A Great Day In America...

So proud of my country today.  We are one step closer to becoming that nation we always believe ourselves to be.  It's a good feeling.

And it's a strange feeling.  I'm suddenly all-too aware today of how rare a moment like this is.  The good guys won.  People's inherent humanity has been recognized, and enshrined into our law.  The evil has been banished from the land.  It feels like it should ALWAYS be like this.  But it almost never is.

Sorry to be so melancholy about it.  I'm really ecstatic, truly.  Just wish we could feel this more often.

We are a better nation now - a better people - than we were yesterday.

Here is hoping, sincerely, profoundly, that the trend continues.

#LoveWins

Goodbye, Mork...

I had to add just this one more, for posterity.  It's just too perfect.

Carpe Diem, My Captain...

I really don't understand why the death of Robin Williams is hitting me so hard.  As shocked as I was to hear of his death, I was (and still remain) almost as shocked by the depth of my reaction to it.  I mean, sure I've felt saddened by the death of other celebrities before.  I remember being particularly saddened by the death of Heath Ledger, and more recently, Philip Seymour Hoffman.  But I've never been moved to tears like this before.  Celebrities are, by nature, almost fictional characters to us themselves; always removed from our actual lives by cameras and screens.  (I think that might have something to do with why it feels so strange whenever you see one in person - it's almost like TV or a movie coming to life!)  And since we don't really know them personally, there's only so much their death can move us.

Or so I thought.

I don't know why this one hurts so much.  Maybe it's because I grew up with him?  Because I've enjoyed him so much for my entire life?  I remember the rainbow Mork suspenders I had when I was five years old.  (My first cosplay, I guess?)  I remember seeing Popeye in the theaters with my parents just a few years later, and loving it completely.  I have the same memories of Good Morning, Vietnam.  And Hook.  (Oh, Peter Pan!  Why did you have to grow up?!)  I watched Mrs. Doubtfire and Jumanji over and over, just because of the way it delighted both the boy and the man in me at the same time.

And I've seen Dead Poets Society so many times I can practically quote the whole movie.  I don't know when I'll be able to watch that one again now.  At the very least, I know I'll never be able to see it the same way again.

Maybe it's because it was apparently a suicide?  It's possible.  Might be the connection to my own mother's death.  But I haven't reacted this way to other suicides or overdoses, so why this one?  Maybe it's just the fact that suicide adds that final crack of heartbreak to the story.  We didn't just lose one of the greats forever; we lost him to himself, to his own demons, to his own sickness.  It feels like there must've been something that could've saved him.  It feels like it didn't have to end this way.  And it touches us all because, let's face it, haven't each and every one of us been there, or somewhere close to it, at least once in our lives?  But if we could survive it, then why couldn't he?

I think it's true that there are few things more sad in this life, than a funny man, with a broken heart.  His mentor, Jonathan Winters, knew that only too well.  But he survived it anyways.  It's too bad he couldn't be there to help his friend, who clearly needed him more than anyone knew.

Like so, so many of us today, I feel the need to pour my heart out to the memory of this funny man, who's been there my whole life, in some vain and desperate attempt to figure out just what in the fuck it means to live without him now.

Below, I've collected some of my favorites that other people have been sharing today.  Some are funny, some are poignant, some are heart-breaking.  But they all made me feel something.  And that's helped, at least a little.

Here's hoping it can do the same for any of you.

Every time I hear a siren I still say "that's my ride." Thank you Robin Williams. I wish your ride had not arrived.
— John Hodgman (@hodgman) August 11, 2014

Spontaneous tribute appearing at the bench in Boston, made famous from the scene in Good Will Hunting.

We mourn the loss of our friend Robin Williams, who always made us laugh and smile. pic.twitter.com/UOY8LTjVRA
— Sesame Street (@sesamestreet) August 11, 2014

"Robin Williams is not dead, he is just waiting in the jungle until somebody rolls a 5 or 8." -testingonetwothreetesting, via imgur



"One of the funniest people alive died from sadness." - chili1179, via imgur

Nanu nanu.
— SarcasticRover (@SarcasticRover) August 11, 2014

Come on in Rob. I got you.
— Jesus Christ (@jesus) August 11, 2014

The first comment on this image, from NancyNevada, I think says it all:  "When Peter Pan dies, don't tell us to grow up."

Goodbye pal.  Thanks for everything.
— Louis C.K. (@louisck) August 12, 2014

This was reportedly posted to Disney's FB page this morning.  Heart-wrenching.

"But doctor, I AM Pagliacci." That's the only way this makes sense. Can't stand thinking of him being that sad. #RIPRobinWilliams
— Patton Oswalt (@pattonoswalt) August 11, 2014

And finally, this is how I always want to remember him:



Your barbaric YAWP! was heard around the world, sir, and inspired MILLIONS.

And you will always be my captain.

Falling Back Screaming...

Tomorrow night, at sundown.

I can't believe it's almost here.  The other end of this beginning.  It's almost staggering, really.  It's very difficult to concentrate on anything else.  And every hour seems to crawl slower and slower, the closer I get to the finish line.

I wish I was happier about it all.  I thought I would be.  I always thought this would be a joyous moment of celebration and triumph.  But I don't feel any of that.  I'm just anxious and worried.  I don't know what about, exactly.  Just fear of the unknown, I guess.  And I'm kinda pissed off, too.  But that's unrelated.  Just getting in the way, and making everything just that much more confusing and difficult.

And disappointed, too.  Because I was looking forward to this so much, and I worked so hard to get here, and it just seems really unfair for me to not be enjoying it now.  I feel like I earned this, bought it with pain and sacrifice, but now in the end I'm not getting my reward.  Just seems wrong.  Fucking cosmic gyp.

But I think I'm looking at it the wrong way.  I've been so obsessed with this moment over the last few weeks, that I've lost my focus.  It's not about this moment.  It was never about this moment.  When I decided to do this one year ago, it wasn't so that I could feel happy when it was all over.  It was about the experience of the past year.  It was about learning, and growing, and earning another opportunity to shape myself to the form that I want.  This moment was inevitable, but it wasn't the point.

I don't need to enjoy this.  Any more than I needed to enjoy the past year.  I just need to do it.

And maybe that's all this is, really:  natural grief over the end of something important to me, something I've spent a significant period of my life focused on, and working toward.  Every ending is also a new beginning of something else.  And grief is a natural response to an ending.  And since I don't know what to expect from this new beginning, there's little joy or excitement about what-comes-next to temper that grief.  And so I just end up feeling sad and anxious, when it seems like I should feel proud and elated.

And the bitter irony of it all is, all this just leaves me feeling like I could really use a drink.

Tech Solace...

I got a wide-screen HD monitor for my work computer today.  It's beautiful, and it makes me happy.

I wish it didn't make me so happy.

I wish I had some other reason to feel that way right now.

Three-hundred Fifty-one...

Only two weeks left.

Two weeks from today, I will drink a beer.  A Guinness.  In a bottle.  And then I will have a glass of whiskey.  Eagle Rare bourbon, my favorite.  On the rocks, in my favorite glass tumbler.  And who knows what else after that.

I can't tell what I'm feeling.  Something like excitement, but not quite.  Almost anxiety, but not exactly.  Anticipation?  Fear?  Some jumbled soup of them all, most likely.

I want it so badly.  I've never wanted a drink this much in my entire life.  I want a drink right now more than I ever, ever wanted a drink when I actually was drinking.

I feel so proud of myself for actually accomplishing this.

I feel guilty for feeling this way, and I try to suppress it, reminding myself that I haven't actually accomplished anything yet.  I have two weeks left to go.  I can feel proud then.  And celebrate with a drink.

I'm so scared that something bad is going to happen.  That I'm going to go off the deep end and lose control in some way that I never have before.  That I'm going to end up in another of those deep chemical depressions.  That I'm going to lose all of my creativity and desire to express myself.  That I'm going to lose the ability to write poetry.  Or worse, that I'm going to lose the ability to enjoy writing.  I'm scared of some other bad result that I haven't even thought of.

I'm scared of the fact that I don't know what's going to happen.

But I have to find out.

I have to know if I can handle it or not.

I have to find out how else the last year has changed me.

Seoul Bath...

I went to a Korean Spa for the first time this weekend.

My friend had invited everyone to spend the day at the spa with him for his birthday, before the party he was throwing that night.  A few of my friends showed up, but most people were waiting for the party.  I'd been wanting to check out this spa for awhile, so I jumped at the chance.

Now, when I say "spa," think more, "communal bathhouse" rather than "salon/day spa."  You pay $20 to get in, and stay as long as you want.  (They're open 24 hours-a-day on the weekends, and they even have a "Nap Room" to sleep in when you want.)  There's a restaurant (awesome Korean food); a PC room with computers, video games, and internet; and a gym.  But the real attraction is the bathhouse.

As soon as you walk into the place, before you even get to the front desk, you encounter signs indicating "No Shoes Allowed Beyond This Point."  So, you have to carry your shoes up to the front desk, where they give you a key to fit a locker there by the entrance, just big enough to hold a pair of shoes.  Once you get your shoes off, you can feel that the dark wood floor is actually heated; feels so lovely.  Once you pay your entrance fee, they give you another key to a bathhouse locker, and a uniform of simple cotton t-shirt and shorts; men get robin's egg blue, and women get prison orange.

Inside the locker room (men and women each have their own locker rooms, and their own bathhouses, naturally), you can change into your uniform and head out into the communal area if you want.  But inside the locker room is the entrance to the bathhouse, and I headed straight for it.  Inside were showers (regular and Asian style - a little stool on the ground in front of a mirror, with a handheld showerhead and a large bowl); two large, tiled, bubbling hot "tubs" (they were more like small pools), one of them herbal; two saunas (one wet and one dry); and a cold water pool (only about knee deep and three feet wide, but running the length of the room; obviously meant for bathing, not swimming).  In one corner was a massage table, with a naked man getting scrubbed down by an attendant.

In fact, except for the attendant, everybody in the place was completely naked, and making no attempt to cover themselves up, which I found very comforting.  I'm used to puritanical American gym locker-rooms, where everyone gets dressed and undressed either with a towel wrapped around them, or in a shower or toilet stall, out of some ridiculous sense of homophobia or something.  That environment always leaves me feeling very uncomfortable.  It freaks me out to be surrounded by people who are clearly all very afraid of something, and not really have any understanding of what it is that they are so clearly afraid of, exactly.  Are they afraid that some "faggot" will see their penis and somehow become aroused?  (And if so, why does that frighten them?  What does it matter to them at all?  And how would they even know that it had happened?)  Are they worried that if they get naked the other men will think they, themselves, are a "faggot," trying to show off their penis?  (That seems more likely.)  Or are American men just incredibly modest and shy?  (Haha!  Yeah, right!)  So I found it incredibly refreshing to be in an environment where nobody had these ridiculous hang-ups that I couldn't understand, and everybody could just relax and enjoy themselves, without getting all squirrely and nervous about something so completely innocuous as being naked in the same room with other men.  I think it helped that all the men there were either Asian or Russian.  (Apparently, this spa gets a lot of Russians, because it is the closest thing to the traditional Russian bathhouse in the area.  They even had one set of their pamplets listing their services up at the front desk printed all in Russian.)

The larger, regular hot bath was empty (presumably out-of-order), so I headed to the herbal hot bath, which probably would've been my first choice, anyways, now that I think about it.  This bath has a large cloth sack filled with various herbs hanging off of the faucet so that the water is running down through the bag and into the bath; the bag is also hanging about half into the water, steeping like a tea bag.  (They had a sign listing all of the herbs they used, but I don't remember them all at this point; several of them I had never heard of before.)  In fact, it felt very much like taking a bath in tea - the water was brown, had little bits of plant matter swirling around in it, and was incredibly aromatic.  After about ten minutes in this tub, my skin felt softer and smoother than it has since I was a teenager.  In fact, even now, it still feels much softer than usual.

After the herbal bath, I took a quick rinse-off dip in the cold pool (and when they say "cold" they are not lying - it was like ice water!) and then tried out the dry sauna.  It was just over 200 degrees in there, and so it wasn't long before I couldn't take it anymore, and headed back out to cool off in the cold pool.  Going from the hot to the cold like that is the Russian style, and I find it unbelievably refreshing and invigorating and sensually satisfying.  (Maybe it's genetic.)  The hot opens up my pores and loosens my skin, and then the cold tightens it all back up again.  The heat brings all my blood out to my extremities and into my skin, and then the cold sends it all flying away from the surface and down into my core.  And the simple juxtaposition between the two sensations is very-nearly overwhelming.  It leaves me light-headed, but pleasantly so.

After that I tried out the wet sauna, but I couldn't take it for more than a minute.  The air is so thick with moisture that you can barely see your hand in front of your face.  Whenever I would breathe in, I would feel like there was more water in the inhalation than oxygen, and since I was already a little light-headed, it wasn't long before I felt like I couldn't breathe and had to get out before I passed out.  It's a shame, because, other than that, I liked the room.  It wasn't as hot as the dry sauna (only about 150 degrees), and the wet air made it feel more like a bath or shower than the dry sauna, which felt more like an oven.  And the water that they used to produce the steam was apparently infused with some herb, as well, because it was, like the herbal bath, incredibly and pleasantly aromatic.  (The dry sauna actually had a small wicker basket full of cinnamon sticks in the corner, as well, producing a pleasant aroma as they baked in the heat.)  I think next time I'll have to try this steam room first, before I do anything else, and see if that works out better for me.

I spent the next hour just going around between the dry sauna, the herbal bath, and the cold bath.  It felt amazing.  We had agreed to meet in the communal room at that point, so I dried off, dressed in my powder-blue uniform, and headed out into the communal room, which is between, and connected to, the two locker rooms/bathhouses.  The communal room is a large, central room, lined with thick tatami mats on the floor, and little tables to go with them.  (At least, they're called "tatami" in Japanese; I have no idea what they are called in Korean, but they are the same object.)  There were also large piles of these small, traditional head-cushions used for lying down on the mats.  There was a TV on one wall, playing Korean television.  There were Korean newspapers and magazines lying around the room.  There were boards for playing Go, Chess/Checkers, Backgammon, etc. scattered all around.  At one end was a line of massaging recliners, and beyond that was the "Napping Room" - a small, dark room lined with more tatami mats for sleeping.  I tried out one of the massaging recliner chairs, expecting a vibrating massage chair.  What I got instead was ten minutes of, essentially, being pummeled in the back by a robot at high speed.  It was more percussion than vibration.  It hurt like hell at first, but by the end it felt fantastic.

Along the walls of the communal room are smaller rooms of varying temperatures, all dry rooms.  The hot rooms were each lined with different materials all over the floor, walls, and ceiling.  The Himalayan Salt room was lined with pink rock salt, presumably Himalayan judging by the name, and kept at 130 degrees.  The Jewel Room was 150 degrees, and lined with smooth cut slabs of green amethyst.  And the Charcoal Room was lined with small cylinders of charcoal, and heated to 170 degrees.  (I didn't go into the last, hottest room, and don't remember what it was lined with.)  There are also two cold rooms.  The Cold Room is about 40 degrees, and then inside the Cold Room is the Ice Room, which is well below freezing, and lined with, predictably, ice.  (The sign said it was -21 degrees Fahrenheit, but it had to be Celsius; -21 degrees Fahrenheit would be dangerous in just a t-shirt and shorts, and while this room was definitely cold, it wasn't painful or distressing.  It felt more like about 25-30 degrees Fahrenheit.)  Again, I spent a bunch of time going back and forth from the hot rooms to the cold rooms and back again.

We ate lunch in the restaurant, sitting cross-legged on pillows at low Asian-style tables, eating delicious, cheap Korean food.  I reflected on the fact that the place was full of families.  I could tell that this was a regular family event; you bring the wife and kids and spend the day.  It was a like the Korean version of a community center or a YMCA.  There was a father and son in the bathhouse while I was in there, the son maybe six years-old.  They sat together, naked, at one of the little Asian-style showerheads, the son laying over the father's knee, as he washed and scrubbed his son's whole body over and over for what seemed like at least half an hour.  To my Western eyes, this looked decidedly creepy, and I couldn't imagine an American father and son doing this.  But at one point I happened to notice the father try to put the son down on the floor next to him and attend to his own washing, but the boy began to pout and plead until the father agreed to pick him back up and wash him again, which made the boy incredibly happy.  I tried to look at it through their eyes.  This was a bonding moment between a boy and his father.  In our culture, we're taught to sexualize nudity in any form regardless of context, and so something like this instinctively seems gross to us.  But this wasn't sexual at all.  It was loving.  And when I stopped myself from seeing it as sexual, and started trying to see it for what it actually was to them (non-sexual, familial nudity) it became a touching display of affection between a father and son.

I lost track of the hours I spent there, and didn't want to leave.  I could easily see how someone could spend all day there.  I can't wait to go back.  They offer massage services as well (foot massage, body massage, Thai massage, body scrub, etc.) for very reasonable prices, and next time I'm going to book one of those and make a day of it.

I'll Stand Before The Lord Of Song...

I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this
The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Maybe there’s a God above
But all I’ve ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
It’s not a cry you can hear at night
It’s not someone who has seen the light
It’s a cold and it’s a lonely Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

There was a time when you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
Remember when I moved in you
The holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

          -"Hallelujah"
            Leonard Cohen, Various Positions

Raging Election...

(With apologies to everyone at The Colbert Report, from whom I blatantly stole the title for today's post.)

Wow.  Okay, so, yeah, I didn't see that coming last night, to be honest.  I'm so used to getting shellacked in these elections that I fully expected to be facing a Romney presidency this morning.  But not only did we re-elect Obama, but for the first time in my entire life, every single person or issue I voted for actually won.  And then to find out that Democrats and progressive issues won over and over again all across the country?  I'm just kind of stunned, honestly.

Last night, Maryland became the first state to uphold same-sex marriage with a voter referendum.  How fabulous is that?  So did Maine.  And Washington state looks like it's going to follow.  And speaking of Washington state, they legalized marijuana there last night.  They didn't just decriminalize it, they legalized it; for recreational use.  And so did Colorado.  Wow!

I was fully prepared to be seriously depressed today.  Now I don't quite know what to do with myself.

If you have any suggestions for ways I could spend my day not being depressed, please leave a comment below, and I will take it under consideration.  Thank you, and Gods Bless America.



Quick note about updates:  We're super-swamped at work with another tight deadline, and another series of endless snags delaying the whole process (yesterday was a clusterfuck on a scale that I have never witnessed here in fifteen years), and so I've been working more long hours again.  But this time, there's the added complication that I've been off-site for a lot of it, and so away from my computer.  And at home, we've got a couple of big projects to finish up in the next couple of weeks, as well, and so that's eating up a big chunk of what little free time I have left.  I actually have about a half a dozen posts started already that I've been wanting to get out there, but I just haven't had a chance to finish them yet.  Soon, soon.

Just wanted you to know that I'm still here, and I haven't given up or anything.  Just a tad too much on my plate at the moment.  Busy, busy Backson will be Back Soon.

Sniff...

Standing at the sink, in the office kitchenette, washing the dried and crusted remnants of my workday's coffee from my mug, I had a moment.

I'm fascinated by those moments, when the most banal and mundane aspects of daily life suddenly collide with the profound, the mystical, and the transcendent.  They have an instant and unmistakable sense of Tao.  And this was one of those moments.  Standing at the sink, in the office kitchenette, washing a day's worth of old, dried coffee out of my mug, just like I do at the end of every day.  And as I stood there washing, the cleaning lady walked in.  An older, round-ish hispanic woman; really nothing remarkable about her at all, and normally the only emotional response I would've had to her presence would have been my usual feeling of white, liberal guilt at this reminder of my station, and my privilege.  But something else happened this time.  Something new and different.  Something I never could've expected.  Something simple, and ordinary, and yet utterly magickal.

Just a second or so after she entered the room, the gust of air raised by her entrance carried her scent to me, and I was instantly a child.

Ten years-old.

The beach.

A perfect Summer's day.

The sound of distant waves, crashing.  And gulls crying.  And children screaming in joy.

And a feeling I had forgotten.  A feeling of freedom and exhilaration and excitement and happiness that was so overwhelming as to border on the manic.  A feeling of certainty that these glorious moments of delirium were all that mattered.  There was absolutely nothing else to think about, or do, or say; there was but one single, solitary purpose to all existence, and that was to enjoy these moments, as much as we were physically able, for as long as our parents would leave us to it.  These were the best moments of our lives.  And even better, we were completely unaware of that fact.  Freed in the glory of our naivete, we swam away in the joy of "it can only get better from here."

Death and old-age were only abstract ideas, and things that happen to other people, or on TV.  Sex was still an exhilarating mystery, only just beginning to punctuate our daily lives with little electric sparks of sensation.  Work was something grown-ups forced us to do, and was to be avoided at all costs.  Playing was all that mattered.

Playing was the meaning of life.

And then I was back at the sink, in the office kitchenette, still washing the crusted stains of my amphetamine potion off of my mug.  In just a half-second, I had experienced my entire childhood, and then aged twenty-five years.  I wanted to cry.

I have no idea what that scent was.  Presumably, it was the cleaning lady's perfume.  Even now, as I write this, I can't recall the scent to memory; can't remember the sensation of it at all, but only the effect it had on me.  It's faded back into whatever dark corner of my mind in which it has slept for the past twenty-five years.  I don't know where I remembered it from, nor do I have any idea why it reminded me of my childhood, or the beach, or Summer, or the exhilarating freedom of having no responsibility.  And I guess I don't care at this point.

I can't ever go back.  None of us can.  I will never, ever experience those feelings again.  So I have absolutely no choice at this point but to feel incredibly grateful to have been able to experience them again, at all, for even a moment, as I washed my mug in the sink of the office kitchenette.

Sol 1...

I'm completely brain-dead from lack of sleep today, but still exhilarated by the events of last night/this morning.  So incredible.  Basically, this is me today:

http://xkcd.com/1091/

And also this:

http://sci-ence.org/touchdown/

Wow.  Just... wow.

And now I get to spend the next several years looking forward to July 2015, when the New Horizons probe reaches Pluto!

The Junkie And The Monk...

This is one of my absolute favorite Moth stories ever, and I'm so glad they finally posted it to their YouTube channel.


The Junkie And The Monk by Mike DeStefano

At Last, Salvation...

I have a working computer!

It's my old backup, so it's slow as dogshit running uphill in Winter (I swear you can count to thirty between when you click the right mouse button, and when the actual right-click menu finally shows up on screen), but at least it works, and at least I have internet again.

I'm posting this from home, and that alone is enough to make me want to do the Dance of Joy.

And Ye Shall Receive...

I'd say this is eerie by most people's standards.  But the life of a chaos magickian is a life of eerie coincidences.

Just received a voicemail informing me that my computer is ready to be picked up.

About a week early.

And not a moment too soon.

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.

Hope and Regret, part 3...

On the heels of all of these thoughts on my addiction and recovery and sobriety, I started thinking about how I feel about my history of using.  And I feel a need to state here, strongly and clearly, and in no uncertain terms, that I have no regrets about my past behavior.  None.  If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't do it any differently.  Even the very worst moments, where I hurt myself badly or scared myself half-to-death or nearly died, I'm still grateful for.  Because each and every one of them taught me valuable lessons that I wouldn't have learned any other way, and I have in each instance become a better person for having learned them.

And those scary moments were few and far between.  The vast majority of the years I spent drunk and high, I laughed my ass off and just had a wonderful time.  I learned a lot about myself through those experiences, and I feel lucky and privileged to have had the chance to spend so much of my life feeling happy and stimulated and satisfied.  I've had a great run of it up to this point.  But it's just becoming a little old, a little stale, a little tired.  And so am I.  After all these years, it's taking more and more of a toll on me than it ever has before, right as I'm getting less and less out of it than I used to.  And as I get older, and my priorities for what I want out of life shift from more immediate pleasures to bigger-and-better things, it's just becoming less and less worth it for me to keep going like this.

And I always knew that it would have to end one day.  And I always knew there would be a price to pay for all those years of self-indulgence.  And I always knew that this was that price.  And I always knew that one day I would pay it.  And now that this day seems to finally be coming around, I am paying it.  Gladly.

But I'm still glad I did it, too.

And I wouldn't change a thing.

Hope and Regret, part 2...

And speaking of breaking the cycle, the 2nd, and possibly most, important thing I learned in my session this week, was the existence of an organization called SMART Recovery.

I've considered going to AA or NA meetings before, but having some past experience with them and knowing the gist of what they're like and how they work, I've never really felt like they would be a good fit for me.  The central core of the X-Anonymous twelve-step programs starts with two things:  1) submit your will to a Higher Power, and 2) admit that you are powerless over your addiction.  The rest of the program builds off of those two ideas, so if you can't do those, then the rest of the program isn't going to be much help for you, either.  And neither of those ideas really work for me.  More to the point, they're basically the exact opposite of what I feel I need in order to get and stay sober.

I don't believe in a sentient being that controls the Universe, so the entire concept of "Higher Power" would be difficult for me right from the start.  I could use Tao, but that wouldn't really work, either.  Because Tao is not a sentient force, it's just a pattern.  It's the pattern of Nature seen throughout the Universe.  It is the Set of All Things.  It is the Universe, and everything it in, and everything outside of it (if there is anything outside of it) and the motion of all things that repeats in the same way from the spinning of galaxies down to the spinning of electrons.  It is the cyclical pattern of motion that is all creations, that spurs all nothings to become some-things.  So, it's not really a Power, and it's not really Higher, either, since there is nothing that is not Tao.  And how would I "submit my will" to it, exactly?  How can I submit to something that I'm already a part of, merely by virtue of my existence?  And then there's just the whole idea of submitting my Will, at all, which I'm not real keen on.

Which actually ties in with the 2nd step, admitting that you're powerless over your addiction.  Submitting my Will, admitting I am powerless... these are not things that I've ever been good at.  In fact, I have spent the majority of my adult life strengthening my Will, to the point that I was able to convince myself that I can actually bend Reality to it.  "Powerless" is not something I ever want to feel, or believe I should ever have to feel.  And more to the point, it's not something I believe I am.

I'm not powerless over my addiction.  That fact is self-evident.  If I were powerless, then I would've ended up deranged and out-of-control, like my mother, or her mother before her.  Or like one of those poor, pathetic people on Intervention, who are incapable of caring about anything beyond their drug use.  I have never been like that.  Throughout my entire history of using, I have always carefully monitored myself, my cravings, the amount of my intake; constantly limiting the amount I use to "just enough;" never letting myself use as much as I really want; dialing back my use whenever the cravings started to become more intense; etc.  I used always knowing that I was an addict, and that I was walking a fine line between having fun and losing it all, and always on the lookout for signs that it was getting out-of-hand.  (That's one of the reasons I'm actually feeling kind of done with all of it at this point.  That kind of constant self-intervention takes a lot out of you, and it's getting to the point that getting high is no longer worth the effort it takes to maintain anymore.)  In my entire history, I've only ever let myself use with abandon, to my heart's content, a couple of times.  And every one of those times, things quickly got out of hand, and I scared the shit out myself, and ended up getting my shit together in a new and better way as a result.  And even at my worst, even when I've hurt myself badly with liver damage and ulcers and near-overdoses, I've still never been even half as bad as my mother, or my grandmother, or the sick souls on TV, or any of the people whose stories I heard in those church basements as a child.  So, if I have to start that program by admitting that I am powerless over my addiction, then I have to base that entire program on a lie.  And what is the point in that?

And, honestly, if we're really "powerless," then what are we even doing in recovery?  If we were truly powerless over our addictions, then wouldn't we be out getting drunk and high right now?  For me, my sense of my own power, my sense of my internal strength, my strength of Will, is exactly what I've used to keep from going off the deep end my whole life, and exactly what I've relied on to get sober.  So why on Earth would I want to just abandon that??  The whole idea just seems completely counter-productive to me.

And adding to all that the fact that my mother used to take me with her to AA and NA meetings when I was a kid, and that she left one of those meetings and went straight to the hotel room where she took her life, it would be a significant understatement to say that I have some emotional baggage associated with those programs.  And if I went, the only reason I'd be going would be to try to get and stay sober.  I really wouldn't want to also have to work through a bunch of my childhood mommy-issues at the same time.   So, for all of these reasons, I've never really considered the X-Anonymous twelve-step groups to be a valid option for me in my recovery.

So I always assumed I would just have to do this on my own.  I thought that the X-A groups were the only ones out there, and since those wouldn't work for me, then it must be up to just me doing the work, and the best help I could hope for would be the occasional 1-on-1 counseling session.  And I was ok with that, honestly.  But then my counselor tells me about this other recovery group called SMART Recovery.

They're basically an alternative to the twelve-steppers, that emphasizes scientific methods of recovery (constantly evolving as the science of recovery evolves; none of that watered-down, psuedo-JudeoChristian psychology "Higher Power" bullshit), self-empowerment as the main recovery tool (as opposed to submitting your Will and pretending to be powerless - more pseudo-JudeoChristian nonsense; and none of this Will-undermining "my addiction is a disease and I am sick and I will always be sick" crap, either), and recognizing that there is no one right way to become sober that will work for everyone - that everyone is unique and different and that each individual has their own best method of recovery - and so the key to recovery is finding your personal method and working it (which is completely in-line with the way I have lived the entire rest of my life; SMART Recovery is to traditional recovery what Chaos Magick is to traditional Western occultism - find what works best for you, and use it).  They try to get at the root of addictive behavior itself and deal with that, using modern Cognitive Behavior Therapy methods, rather than focusing on the particular substance or thing one is addicted to.  (SMART stands for "Self-Management And Recovery Training".)  As such, they aren't just for alcoholics or drug-users, but accept any kind of addict at all.  A meeting could include people ranging from alcoholics, to drug-users, to sex addicts, or gambling addicts, or hoarders, or anyone else who would fall under the category of "I'm exhibiting compulsive behavior that I would like to stop."

I was astounded that I'd never heard of this before.  They sound perfectly tailored for me.  I found out there's a meeting in my area, and I'm going to attend my first one next week.  I'm going to try to reserve judgement, though.  In my experience, things that sound too-good-to-be-true usually are.  And while the base description sounds fantastic, some of the material I've found on their website absolutely screams "MOTIVATIONAL SEMINAR," and that could be a big turn-off for me.  So, I'm going to keep my expectations low, attend a few of the meetings, and get a sense of what they're really like.  It'd be nice if they turned out to be even half as great as they sound, and it'd be nice if I could actually get some extra help from them.  But it would be just that - extra.  So if they turn out to be not-quite-right for me, then oh, well.  I still have no problem doing all of this on my own.

And no reason to believe that I can't.


concluded in part three tomorrow...

Hope and Regret, part 1...

(When I originally wrote this piece, it turned out to be a lot longer than I'd anticipated, and it just seemed like way too much to include in one posting.  So, I've decided to break it up into three parts.)


I learned at least two really important things at my counseling session this week.

First of all, I was reminded of something that I had previously known, but apparently forgotten.  That this thing I'm going through right now, this period of depression and low-energy/motivation, is a really common psycho-emotional/bio-chemical reaction in addicts, in response to a relapse.  It's almost textbook.  Basically, once you've sobered up a bit, then the crash from even just a little bit of use is much more pronounced, and much more noticeable.  (It's always there, really - it's just that when you're getting high all the time, it's a lot harder to notice it.)  And so that's what's happening with me right now.

I've learned that lesson before.  I used to know this.  So I kind of felt like an idiot for somehow managing to forget it.  But I was also very glad to be made aware of it again.  Oddly, it made me feel better somehow to know that this was a common phenomena, that many other people have gone, and are going, through it, that it's been studied and cataloged.  Made me less sad about giving up what I'd lost.

Speaking of which, I was reminded of something about that, as well.  That period of time in early sobriety, where life is beautiful and being clean just feels so good and everything comes so easily and naturally - that period that just ended for me after Walpurgisnacht, what I've been calling my "state of grace" - in recovery-speak, that period is called "the pink cloud."  Also common, also well-studied and cataloged by men in white coats.

And also another trap.  At least for me, anyways.  Because, when I think about it, I realize that the pink cloud is just another high.  I can see the pattern in my behavior so clearly now.  I use until I get bored with it, or until it becomes so much less fun than it once was that it's no longer worth the price I'm paying for it in terms of health, energy, etc.  Then I sober up and ride the pink cloud for all it's worth for as long as I can.  And then as soon as that wears off, as soon as that becomes so much less fun than it once was that it's no longer worth the price I'm paying for it in terms of effort and sacrifice, then I start using again.  And round and round we go on the merry-go-round of rotating knives.  Basically, I've been cycling back and forth between being high on drugs, and being high on life.  But no matter what, I've always been high.

So, that's what I'm trying to work on now.  Breaking that cycle.  And not just learning how to live a life without using, but learning how to live my life, truly sober - meaning not high on anything at all, completely regardless of whether that thing is seen as a positive or negative influence.  Figuring out how to live my life completely down to earth.  (And figuring out what "down to earth" even means for me.)

Takin' it back to formula.


continued in part two tomorrow...

A Big, Fat Case of the Mondays...

Today was one of those mornings where everything seems to go wrong.

I got up at 5:30 to try to get back to the gym before work.  (Finally!  I need it!)  As I was getting ready, I was hit with a sudden attack of a severely upset stomach, and so by the time I managed to take care of that I was very late.  Still, I wasn't down about it.

On my new, beauteous back road commute, I almost immediately found myself about 15th in line behind a very, very slow-moving dump truck.  We're talking an average of 20 mph below the speed-limit here.  The guy in the Subaru Imprezza behind him was riding his tail viciously, but for some reason, he wouldn't pass the truck.  There were plenty of opportunities.  And I know an Imprezza can outrun me, so I know it can pass a freaking dump truck.  And the guy was obviously pissed off at going so slow, judging by his tailgating.  So why wouldn't he pass the truck??  And, of course, being 15th in line, several people up front were going to need to pass before I was going to have any chance of making it myself.  So, if they didn't pass, I couldn't pass.  The truck didn't turn off the road until about two miles from my work.  It was frustrating, but still, I didn't let it get to me.

Got to the office/gym late, but still with enough time to get in a workout.  Got down to the gym, grabbed a locker, suited up, put everything else in the locker, clicked the lock closed... and realized that I no longer remembered the combination.  I tried several combos that I thought might be it, but no dice.  Ok, no problem - I've got the combo recorded on my computer upstairs in my office.  ...But my office is locked, and the key is now locked in my gym locker.  Damn.  I spent the next fifteen minutes trying various combos I thought might be the one, but I couldn't find it.  So, ok, that's pretty damn frustrating, and I feel like an idiot now, but still, nothing to get upset about really; just a minor glitch.  Might as well get a workout in anyways.  I'm all suited up for it, and I've got nothing else to do right now.

I haven't worked out in several months.  In fact, I've gained back all of the weight I lost last Summer, plus a few pounds.  And I haven't exactly been what you'd call "active" in the meantime.  So, just fifteen minutes into my workout, I start to feel a tightening in my chest, and my left arm and shoulder start to hurt.  Doesn't take a cardiologist to figure out what that means.  So, ok, that's pretty scary, and a little daunting, but what's the sense in getting upset about it?  I just stopped what I was doing and went into my cool-down a little early.  No point in over-doing it.  Gotta crawl before you can walk.  Tomorrow, or someday soon, I'll be able to do twenty minutes, and then thirty, and that's how you get stronger.

So then my workout was over, and it was time to try and figure out what to do about my locker situation.  By this point in the morning, our secretary is supposed to be in, and she has a skeleton key.  So, I figured that I could just get her to let me into my office, get my combo, and then head back down to the gym to open up my locker and proceed with my post-workout clean-up.  So I exit the gym and head up the stairs towards my office... until I get to the first locked door.  My key card for opening our electronic security doors is on the same key ring as my office key, which previously mentioned is now locked in my gym locker.  And I can't get back into the gym, because that door is electronically locked, as well.  So, now I'm locked in a stairwell.  Ok, so, clearly, this is not my day.  But, it's early in the morning, someone is sure to be by soon.  I'll just have to wait here for a little bit, that's all.  I decided to take the opportunity to rest against a wall and have a morning meditation.

A note about my appearance:  I honestly don't care what I look like while I work out.  I don't bother to do my hair before my workout, because I'm just going to shower afterwards and have to do it again.  So, I had wet, sweaty bedhead.  And my workout clothes serve exactly one purpose:  to keep me as cool and comfortable as possible while I'm working out.  They are not meant to look attractive.  My running shirt is thin and sleeveless, and you can clearly see my man-tits outlined against the... whatever the hell fabric that shirt is made of.  And my shorts are, well, shorts; they do an excellent job of showing off my pasty-white, nearly hairless, and overly large legs.

Now, this is all fine, when I'm down in the gym and everyone else around me is also all sweaty and not-looking-their-best, but now I had to leave that specialized attire area, and venture out into the rest of the office.  I felt a bit conspicuous, to say the least.  After a few minutes, someone came along and let me in, and in short order I managed to get the skeleton key from our secretary, unlock my office, and retrieve the combo from my computer.  (My earlier guesses hadn't even been close, by the way.)  But now I had to get that knowledge back through all the electronically-locked security doors, and into the gym locker room.

I made my way down the back stairway and out into the parking garage, and around to the front door of the gym.  I took this route specifically to avoid the more direct route, which would lead me straight through the crowded cafeteria where so many of my co-workers would be having breakfast right about now.  But unbeknownst to me (because I always enter the gym through the back way), the main entrance into the gym lobby is also sealed with an electronic lock.  And unlike the stairwell I was trapped in earlier, I can't expect someone to be coming by this way very soon.  Almost everyone uses the back entrance, because it's attached to the office, the parking deck and the cafeteria; the front entrance is attached to the visitor parking lot.  So, I'm going to need a new way in.

At this point, standing in my gym clothes on the front lawn, facing yet another locked door, the absurdity of the situation is beginning to sink in.  I decide to see if the receptionist in the office building's main lobby (the one and only area of the our building that one can enter without a key card) would be able to let me into the gym.  When she tells me she can't do that, I actually start to laugh.  And not in a if-you-don't-laugh-you'll-cry kind of way, either.  I was genuinely amused.  I mean, how is this not funny at this point?

What the receptionist can do, she tells me, is to let me into the building so that I can go up through the cafeteria and down into the gym lobby that I was locked out of; then I should be able to knock on the door of the gym's workout area and get someone's attention to let me back in.  She lets me into the building and I bypass the elevators and head up the stairwell, just like I normally do, thinking about the fact that I will now have to go through the cafeteria in my sweaty workout clothes, just as I'd been trying to avoid.  Unfortunately, because I was thinking about that little unpleasantness, I failed to realize that I would, of course, need a key card in order to exit the stairwell and therefore enter the cafeteria.  I did realize this as soon as I walked the three flights of stairs to the locked door, however.

So, I had to find my way out of the stairwell and into the parking garage, again, walk down the parking garage and out to the front of the building, again, and get the receptionist to let me into the lobby, again.  I was actually enjoying myself by this point!  As soon as I walked into the main lobby, the receptionist reminded me that I would need to take the elevators in order to reach the cafeteria without a key card, and I thanked her for delivering that information that would have been so useful five minutes earlier.  But, after passing through the cafeteria, and enduring some disgusted stares, I finally made it back into the gym, and managed to open my locker.  I almost danced the Dance of Joy on the spot.

But after my shower, as I was getting dressed, I realized something important.  After that whole ridiculous comedy of errors that was my Monday morning, I felt great.  I was happy.  I wasn't frustrated or upset or irritated or anxious or any of the things I would've predicted I'd have felt after going through all of this.  Throughout the entire ordeal, I naturally responded in a completely different way than I normally would have, without trying to.  I had Brightsided my way through a rather hellish Monday morning and into a fabulous mood, without having to think about it once.

And here I thought this day couldn't get any better.

Access...

I really enjoyed writing code today.

I get to do a lot of different kinds of programming for my job.  That's one of the things I like about it, actually - the variety keeps me interested.  But there are definitely some jobs that I like better than others, and today was one of those lucky days where I get to just pour myself into one of those jobs I really enjoy.

I have a love/hate relationship with Microsoft Access.  I hate it, because it is buggy as all fuck.  But I also love it, because I know it.  I'm intimately familiar with all of its quirks and eccentricities (READ: bugs), and I know how to program an Access database/application system better than I can do just about any other kind of coding.  There's also just something satisfying about it.  I build the database from the ground up, one-step-at-a-time, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other, and by the end I have an application that works, that does what the client wants and that anyone can use, and it's streamlined, and it even looks good.  It's a creative process.  I get the same sense of satisfaction and accomplishment from building a really good database application as I do from writing something that I enjoy and think I did a good job on.   More, actually.  Because coding a good app takes more time and effort for me than it does to write something.  And also, I'm better at it.

So today I got to work on one of my old database apps, adding in some new features that the client was asking for.  The features they were asking for were not things I'd ever done before, so I got to learn something new, which is always a plus, and happens less and less with Access lately.  And, of course, Access threw me a series of its usual curveballs, giving me several WTF-is-going-on??-problems to try and work out.  Which is another one of the things I enjoy about Access, actually.  I never know what to expect (except the unexpected), and anytime I work on an app, I get to spend a significant amount of time just sitting, pondering some completely impossible error, trying to solve this unsolvable puzzle.  And when I finally figure it out, when I have that Eureka!-moment - ooh, baby! - that's what I live for.  Those moments are why I can still enjoy my job.

I realize this was a ridiculously nerdy post, but it's what I was inspired by today.  It can't all be deep-spiritual-exploration all the time.

Sometimes, it's just gotta be about, "Today, I really enjoyed my job."