of all that?  So, of all the people I've met there so far, she is absolutely the worst at actually communicating her point to other people.  That doesn't seem like a quality you'd want in a facilitator.

And she always has her two-cents to stick in.  Which I guess is why the facilitator thinks she'd be good at the job.  And I know we're supposed to respond to each other and discuss things and try and help out (SMART actually encourages "cross-talk," whereas most groups forbid it), but whenever she responds to somebody's story with her two-cents, it's always about her.  It seems like she always begins with something like, "Well, that reminds me of this thing that happened to me the other day..." and then suddenly we're all listening to her story again, instead of the person who was supposed to have the floor.  It just seems so rude.  I imagine she must believe she's trying to help, but it's hard for me to see how she's actually helping anyone.

Also, now that I've heard everyone share their stories a few times, it's becoming fairly obvious that of all the people in the group, she is the one who least has her shit together.  She is clearly the biggest mess in the entire group.  I would go so far as to call her a hot mess, in fact.  And she's apparently been coming to this group for years.  If, even after all of these years, she is still struggling to this degree with the most basic aspects of recovery, then, again, I have to ask, how is this woman in any way qualified to function as a group facilitator?  She seems like the absolute worst choice for facilitator out of the entire group!  Ugh.

Hopefully I'll be done with all of this by the time she starts taking over.  Or that she'll prove me wrong and turn out to be a wonderful facilitator.  (Stranger things have happened.)

Despite all of that, the meeting was more of a positive experience than a negative one, and much more so than the previous weeks.  For the first time, I find that I'm looking forward to the next one.


The last of the "ironic" bumper stickers from the back wall of the room:

"I've Fallen and I Can't Reach My Beer"

"Rehab Is For Quitters"

"The Only Urine Sample You'll Get From Me

Is A Taste Test"

Interrupt...

I might be missing a lot of posts here for a while.

I'm fairly certain the wireless card on my laptop is dying, if not already dead.  I've had a suspicion for the last week, but I couldn't tell for sure if it was my machine, or my wireless range extender, or the actual network I connect to.  But She's telling me that now the laptop is saying that there are no wireless networks detected.

There are always at least a dozen or more wireless networks detected within range of our home.  Hell, the range extender is in our kitchen, for fuck's sake.  So, if the laptop is saying that it can't find any networks at all, then it's pretty clear that the laptop isn't working.

It's going to take time and money that I don't have to get that fixed.  So, who knows when that's going to happen.  And, in the meantime, we will have no internet at home.  Again.  (We just got our wireless network working with a fair degree of connectivity within the last month, after working on it for over 3 years.  And as soon as the network is finally reliable, the computer dies.  I just can't win with this thing.  I feel like I've been struggling to achieve a consistent, reliable internet connection for my entire adult life now, since I got my first 28.8 baud modem at eighteen.)

I really do not have time to be posting from work right now.  I have a huge project that should be taking up all of my time.  I can take ten minutes at lunch to throw something up real quick, but not take the time and focus necessary to post something meaningful and well-written.  So that means, in order to post anything beyond a quick blurb, I'm going to need to either neglect my work, or, more likely, stay late at the office.  Neither of which I'm very excited about.

So, just wanted to let you all know.  We'll see what happens.

I have another SMART meeting tonight.  Wish me luck.  Hopefully, I'll find the time to write up something about it tomorrow.

Three Day Weekend...

I'm taking today off to meditate and play Mass Effect and just generally relax and do nothing but enjoy myself.

Happy Memorial Day, everyone.  I hope your weekend was as enjoyable as mine turned out to be.

In Toto Memorium...

There's a War Memorial in the middle of my town.

It's a park, actually.  It's filled with dozens of memorials, each one for a different conflict.  Apparently, it's the only park in Maryland that commemorates soldiers from every American war; from the French and Indian War, all the way to the first Gulf War.  There's even a monument dedicated to the residents of Frederick County that lost their lives fighting the Barbary Pirates.

Apparently, there are also some soldiers buried under that park.  Which I guess is fitting, considering its purpose.

I first discovered the park a few years ago, on another Walpurgisnacht, while drifting through town in the middle of the night, in my usual state of psychedelic illumination.  It was knowledge of the bodies buried there that actually drew me to investigate it; tickling my sense of ghoulish voyeurism.  But I ended up having an entirely different experience.

I imagine most people have been to war memorials at one time or another.  Living in the D.C. area, it's an especially common occurrence; I'd lost track of the number of memorials I'd been to before I'd even made it to high school.  After a while, they just start to blend into one another, and it's easy to become desensitized to their meaning.  But, usually, those are memorials dedicated to one, single, specific war or conflict.  I found that the effect of a memorial dedicated to All American War to be powerful in the extreme, even to someone as jaded as I sometimes pretend to be.

The first effect I noticed is that there are simply so many monuments in this park.  And when you realize that each one is dedicated to a different war, then you begin to get a sense of the scope of just how much of our history we have spent trying to kill other people before they could kill us.  And you can't help but start to ask yourself, Have we ever been at peace?  Is peace even a realistic possibility?  Or is it just an idealistic fantasy we tell ourselves to soothe our sense of fear and alienation in the face of a violent, hostile, uncaring world; just like "God" and "Heaven"?  (How ironic that those two concepts in particular, so often the direct cause of so many wars, are actually responsible for all wars, in a way.  Would it be so easy for us to kill one another so often, and in such numbers, and for such ridiculous reasons, if so many of us didn't believe with such absolute certainty that they wouldn't really be ending forever, but simply traveling to "a better place?"  I would wager that Life means more to the atheist, who understands its true finality.)

But then I began to wander through the monuments, one-by-one, down through the history of our wars.  The Persian Gulf War.  The Vietnam War.  The Korean War.  Each one filled with names chisled in stone.  Names of people who lived here, in my town.  Who wandered these same streets at some point in their youth.  Some who even wandered the same school hallways.  Maybe some who had even lived on my street.  Fools and Heroes, every one.  Strong, and Doomed, and so unbelievably Brave.  Braver than I will ever be.  Braver than I ever could be.  And just boys!  Just boys.  They'd only just started.  They had so much left to do.  Just boys.  How is it possible that this country, of all countries, that coddles and insulates and over-protects its children to such a ridiculous, obsessive degree, could do all of this?  Could still be doing all of this?  It is literally, staggering.

And so many names.  So many names.  The World War II memorial is the largest in the park, by far.  A wall, ten feet high, and fifty feet long.  Entirely filled with names.  Our names.  And I wandered down that memorial, reading those names, trying to take it all in.  It was almost too much.  I could barely comprehend so many people, just from my tiny little town alone(!), all fighting and dying all over the world, not much more than sixty years ago.  How could that possibly have happened?!  And this, the most moral and just of all the wars!  The one where we were most clearly combating an Evil; the greatest Evil the modern world had ever seen.  It was still almost too much to believe.  But I finally got to the end of that immense list, and the end of that long wall... and then I realized - the list of names had stopped at "L."  Oh, no, I thought, it's not possible.  But I rounded the corner of that wall to discover, to my horror, that the entire other side was filled in, as well.

It felt like a lead weight had been inserted into my chest.  It was all I could do to keep myself from breaking down into tears right then and there.  I simply could not comprehend that amount of pain and suffering, on that enormous scale.

But the memorial that affected me most, and that I will always remember, was the memorial to the soldier boys of World War I.

I've always had a bit of a fascination with WWI.  It was, by far, the most gruesome and horrible conflict that humanity has ever seen.  The brutal combination of trench warfare and the advent of modern weaponry - the machine gun, the tank, the flamethrower, the grenade, the fighter plane, chemical warfare, etc., etc. - created an environment that was, quite simply, more akin to a meat grinder than what we think of as "war."  Almost forty MILLION people killed, wounded, or missing-in-action.  By the end of the war, Europe was running out of fighting age men.  So they were drafting men as old as seventy, and boys as young as fourteen.  More meat for the grinder.

At the time, they called it "The Great War."

The memorial dedicated to this human atrocity is obviously the oldest in the park.  It's almost certainly the first one built there.  It was sculpted in the style of classic monuments, with a bronze statue of a doughboy standing atop a large, octagonal concrete base.  Onto each of the eight sides of the base has been affixed a bronze plaque, each about three feet wide by four feet tall; and each plaque is, again, a list of names.  The names are so small that they are impossible to read without climbing up onto the memorial itself.  They had to make them that small in order to fit them all on the monument.  And unlike the other monuments in the park, which list the names of everyone involved in their conflict in any way, the WWI memorial is from an earlier time in America's history - it only lists the names of the boys who never came home.  Boys from my hometown.  Dozens and dozens and dozens of them.  All slaughtered.  Gone now, even from memory.  All that's left of them are names on a plaque, that you can't even read.

As I wandered around the memorial, trying to comprehend the weight of it all, I came upon one plaque that was different from the others.  It had fewer names, and was in a larger font.  I noticed it had a title across the top that was large enough that I could it read it:

"The Negro Men of Frederick County, Who Gave Their Lives In The Great War of 1917"

I've been sitting here for fifteen minutes, trying to come up with my response to that; to sum up how it made me feel then, or how I feel about it now.  I'm sorry, but I can't.  I just don't have the words.  I guess I should try to concentrate on feeling grateful that they were even included in the memorial at all.

I'll leave you with this thought for this Memorial Day.  Sums up my feelings pretty well.

I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend.  And while you're out there, barbequing, and sunbathing, and partying - try to be good to someone.  Just because you can.

And just because, it's something.

Keep Ridin' 'Til The Cycle Is Broke...

Heard this today, and it touched me; deep.  Again.  Had to share.  Hope it touches you, too.
(Suggestion:  read it aloud.)


                                 Million dollar baby girl in the lower middle class
                                 With a maglight right beneath her pillow
                                 And though she's never been a boxer by choice
                                 She's known to act oak [OK], you'll never catch her a willow
                                 Nuh-uh
                                 She's the calm type
                                 You see the small scars
                                 Creepin' down her arms
                                 peeking from them long sleeves, right?
                                 She keeps him weak in the knees
                                 but she stay out of sight
                                 And when that school bell rings
                                 it's goodnight
                                 Or might as well be
                                 He never sees her around
                                 But he looks
                                 For weeks now he's been "Maybe tomorrow"
                                 But he's shook
                                 He sees those bruises and he needs to please her
                                 Plus he don't wanna go home either

                                 Gives her a look as they pass
                                 Copies down a poem from a schoolbook
                                 Gives it to her after hesitation whoops his ass
                                 She took it fast
                                 Lost, like, all sensation in her hands
                                 then braces herself gracefully
                                 sturdy where she stands
                                 humble mumbling
                                 past the words, fumbling
                                 Nothing discouraging
                                 just nerves
                                 just drumming up the courage
                                 Something 'bout skylines
                                 or bike rides
                                 or riverbeds
                                 Somethin'
                                 Somethin' that he read
                                 it caught her right beneath the armor
                                 cauterized thought of any blunt force trauma
                                 Ain't no way that he could harm her
                                 Nuh-uh
                                 No way

                                 When that curse leaves a shell like a snake with fresh scales
                                 Some people seem to call that home
                                 But some souls roam
                                 Keep riding 'til the cycle is broke
                                 We don't gotta go through nothin' alone

                                 She's in the weather
                                 the whole storm
                                 Huggin' on her prince
                                 his hands to skin warm
                                 Quick out the door
                                 no note
                                 no forlorn
                                 'Cause all they heard was "Papa
                                 don't hit me no more"
                                 But they couldn't seem to keep the swelling down
                                 How they regretted ever lettin' out this 3rd child born
                                 But things are getting better now
                                 Yeah, cozy sweater now
                                 with her thumbs through the holes
                                 in her sleeves worn down
                                 And a boy similar
                                 Noise minimal
                                 toy criminal
                                 Joy's simple when someone's found it in you
                                 Somehow it boosts the individual
                                 That bluish hue is mutual
                                 They make love gently
                                 so aware of each others' bruises
                                 And sorta scared they could lose this
                                 trust
                                 Bury the blues
                                 somewhere it won't bear roots
                                 But is this boy where the truth is?
                                 She's spooked, see
                                 Fruit never seems to fall far
                                 from the useless branch that it's attached to
                                 And quacks say if he's beat up he's bound to smack you
                                 She's down to step back now
                                 If he ever gets loud
                                 She couldn't be proud
                                 of whatever she might do
                                 But this is the first time
                                 she ever felt touched
                                 that didn't bring her to hush
                                 like something was being done to her
                                 That unscrews her
                                 She loosens with the booze
                                 Her hinge can stay bent
                                 addressing her dude's wounds
                                 Regressing to bedrooms
                                 where fools ignored "don't"
                                 He's not one of them tools
                                 that screws, nuts and bolts
                                 And she know that
                                 And she know that but she holds back
                                 And she hope that
                                 he see the way she flinch
                                 'cuz it's kneejerk to brace for the attack
                                 Even if he's only rubbing her back
                                 I mean
                                 And even if it's like the deck has been stacked
                                 It's not an act
                                 He's really loving her back

                                 Hold your heart up

                                 "Never raise your hand"
                                 She says that with her grown-up voice
                                 "I'm your's now" just like a child
                                 "Please don't be scared now"
                                 It clicks
                                 a piece finally fits
                                 "I love you"
                                 They say that with their lips

                                 "Never raise your hand"
                                 He says that with a grown-up voice
                                 "I'm your's now" just like a child
                                 "Please don't be scared now"
                                 It clicks
                                 a piece finally fits
                                 "I love you"

                                 When that curse leaves a shell like a snake with fresh scales
                                 Some people seem to call that home
                                 But some souls roam
                                 Keep riding 'til the cycle is broke
                                 We don't gotta go through nothin' alone

                                                                  -"Been Afraid"
                                                                    P.O.S.

Kickball - Week 5...

Played our best game of the season last night.  I think our come-from-behind win last week fired people up.  Everyone was eager to practice, and actually working to try and improve and play better.  And everyone clearly wanted to win.  We made a lot of really spectacular plays, and hardly any errors, got more base-hits than in any game before this, and ended up really evenly matched against a team that clearly would've wiped the field with us a couple weeks ago.

POSITION:

          -due to injuries and vacations, we were short-staffed this week - which meant I got to play
           center field

          -even with the bump-up in field status, I still only had two plays come my way - first one was a
           high pop-up directly to me - I knew I could catch it, and this would be my first opportunity to
           finally do something right in the outfield, and finally get my first out - but I had to run forward
           in order to catch the ball, and I took one too many steps - so instead of the ball falling towards
           me aimed at my chest (which is what I wanted), it was falling towards me aimed at my face
           (which is not what I wanted) - so I couldn't just hug the ball to my body, which is the easiest
           way to catch the super-bouncy kickball, and instead had to try to catch it in my hands in
           order to keep it from slamming me in the face (again) - which of course, I can't do (the ball just
           bounces straight out of my hands every time) - predictably, the ball bounced off of my hands,
           high into the air, and I was about to make our first error of the game - luckily, the guy playing
           left field had run all the way over to me to try and catch the ball himself (now there's a
           confidence booster!) and he was able to catch it on the rebound from me, gaining the out, and
           saving me from an error

          -the other play I had was just a ball that bounced over the 2nd baseman's head, so I fielded it
           and managed to get it to 3rd base to stop the runner from going Home - simple, easy, nothing
           special - at least I didn't fuck it up

AT THE PLATE:

          -first kick was a base-hit - and for the first time, it was skill, rather than luck, that got me
           there - the ball went exactly where I wanted it, in the exact way I wanted it to - felt pretty good            about that - managed to get to 2nd base before our third out ended the inning

          -second-and-final kick (I'm always at the end of the roster, so I only ever get two kicks a game,            whereas everybody else, including all of the girls, and the old guy with the limp, get in three)
           was a short pop-fly, easily caught by the pitcher

FINAL:

          -it was a really tight game - we kept it tied 0-0 into about the 3rd or 4th inning - finally, the old
           guy with the limp made our first error of the game

          -he was playing 3rd base, and we threw him the ball to stop the runner at 3rd from going
           Home - he gets the ball, and stops the runner, so all he has to do at this point is give the ball
           back to the pitcher and the play is over - but he throws it to 2nd base, for no explainable
           reason - the runner at 2nd was already ON the base when he threw the ball, so who the fuck
           was he trying to get out?! - it's as if, whenever he gets the ball, he just randomly does
           something with it, without actually thinking about what he should do with it - anyways, as a
           result, the runner at 3rd ran Home, and the runner at 2nd advanced to 3rd

          -so, skip to the last inning, again, and the other team has a couple of runs on the board, while
           we're still scoreless - but we are apparently Team Come From Behind, because in our last
           chance at the plate, we manage to score all of our runs for the entire game - enough to put us
           up by 1

          -bottom of the last inning, the other team gets one more chance at the plate - and despite our
           best efforts, we made a couple more errors, and they managed to score another run - so the
           game ended in a tie (which isn't a win, but it's still a lot better than a loss), making us 2-2-1
           for the season

INJURIES:

          -I worked hard this game, in a way I haven't since the season opener - really worked up a
           sweat, and got a good workout out of it - so, I'm pretty wiped today, and I'm generally sore all
           over - but, other than that, I'm doing fine - no specific injuries to report - I think it's clear now
           that I'm in better shape than I was when we started the season

          -it was even kind of fun this week

Confounding Conundrum Countered, Conclusively...

Regarding the question, "if I'm still getting high, but just in healthier ways, am I really changing?  am I really getting better?" - a question I have been asking myself here repeatedly for some time now - I think I finally have an answer.

My counselor read my blog entry yesterday regarding the SMART meeting (I sometimes send him pertinent entries to keep him updated between sessions, and he is gracious enough to read them), and he sent me this reply:

A desire to want to get high and/or altering our mind/mood state is part of our genetic, biological, and chemical make-up as Humans. It is an underlying instinctual desire that we all have. That's why we have serotonin, dopamine, endorphins, adrenaline, and various other chemical neurotransmitters in the first place. These chemicals are a vital part of our survival mechanism, that's why sex, eating, and exercise can feel ssoooooo gooood! These chemicals are a part of [our] neuro-chemical make up to ensure pleasure when we engage in these activities. These activities are necessary for the healthy survival of any species. A desire to feel good or even feel high or to alter our mental status is very much a part of who we are as humans. This is why every civilization known to Man has developed some sort of mind altering practices or substances. The harm is when we lose the capacity to regulate the chemical process either internally or externally. Excess is what changes the dynamic from healthy to unhealthy and triggers addictive behaviors.

Short answer:  getting high is just a part of who we are, and we wouldn't be here without it; so, healthy methods are okay, but everything in moderation, always.

It seems so obvious now.  And in hindsight, I feel like I already knew it.  I just couldn't find my own way there, for some reason.  I was over-analyzing the situation again, I think.  Missing the forest for the trees.  I'm glad I had someone there who could explain it to me in a way that I could understand, and use.  Thanks, Doc.

I enjoyed my workout-induced endorphin high this morning, guilt-free.


PS - I kind of want to talk about this at my next SMART meeting, but I don't know if that's because I want to update them on my progress, or if I just want to start a confrontation with the panicky facilitator and prove him wrong in front of the rest of the group.  Can't deny that'd be fun.  But definitely a dick-move, too.  We'll see how I feel next week, I guess.

S.M.A.R.T., Take 2...

Went to my second SMART Group meeting last night.

About half the people there last night, were not there last week.  So, it was almost like meeting a whole new group again; only about half the people there last night had met me the week before.  And the meeting began with the announcement that the person I had found to be the most annoying from the previous week was apparently now going to be the co-facilitator and help run the meetings.  Wonderful. 

It was very much the same as before in most ways.  A lot of older, broken, rather tired and sickly looking people, for the most part (there were a couple exceptions).  And again, everyone basically just spent their time detailing the mundane minutiae of their lives.  It's almost as if everyone is trying to answer the question, "What's been going on with you lately?" rather than, "How have you been doing with your recovery lately?"  And that is sooo boring to listen to for an hour-and-a-half, and just so completely not-helpful.

Once again, the facilitator (the guy who ostensibly runs the meetings) waited until two minutes before the scheduled end of the meeting to get around to me and the other new guy from last week (the one who shouted "Where's Happy Hour?").  Which put us, the new guys, in the position of having to choose between either being looky-lou's (listening to everyone else talk, but not really participating ourselves), or being the reason everyone else had to stay late.  Thanks a lot.  (To be fair, we could've volunteered to speak at any point during the meeting, but as "the new guys," it just doesn't feel right, somehow, to be interjecting and taking time away from people who have been coming there every week for years.)  I'm beginning to get the impression that this guy isn't a very good facilitator.

When it was my turn to talk, I basically gave a quick synopsis of the events and questions I described in yesterday's post.  When I asked aloud, "Maybe everyone needs to get high, and all we can choose is the method?," I saw the facilitator's eyes widen in panic, and he started shaking his head as if to say, "No!  No, don't say THAT!"  Which kind of shocked me and upset me a little.  Why the fuck is that a taboo question?  And I thought the whole point of SMART vs. other organizations was that this was supposed to be free of dogma.  So, what was so wrong with that question??

After I finished speaking there was a murmur of "Wow, good questions. - Yeah, those are good questions. - Wow, I never thought of that. - Whew, how do you answer that one?!," etc. from the rest of the group, which was far more reaction than had been generated by anything else said at the meeting to that point.  (Not bragging, just stating a fact.)  And then a bunch of people offered several comments (again representing more activity than had been seen in the rest of the meeting so far).

The really annoying, whiny woman who is apparently now going to be co-facilitator told me that I should trust my feelings (whatever that means - I just told you my feelings - my feelings are "this makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong, but I'm not sure I really am doing anything wrong") and to try an experiment where I accept it, and tell myself that it's okay to feel that way, and then see how that makes me feel.  (???)  And then another, older gentleman (who apparently is either a chemist or other scientist, or works with chemists or other scientists) started trying to explain to me in dumbed-down language about Endorphins, without actually naming them.  I interrupted him to say, "yeah, I know, the endorphins.  And they activate the opiate-receptors, so it's basically a naturally produced painkiller."  He seemed kind of shocked and at a loss for words after that (guess he was looking forward to dropping some science on me?), but went on to say that since my body is producing it for a good reason, then I should just enjoy it.  Which made absolutely no sense to me.  What fucking difference does it make if the opiate is synthetic or naturally produced by my body??  I'm still activating my opiate-receptors, which is the exact behavior pattern I'm trying to fucking break!  The idea that it's as simple as just Natural vs. Synthetic is completely asinine.  But I didn't have the heart to tell him that, of course.  I just nodded and smiled and tried to look grateful.  And there were other comments, as well, but none any more helpful.  They basically fell into either "trust your feelings/instincts" (gee, thanks, hadn't figured that one out yet) or "it's okay, so accept it and allow yourself to enjoy it" (no explanation as to why or how it's okay - just stating simply that it is, so accept it - again, thanks so much; I guess I should just do what you say and not worry about having to, I don't know, understand the situation at all or anything).

And so, after two meetings, I'm beginning to wonder if this group really has anything to offer me.  I keep hearing people tell their stories, and describe how they learned some lesson or wisdom that seems totally basic and completely obvious to me, and that I feel as if I learned ten years ago; and this coming from someone old enough to be my father, or my grandfather!  I came to this group hoping to learn something, and maybe find a resource that I could use for help when I needed it.  But over and over again, I keep finding that I want to help these people, that I want to educate them, instead of the other way around!  I'm not trying to be a condescending prick here, honestly.  It's just that it seems to me as if I'm already a lot farther down this road than they all are.  (When you think about it, I've been doing this my whole life - from before I even started using - while I was using, for crying out loud - and this is just the latest stage of it.)  I feel as though I'm asking people who are still figuring out the things I already know, what I should do next, when they can't possibly know, because they haven't even gotten to the point that I'm at yet, much less beyond it.

All I seem to have gained from attending these meetings so far, is a reinforcement of the same experience I have whenever I get in a group of other people:  I end up feeling like a condescending misanthrope.  (It's so weird - I used to need other people so badly when I was a kid.  I didn't know who I was without a group of friends around me to validate and support me.  And now, I can't stand people!  It drives me crazy to have to spend any significant amount of time with the general public.)

I don't know.  Maybe as I get more comfortable with this group, things will get better.  Maybe my influence will lead them to participate more and discuss more worthwhile topics.  (That certainly seemed to be the case last night.)  Or maybe as I get to know them better, and feel more comfortable inserting my $.02 into the conversation, maybe I actually will be able to help some of them.  And maybe helping some of them will help me in some fashion.  I don't know.  It's possible, I guess.  I'm going to give it a few more meetings before I make any decisions, at the very least; I want to give this a fair chance, and not make any snap-judgements.

And, worst-case-scenario, if this meeting continues to be this bad, or gets even worse, there's always another meeting close to my work that I could try out instead.  Maybe that one will be better.


More of the bizarre, "ironic" (?) signs from the back wall of the room:

"I'm not an alcoholic, I'm a drunk. Alcoholics go to meetings."

"Don't Drink and Drive.  You might spill your beer."

"I <3 BEER"

"Don't Drink and Park:  Cocktails Make People Make More People"

The Mighty Endorphin...

Day 3 of my new-and-improved workout routine.  Running harder and faster, really getting my heart rate up there.

Around about the 15-minute mark, I started to notice some changes.  It was starting to hurt less.  In fact, more than that - I was starting to feel pretty good!  The music I was listening to was just suddenly so awesome!  And my eyelids were getting sooo heavy.  I was getting really drowsy, but not sleepy, and I wasn't slowing down at all.  I was still pumping away at a furious pace, to match the beating of my heart - left, right, left, right, left right left right left right bang bang bang bang.  It felt more like nodding, that state where the opiate is so overwhelmingly pleasurable that the user repeatedly passes in and out of consciousness, or "nods off."

And that's when I realized it:  I was really high!

And while I enjoyed it, and while I knew I was doing something good for myself - and so I should just let myself enjoy this, could even consider it my reward for putting in the effort - there was a part of me that still felt bad about it and felt like I was doing something wrong.  And then I was right back to trying to answer that same question I keep coming back to:  if I'm still getting high, but just in different and less destructive ways, then am I really getting better?

If my goal here was to stop getting high in destructive and/or dangerous ways, then I could easily answer that question, "Yes, I am getting better."  But that isn't my goal.  My goal is to try and stop needing to get high all the time, period, regardless of method.  Because if I can't rid myself of the need to get high all the time, then when the healthy methods stop working as well for me, or when I get into a dark place again for one reason or another (we all have them, life is full of dark places we must traverse once in a while), then I'm going to turn to unhealthy methods again to satisfy that desire.

I'm not going to stop meditating, and I'm not going to stop studying Mathematics and other Sciences, and I'm not going to stop playing video games, and I'm not going to stop having awesome sex with Her, and I'm not going to stop writing, and I'm not going to stop working out.  So, if I am getting high off of these things, then I guess that means I have to learn how to live with that.

So, then, can I adjust my goal of trying to not get high at all, regardless of method?  Is that even a reasonable goal to have set myself?  Can I reasonably expect to be able to achieve that without moving to a cave somewhere and spending the rest of my life meditating like an itinerant sage?  Is getting high just something that I need in order to make my life feel worth living?  And if so, is that true for everyone, or just me?  What if the only real choice I have is the method I use?  And is that something I can live with?  No, I can live with it.  But is it something I can learn to be okay with?

I don't know the answers.  But I know I'm not done asking the questions.

Hunger Update...

It's late, and I just got home, and this is my first opportunity to write, and I just really can't bring myself to spend the remainder of my night coming up with something worthwhile to expound on; I still have to make and eat dinner at some point, for crying out loud.

So, for the sake of having something to post quickly, I thought I'd give an update on my mysterious, insatiable hunger that I learned at my counseling session today (one of the many reasons I'm getting home so late, actually).  I'm pleased to report that my counselor was able to confirm that while a craving for sweets is more common, just being hungry all the time is not unheard of, and that it most likely is, just as I thought, due to my sudden lack of alcohol.  He also mentioned it could be due to the fact that drinking a lot (especially beer) tends to expand the stomach, so it could simply be that it just takes more food to give me that "full" feeling now than it used to.

It was good to learn all of this, but this was about the least important thing we touched on today.  It's just the only one I can toss off a blog post about quickly.

Now it's time to make dinner.  Mmm...polish sausage and angel hair marinara - yum!

Beyond the Garden Gates...

It's late, on a beautiful, lazy Sunday, and I don't have the energy to say much.  But I wanted to share something with you here.  Today was Frederick's annual Beyond the Garden Gates Tour, where selected downtown residents let the public into their backyards to view some of the city's hidden treasures.  Some of the gardens were beautiful, some were rather bland, but it was a perfect May afternoon, and I had a wonderful time strolling through my little town and getting to see some things I normally couldn't.

I took some pictures, and I thought I'd post them here.

Notice the hanging balls - they are traditional Japanese Kokedama Moss Balls.  There are two more in the lanterns in the foreground.  This beautiful garden, and the beautiful home it is attached to, belong to the gentleman in the black beret.  He is apparently Australian, from his accent.

I really enjoyed the modern look of the back of his house, and the iron staircase on the left.

Pretty garden, but could've used some shade.  Notice the upper porch on the side of the house.  You see those all over the place around here.  You can see one in the background of the image with the Australian beret'd fellow above, in fact.

Same garden as above, but a view of their neighbors, and another of the classic, Mid-Atlantic/Southern Colonial upper-deck side-balconies.

Pretty modern fountain from the same garden.

Not actually a part of the tour, but just a house I passed along the way.  I liked the "witchy" look of it.  If you zoom in on the tree on the right, you'll see one of those kitschy "tree faces" attached to it.  I think it works for this place, in a way that it usually doesn't for others.

I think this was favorite garden of the tour.  I really loved this one.  It was beautiful everywhere I looked.

Upper-deck porch, again.  I really love these, and really hope to have one myself some day.

Still the same garden, you can see this shady conversation area in the background of the pool shot above.  SO PRETTY.

The front entrance of the above garden, filled with several interesting pieces of modern sculpture, in various media.  Notice the ubiquitous Siddhartha Buddha in the background.

This little guy is on your left immediately upon entering the above garden.  He appears to be carved from an old tree stump.  The finishing touch that guaranteed this was to be my favorite garden of the day.

Again, not part of the tour, but just something I noticed on my way from one garden to another.  This is a delivery box for South Mountain Creamery.  Apparently, this resident gets milk and/or butter delivered by a milkman.  I love my town!

Notice the elf-home facade at the foot of this old tree.  Cute.

Kickball - Week 4...

This was, by far, the most humiliating experience I've had with this so far.  It was like middle-school all over again.

POSITION:

          -the humiliation began when he actually benched me for the first two innings - he put the old
           guy with the limp (who has dropped every single ball that has come anywhere near him) on
           2nd base, for fuck's sake! - felt a little better when he switched out the old guy and put me on
           2nd for the 3rd and 4th innings, but then he put the old guy back in for the 5th and 6th!

           -that might have something to do with my one and only play at 2nd - in the 4th inning, a guy
           was running from 1st, and they threw me the ball very late - it hit my hands and immediately
           bounced out (kickballs are so bouncy that they're actually surprisingly hard to catch) - as I
           reached out to retrieve it, the runner ran straight into me, slamming his shoulder into my ear
           and almost knocking me over - luckily, he overran the base (ought to give you some idea how
           hard he hit me) and someone else managed to get the ball and tag him out before he could
           get back to 2nd - still, hardly a stellar play for me

AT THE PLATE:

          -I could not hit from this pitcher! - he threw these ridiculously bouncy curveballs - he walked a
           lot of kickers, honestly, but I was unfortunately not one of them - every pitch he threw me that
           looked like it was going to be a ball, would suddenly veer at the last second and turn into a
           strike - and every ball he threw that looked like a strike would suddenly bounce at the last
           second, so that I would end up ineffectively "kicking" it with my shin instead of my foot

          -I managed to "kick" three balls that way - the first one flew straight upwards off of my shin
           and slammed directly into my own face - ?! - I've never seen anything like that before! - so, of
           course, it would happen to me - now do you understand when I say it was like middle-school
           all over again? - to their credit, at least no one laughed - at least, not that I heard

          -the other two "kicks" were lazy pop-flys that never even made it to the pitcher's mound, and
           were easily caught - for the last one, the bases were loaded, we were down 4-1, and I was the
           final out to end the inning, meaning that even though we'd managed to load the bases, thanks
           to me, we hadn't scored a single run

FINAL:

          -Ok, here's where it gets interesting - we'd been down 4-1 since the 2nd inning - now it's the
           final inning, and we get a runner on base - then we get a second runner on base, but he
           manages to hurt himself running to 1st, so we need a pinch runner - as the last person out,
           that "honor" falls to me - here I was sitting on the sidelines, thinking "well, at least it's finally
           over and I won't have to embarrass myself anymore," and then suddenly I have to go run for
           this guy - and, of course, the final humiliation being that, the only way I managed to get on
           base all game was when someone else got hurt

          -so the next kicker gets out, but I manage to run to 2nd base before they can get me - next
           kicker also gets out, but our runner on 3rd manages to make it home, so now it's 4-2, with 2
           outs in the last inning, and I'm the only runner, on 2nd base - next guy gets a single, but it's
           kicked toward 3rd base, so I don't run, and so now we have runners on 1st and 2nd, and I
           have to run on the next kick - next kick is a pop-fly, and it looks like it's all over for us, but
           their pitcher drops the ball! - so I haul ass to 3rd base, and the pitcher throws the ball at
           me/towards 3rd to try and get me out, but he overthrows both me and the base, sending the
           ball into the outfield - so I round 3rd and keep going, booking it toward Home Plate - I see the
           ball sail over my head toward the catcher - I see him catch the ball, standing on top of Home
           Plate, and look directly at me, running straight toward him - I can't stop now, so I run straight
           at him, trying my best not to completely bowl him over, knowing that I'm out, again, and that
           this one ended the game, and that now we've lost, again, and that it's all my fault, again

          -And then I hear the Ump call, "Safe!" - everyone, myself included, simultaneously says,
           "What?!" - apparently, since the catcher was holding the ball against his chest, and standing
           directly on Home Plate, that meant I ran into the catcher, the ball and Home Plate at the
           same time, which means I was Safe - if the catcher had held the ball out in front of him, away
           from his chest, so that I hit the ball before I hit him and the plate, then I would've been out -
           but he didn't, so I wasn't

          -Holy Shit!  I managed to actually score a run!  And somehow, I did it without even getting a
           base hit

          -But then, even better, we got another base hit, and another run, to tie the game at 4-4! - so
           now we're thinking, "Awesome!  We didn't lose again!" - but then, miraculously, we got
           another base hit, and another run, so now the game's over, and it's 4-5, and WE WON!

          -Holy fucking shit, the Bad News Bears managed to win a game! - In the last inning! - With
           two outs! - WTF?!

          -So, now were 2-2 for the season.  Hallelujah. 

INJURIES:

          -Even though I collided with other players on two separate occasions, and managed to kick a
           ball into my own face, surprisingly I walked away without a scratch on me - not even so much
           as a sore muscle

          -Guess it turned out to be a good day, after all.

Working Out The Kinks...

Yesterday morning, I discovered that I haven't been doing my workout correctly for the past several years.

I'd been using the wrong target heart rate, a rate lower than what my actual target should be.  So, I've been getting some benefit from my workout (anything is always better than nothing), but not as much as I could've been, and not as much as I thought I was.  I could've been losing more weight, building more muscle, and doing it faster.

I also discovered that I need to adjust the methods I'm using to work out.  I've been working out solely on the elliptical, with the goal of losing a certain amount of weight that way before going back to trying to incorporate weights into my routine.  But I found out that the anaerobic activity of lifting weights actually helps to increase metabolism more effectively than aerobic activity alone, and so along with building muscle mass, it can also help you lose weight faster.  So, sometime in the next couple of weeks, I think I'm going to start trying to incorporate weights back into my routine.

But this morning I just tried out my new target heart rate on the elliptical, and wow!  Instant improvement of about 75%.  I burned a ton more calories than I normally do, and I ran almost twice as far as I used to (virtually, of course), managing 3.5 miles in forty-five minutes.

And now I feel awesome.  I have that delicious, relaxed, rubbery exhaustion in my limbs, and I feel ready to do anything, like I could take on the whole world.

Goes a long way towards making up for the seemingly endless series of humiliations I suffered in the game last night.  More on that tomorrow...

Hunger Pains...

I'm still hungry all the time.  And it's really starting to get on my nerves.

I don't know what's causing this, but it started just after I stopped drinking, so I would imagine it must have something to do with that.  But is it a biochemical reaction?  Meaning, is it my body's autonomic response to being suddenly deprived of the ethyl alcohol it had grown accustomed to?  Or is it a behavioral response?  Is it just my head trying to fill the "Pleasure Yourself" gap left behind when I stopped drinking, with some new, more readily accessible form of pleasure?  I have no idea.

I've heard that a lot of people develop an insatiable sweet-tooth when they quit drinking, because their body is craving the sugar that they used to get from the alcohol.  (Our bodies metabolize alcohol into sugar.)  But that's not what I'm experiencing.  My problem is that I simply never stop feeling like I want to eat.  Normally, I would only get that feeling when I needed to eat.  And then, once I'd eaten, that feeling would go away, until the next time I needed to eat again.  But now, I can eat until I am bloated and feeling sick from the amount of food in my stomach, and I still have that feeling of "I want to eat."  It just never turns off!  And it's so fucking annoying!  It's like when you feel like you have to pee, even though your bladder is empty.  It's just this really unpleasant, uncomfortable feeling that will not go away, and that you cannot do anything about.

And I really, really just want it to stop.

I'm so tired of constantly fighting with myself to keep from over-eating.  I'm so tired of constantly wrestling with this phantom craving.  Every night it's the same thing.  As soon as I finish dinner, I want something sweet.  So, I eat a little dessert, and then as soon as I finish that, I want something salty-crunchy.  If I give in to that craving and eat something salty-crunchy (whole-wheat tortilla chips and 100-calorie packs of cheez-its are my current drugs of choice), then as soon as I finish that, I want something sweet again.  And if I give in to that, then I want something salty-crunchy/savory again.  And that just keeps going on and on forever until I end up passing out face-first into a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels.

I'm currently working out and doing my best to eat as healthy as possible, in an attempt to lose some weight.  And I am losing weight, but much more slowly than I'd like.  And this shit is not making it any easier.

I've been trying to come up with ways to either satisfy and/or curb this craving that do not involve adding a bunch more calories to my daily intake.  Number one on the list is drinking lots and lots of water.  And I mean, to the point where I start to feel full.  That helps some, but not much, because the whole point of that trick is to curb your appetite by making your body feel full; and, of course, my whole problem is that my body is not currently responding correctly to that feeling.  And then there's the further drawback of having my day constantly and repeatedly interrupted by the painfully urgent need to piss violently.  I've thought about lo-to-no-cal snacks like rice cakes, but in the midst of these cravings, I can't bring myself to eat something completely tasteless that I am already well-aware I will not enjoy.  Still, I've found a couple of brands that are mildly tolerable, and I'm planning to try really hard to make them work.  I bought some lo-cal, high-protein jerky, as well, to try and help with the savory cravings.  The trick there is to just chew and chew and chew and chew and chew and chew until either it eventually turns to liquid in your mouth, or you feel like your jaw is going to fall off.  That way you get to spend a lot of time eating and enjoying the pleasure of tasting the salty/savory thing you're craving, but overall you don't actually eat that much food, or take in a lot of calories.  The sore jaw helps to put a damper on the desire to eat more, as well.  And at work, I've been having mid-afternoon Chai Lattes to try and help with my after-lunch cravings.  That seems to be working out ok.  It's not helping my need-to-pee-every-fifteen-minutes problem very much, though.

And there's one solution I've been trying out this week that is a little naughty.

I stopped smoking cigarettes over ten years ago.  And I cannot stand cigars.  But every Fall and Winter for the past six or seven years, pretty much as soon as the weather starts to turn cold, I smoke a pipe.  I really enjoy a good pipe during the cold half of the year.  I love the sweet, rich flavor of the tobacco.  I love its aromatic smell.  I love the ritual of loading, packing, tamping, lighting - everything has to be just right in order for it to work proper, but when it is, and when it does, oh, sweet ambrosia!  I even love the anachronism of it.  My grandfather smoked a pipe.  It just has this old, retro, even ancient feel to it, and I enjoy feeling like a part of that tradition.  And since I don't inhale pipe smoke, I don't have to worry as much about bronchial damage, emphysema, lung cancer, or even nicotine addiction, the way I did with cigarettes.  And since I indulge in it so rarely (even at the height of my smoking during that half of the year, I will smoke, at most, two pipes a day), I don't really have to worry about it much, at all.  It is a rather safe, and pleasurable, indulgence I can allow myself.  Especially compared to all of my other indulgences, which are so many times more harmful and dangerous.

So, it occurred to me, perhaps an after-dinner smoke would fill the void left behind by the absence of my customary after-dinner drink.  And, perhaps also help curb my appetite for my after-dinner snack - and my after-after-dinner snack, and my after-after-after-dinner snack - that is currently replacing my after-dinner drink.  I know, it's still not the healthiest solution in the world, but tasting (not inhaling) a little tobacco smoke is a lot less unhealthy than drinking, or over-eating.  So, I'll take what I can get.  (And everyone needs some sort of vice, don't they?  What's life without at least a little indulgence?)  But the problem is, as soon as the weather starts to warm up, I immediately lose all interest in smoking a pipe.  I don't know what it is, but it has been that way every single year since the very first.  It's not something I'm trying to do, intentionally.  That's just the way it works for me, for some reason.  I always want to smoke a pipe during the cold half of the year, and I only want to smoke a pipe during the cold half of the year.

But on Sunday, I found a solution to this problem.  There's a brand of small "cigars" (or "cigarillos," which is a rather annoying word) that are filled with pipe tobacco.  It's not the greatest pipe tobacco I've ever had, but it still tastes sweet, and smells nice, and it's infinitely better than cigar tobacco.  (I would rather eat old sushi than smoke a cigar.  Ugh!)  So every night so far this week I've smoked at least part of one of these "cigars" after dinner.  And I've enjoyed them alright, but not as much as my pipes.  And they've seemed to help with the cravings a little, but not as much as I'd hoped.  I'd hoped that they would come close to putting an end to the cravings, but I've found that just a little while after putting out the "cigar," I'm hungry again.  Still, the whole time I'm smoking, I don't want to eat.  And the cravings are a lot easier to resist for a while after the smoke.  So, all-in-all, one "cigar" seems to equal about an hour or so of not snacking.  So, it's not as much as I wanted, but it's not nothing, either.  We'll see how it goes.  I'm glad to have something enjoyable to do for now that seems to help at least a little, but I could also see myself getting bored with this very soon.

Alright, that's enough for now.  I'm starting to get hungry.

Time for my Chai Latte.