Fake babies, or - Yes, I'm THAT crazy.

It started in a bathroom.

My first night at PAX, we all headed up to our room, and discovered that even though OJ requested a smoking room, ours was not one. UNACCEPTABLE. So we grabbed our bags and headed for the door, but OJ instructed us to grab the towels since our room would be over capacity that night. So Shane and I go into the bathroom to wrangle the towels, and I didn't turn on the light, but in wrestling with the towels and my luggage I accidently shut the door, and it was dark, and we crashed into each other. When we finally escaped the bathroom, I looked at him with wide eyes and said "I think I'm pregnant."

This struck me as incredibly funny. (Maybe it was all the alcohol.) I ran with it all weekend, explaining that I wanted an epic souvenir from PAX and I figured a lovechild was the best idea ever. There is even a viddeo of me washing dishes in the hotel room to prove my domesticity so Shane would marry me. I decided to name the baby Thane, and I hope he has Shane's mad gaming skills and my ballsiness (which is a story for another post.)

Fast forward to...oh, I don't know. Earlier this week, I think. Killane sent me pictures of his sons. Inspiration hits - he produces very cute sons. I want one of these. I ask him to get me pregnant. Maranda grants permission. Success!

After some discussion, we decide the insemination will occur at PAX 2012, since I promised my coworker R that I'd have a baby in 2013. I'll name this one Kaidan John. R says with my luck, this one will be a girl.

I hope not. I'm holding out for a little Chinese girl!

Love comes in a lot of forms.

I've always been terribly dependent on others. I need constant reassurance that I am loved and valued. I can't help it, it's my nature.

Lately I have been trying to convince myself that my memories are proof that my friends love me, even if they don't always have time to show it.

What better way to help myself do that than to make a list of some of my favorite memories?

* Wearing matching shirts half a continent apart because WE know we match.

* Being someone's hombre - then deciding that an hombre is probably a type of piñata, thereby making me someone's piñata.

* Forcing someone to be an accesory to theft from a federal building.

* Comparing a vacuum cleaner to Darth Vader (for reasons you can't even imagine).

* Cheesecake with so much extra whipped cream that it overpowers the cheesecake.

* Lying on a pile of beanbags, eating homemade cookies.

* A delivery of Coke in glass bottles during a two hour wait.

* Camping out in hotel hallways.

* Holding hands and skipping.

* Fine cigars while half-watching people play pool.

* Standing in the cold and rain, swapping mom jokes.

* Alien theories.

* Ending marital discord by eating the last pancake.

* Defending a flag that doesn't exist.

* Elevator wrestling matches.

* Big dramatic hellos and goodbyes.

* Ballet lessons on the street - and criticism.

* Trying to explain a churro.

* Hitting the Mickey D's drive-thru on foot at 2 AM.

The crap dance.

I recently read this on Simon Pegg's twitter:
"After Minnie's morning poop, she does this "burying it" dance with her back legs. I'm stood there with a bag, all like, 'I got this, dude.'"

And I realized that pretty much sums up my relationship with God.

All the kicking and dancing and struggling I do to deal with my shit is just me getting in God's way, and He's waiting there to take care of it.

And that's how I finished my third step on my 30 day birthday.

Which is good, because my sponsor wants me through four and five before I leave for Thanksgiving. Eep! But, by the grace of God, it shall be done.

Everything I ever let go had claw marks on it.

I have been SO emo lately.

I had a pretty good - pretty UP - week, then crashed.

It's so hard to let go of the things that hurt me. I decided to try and let someone go on Friday, and that decision is like a knife in my heart. I don't want to let go, don't want to HAVE to let go. I want our friendship to rise above the complications of our past. I want to be able to share our struggles, to lean on each other, to enjoy the progress we are each making as people.

I don't want to face the fact that my friend has become a stranger to me. That the damage I've done can't be repaired. That we were unable to last the long dark night and will never get to see the sunrise.

And the sun IS coming up. I can see the sky starting to lighten already. If only the person I was didn't blow my chance at showing my friend the person I'm becoming.

I should have taken the blue pill!

Monday night, I had a crazy dream. It was so real and so vivid that I was completely lost when I woke up.

I was in California. It was beautiful, must have been Spring. I was visiting my friends. I remember being on my phone, arguing with my mom that I didn't have time to come visit her, and then jumping out from around the corner to surprise her. Then we climbed some spiral staircase and had lunch.

This is where it starts to get intense. I was with my friend Aaron. He took me to this place where there was a hammock overlooking a valley full of yellow wildflowers.I remember the press of the hammock against my bare arm, the warmth of his arms around me, the smell of his cologne and the faint but present smell of his cigarettes. Everything was so THERE. He asked me to marry him. I said yes. We celebrated with our friends, we moved in together.

One day we're sitting at the table, I'm looking at wedding magazines. I can remember the taste of my coffee, the weight of the cup, the grain of the wood, the angle at which the sun was streaming through the windows. Suddenly, I could hear a woman's voice. He couldn't hear it. It kept getting louder. I stood up - and I was in the valley of wildflowers, and the sky is dark, and I can still hear the voice.

It's a woman's voice, cold and detached. It sounds as if she's speaking to someone else, talking about something I don't understand, something technical. I can't remember what she said at all. Only that it terrified me, and that I KNEW I was crazy.

Then I woke up. Lost. Shaking and drenched in sweat. I couldn't figure out why I was in my "old" room when I don't live there anymore. I could picture every detail of my bedroom in my dream, although I don't ever remember seeing it. It took about ten minutes for me to sort out reality.

The best laid plans...well, you know.

I've actually been avoiding this place because I was supposed to blog about PAX and I haven't. I still will. I have a ton of great memories from the trip that I both want to share and to get down in text. But there's something else to talk about first.

My name is Jacki and I'm an alcoholic.

People have been on me about my drinking to various degrees for some time now. I'm blessed to have a friend in the program in Detroit. One day he told me "Call me when you hit step one." I had to google that.

One night I was at the bar - drunk - and texting with my best friend. He said "We're gonna have a talk tomorrow, missy." I insisted that we go ahead and talk, and he told me I drink too much (among other things). And since everything seems so simple when I'm drunk, I said "Okay, I'll quit drinking!"

When I sobered up, I discovered something horrifying. I discovered I literally CANNOT picture my life without alcohol. I contacted my friend in Detroit. I said "My life has become unmanageable." He found meetings for me.

I've been sober for 13 days today. I've been to a meeting every night for a week. I feel so blessed that this program exists. Every night I get to have my hope, faith, and strength renewed, I get to learn, I get to spend an hour or so with people who genuinely care about my struggle because it is also theirs, and they are helping me the way others helped them, the way I will someday help others.

I don't really know who I am without alcohol. But I'm excited to find out. And I know that whoever I am is better than who I had become.