About five years ago, I had a serious drinking problem. On the evening Chloe was born, I staggered from the hospital bed, holding my fresh cesarean together, high on morphine, and went outside the San Francisco hospital, met up with my friend Robbie, and we split drinks of Jack Daniels and Coke. The Coke made the whiskey much more tolerant. I had never had whiskey before, but that night started a binge drinking that lasted for six months. I was in a horrible place, mentally, having been raped just twenty one days before the binging started, and no one believed me. Women who aren’t virgins can’t be raped. Men you have previously had consensual sex with cannot rape you. Pregnant women aren’t sexually desirable, so they cannot be raped. I fear that doctor is still practicing in the state of Louisiana.
Today, I had my first bottle of whiskey-Jack Daniels-since November of 2005. I drank it straight. I even bought a small bottle of Coke, poured the Coke out and filled the bottle with whiskey. Then just drank it. Straight whiskey. It made my liver recoil in horror. At this point, I didn’t care. I was in almost the same place I was in when I started drinking before: Something awful had happened to me, and I needed something to compensate. Ease the pain. I hadn’t been raped, not today, but something inside of me just told me it was a bad idea to go get Chloe from school. I don’t know why that was.
My insurance has been pushed back another week. They have been showing their ass since my dentist wrote a statement that I needed nearly $10,000 worth of work done on my teeth; whether he can save them or not. My insurance company is waiting to see if I pay for all of this out of my own pockets. They keep pushing the date back further and further. None of my kids have medical insurance because of this. In the long run, I felt like a failure. I felt like I have failed myself and my children. The sad part is they all look up to me so much. I am their hero. I am the one they all want to be like when they grow up. A morphine addicted, raging alcoholic? That’s a good role model there!
While I was out, I wandered to a bowling alley. Which was interesting because I’d never saw it before. I crashed inside, watching the bowlers, taking huge swigs from my coke bottle, making trips to the bathroom to refill it. No one questioned me. Until a woman made a gutter ball, and I commented, “Good thing that landed in the gutter! It was so slow it was going backwards!” She spun around with a silly grin on her face and offered me a ball. “Can you do better?” she asked. “I could do better drunk!” I replied, finished the last of the Jack Daniels in the bottle (I had guzzled the entire bottle of whiskey in about five to ten minutes), took the ball from her, swung it at the lanes, and some how it skipped over a few lanes, pushed another ball out of the way, and made a strike. Five lanes away. “How’s that for a good bowler?” I asked. The woman and the other people on her team actually cheered for me! I finished the game with them, scoring three strikes (once I figured out what lane we were supposed to be playing in), and on the way home, I fell asleep. I woke up in my own bed, wearing some weird saddle shoes that weren’t mine.
My husband had the day off, and he was pissed that I did not bring Chloe home. It was about 7pm, and the school called and told him no one had been there to pick her up.We’re going to have to talk, so I ave to sign off. Yep, before 11pm.
See everyone in the morning
Back in the fall of 1999, I was a college senior. I was going to graduate in May 2000 with a Bachelor’s in Telecommunications. However, that September, once it was too late to drop our courses, the company that was sponsoring our degree program went belly up, and we were all informed that we would not have jobs once we graduated in May. We had two choices: Continue and get graduate with associate’s degrees or change majors. Crushed, I looked through the other majors offered by the University, determined to get something higher than an Associate’s. I settled on Nursing. The school had a 100% NCLEX rate, and the degree in Nursing was a Master’s Degree. Looking back, I should have gone to a different University. The road through that nursing program was an easy one, and it was then that I decided that taking the easy road was not worth it to me. We were allowed to have notes and text books during exams, our instructors simply corrected us during skills check offs. We literally had nothing to learn. Two and a half years after I graduated from nursing school, I was bored with nursing, and tried to pursue a career in the chemistry field. Unfortunately, I needed a PhD to work in that field, and that is when I found out that going into the chemistry field was not the easy road.
I worked hard to get where I am now, and I am happy with who I have become. Not just academically, but spiritually and emotionally. I like me. I like me very well.
There are many people who will take the easy road in life. Whether it’s with their academic life, or with their own life. They are not doing themselves any favours. It’s easier to send out negativity in the world. It’s not so easy to be the positive light in someone’s life. That is how I want to see myself. The ray of sunshine in someone’s bleak life. The positive that makes up for all the negative that comes their way. For me, this makes everything better. The world is a better place because I am a better person. It’s worked more for me than any pill, drink, ever could. Being a good person: It’s the ultimate high.
Anyone able to recommend a good, washable, kid-friendly area rug? Something I can roll up and throw in the washer once a month or whenever it needs it, without it falling apart? Links are much appreciated.
BTW, for those of you on my friends page on Facebook, Chloe is fine. Thank you for the concerns.
Oh, and I lost my journal, so I have no place to write my nonsense at. All apologies if my writing here seems to be all over the place.
The problem with getting my butt out of bed before noon, and getting all my work done by noon, is that by 2:30 in the afternoon, I’m exhausted. Doc Mick says it’s because I took my Roxanol and that will cause sleepiness. Well, duh. But I wasn’t expecting it to make me sleepy since I have taken narcotics in pill form before, and they never really did anything like this to me before.
Some problems have come up at home. Mainly involving an argument about child care for Chloe, between Dennis and I. See, he called my mother over yesterday to watch Chloe while he slept off his pain meds and I was at the store. My mother and I do not see eye to eye about how a child should be raised, and she did something that neither I nor medical science agrees with, and it ended when I banned her from our home. I demanded to know why Dennis let her around our kids. Dennis said she was the only one who would watch them. I said they would have been better off alone than in her care. They certainly would be safer.
But I choose not to reveal what she did, least someone wants to make my flesh world a little harder. There is no more danger to my kids, the house is clean, and we’re reaching for that happy ending.
Today, Chloe was able to go back to school. I was able to organise the bedroom, so the closet doors shut without the laundry basket in the way. Dennis is going to the studio after a while, and there’s really nothing for me to do but try to nap away the effects of the Roxanol.
ACK!!! I’m going to end up posting like a zillion times today. I might even have a story to tell. But, I dunno my life is so boring. I actually have a story to tell. It happened when Dennis and I were coming back from getting diapers and formula for Hayley.
Now, I was planning on washing laundry on Wednesday and going to the store Thursday night, but that kind of fell through, huh? So Dennis and I had no clean clothes to wear today. Except things that we normally don’t wear to the grocery store. Since our car is totaled, we had to take his father’s car. A Cadillac. Which wasn’t too bad, except I was wearing an extremely short skirt, a halter top, and Dennis was wearing an Italian pin-striped suit. Anyone else hearing porno flick music yet? No? Well, what about when my knee was hurting, so I asked to ride in the back seat?
*Bow-Chicka-Wow-Wow*
Of course, we got pulled over coming home. The cops thought I was a prostitute and Dennis was my pimp! *laughs forever* Then the cop asked in a low voice, how much for a half and half with the red-head.
O-o
No worries: Copper didn’t get his three way. The good thing that came out of today was that Dennis and I took pictures of ourselves as “pimp & ho”. They’re on Facebook, if you’re curious.
Some people claim I am a good photographer. I have been snapping pictures since I was nine years old, with an old 110 mm crap-tastic camera that I didn’t cry too hard over losing at the fair later that year. Then I progressed to a 35 mm camera. Then the Advantix. Finally, in 1999, I got my first digital camera, and I’ve been known to have taken over 10,000 photos since going digital. I have many books and boxes filled with photos. Somewhere in between the fancy cameras, I had some Polaroids, which gave me the sweet taste of instant feedback on my photo taking ability.
The pictures I feel I take the best are the ones of nature. Still photos.
Naturally, my monkeys never sit still long enough for anyone to take a good photograph of any of them. At least once per year I splurge on a new digital camera. I pay about $500 for a new camera every year, and to me it’s worth it. The one thing I love more than taking photos is taking better quality photos. Let the prints show what I saw through the lens.
At dusk today, I photographed the sun. Perfect theme for August, right? Of all thirty photos taken, less than half came out right, and out of that, only four are good enough to post here. The rest are here.
The photos are raw, unphotoshopped, and I do not have any fancy lenses or features on my Nikon.
Another reason I don’t prefer to photograph people over nature/still photography is because I always manage to capture people in their most awkward moments. As evident below.
Maybe I could get a job as a professional blackmailer? *grins*
Yep, I know that’s going to end up on my harasser/content thief’s website with some kind of snarky horseshit. I really do not care what she steals from me anymore. Anyone who only gets 300 hits per month is a nobody on the web, and if she thinks that by stealing my photos and making comments that my kids, husband and family dog are ugly, that I am going to give her hits, she’s wrong. So please, don’t comment about that anymore. I no longer care. Besides, I’m sure her n00dz are a million times better than photos of my ugly face, kids, husband, dog, and life. Just ask her!
Maybe I’m an evil, apathetic, cynical bitch, but when someone takes the wrong medication twice over a period of two days and has a bad reaction the second time, I’m less likely to really think it’s a “medical emergency”. Yep, Dennis took the wrong medicine again, this time in the morning, and now he wants to go out to the ER.
I told him to have one of his band-mates take him; I had to finish the laundry and get things ready for tomorrow morning.
Oh what a hateful thing to say! This was an emergency! I’m such a bitch! How could I say something like that?! I bet Darren wouldn’t say things like that…
Fine. Go be with Darren. I’m sick of saying “how high?” when I’m ordered to jump. I put my entire day on hold Friday, and I’m way behind now, so I’ll be damned if I’m going to keep putting my life on hold because Dennis wants attention now. I thought about telling him if he wanted attention so badly, he could wash the laundry or make the bed. I wouldn’t protest that too badly. Ha ha! Or maybe he could clean the bathroom up? That would certainly catch my attention. Being an ex-chronic drug over-doser, I know why and how people do it. The number one reason is attention, especially when they’ve experimented enough with the drug so they know how much to take to make them sick, because they’re such awful actors without the drugs, without killing them.
Besides, Litican isn’t that toxic in less than a gram, even if we had toxic levels of it here, it’s not as if people are dropping like flies over it.
I got a little bit more information on what happened last night verses why Dennis refused to go to the hospital.
It turns out that he took the wrong medication and was having a severe side-effect from it. It was bad enough that he couldn’t function properly, but not bad enough for him to go in the hospital over. Good lord. I had a nice, big, fat needle of epinephrine waiting for when he stopped breathing. Needles seem to cure all of his ailments. But the whole thing still made me pretty mad.
After the fighting today, I set my mind to getting other things done, and guess what? I finished everything on my list! I even had a couple of extra things I had to do that miraculously got done! Of course, it was liberating tearing the sheets off the bed and throwing them in the trash. I hated those sheets. They’re over a decade old, but they’re falling apart. Didn’t I spend $500 on new sheet sets back in March? What’s the point of buying new stuff if you’re not going to throw out the old?
Oh, and yes, all is beginning to be forgiven.
Jamie aka: The being known as Wonder Girl, 30, mother of four, wife to one, she is a senior biomedicine student who is learning to fit in in the world around her. After nearly three decades on this planet, she still doesn't know where she belongs. Best friend of Matt, sarcastic, spoiled, apathetic, kutie brat, babe. Just your average woman, living in a not-so-average world, surviving by her incredible super power of being able to see right through you while
accomplishing more tasks than you ever thought imaginable. She is the being known as Wonder Girl and she is speaking, I believe. More? Aren't you brave!
