I ask not for a lighter burden, but for stronger shoulders.

I feel so powerless lately!

I MISS MY CAR. My mom's car got repo'd Wednesday morning. Since I only work 15 minutes north of home but she works 45 minutes south of home, it's easier for me to catch a ride with someone than it is for her, so she takes my car. I no longer have the freedom to come and go as I please, my schedule is dictated by the people around me. And none of it is my fault! My mom never helped me get a car or let me drive hers - which is why I didn't learn to drive till I was 24. But now I am stuck paying the price for her bad decisions. It makes me SO ANGRY.

There are things in my future over which I have no control, and we're encountering stalls and setbacks at every turn. Every day that something else gets in the way of our plans, I just break down entirely. I want to have faith but it's so difficult!

I had another test Monday for my cervical dysplasia, and this is the worst part - waiting for the results. I'm trying to be positive - after all, the news last time was good - but the worst-case-scenario voice in my head won't shut up.

And while I was with my doctor, I talked to her about getting off the Prozac. It's definitely taken care of my depression - that cold, hollow feeling is gone, has been for a while - but since I've been on it I've been so much worse. Since I've been on it I've crossed the line between not wanting to live and flat out wanting to die. I think it's better for me and those closest to me if I quit taking it! So now I have to wait for it to work its way out of my system and hope that when it does, I'll go back to normal.

My weight is OUT OF CONTROL. This is the biggest I've ever been. But all the stress and the anger and the worry and the frustration are exhausting; I'm tired ALL THE TIME, I don't sleep well at night. So not only can I not find the strength to work out, but I'm drinking a ton more soda trying to stay awake at work!

But I'm not totally powerless. This weekend at some point I'm going to buy the stuff so I can have a salad for lunch every day and healthy snacks instead of junk. And I'm working on my Cognitive Behavioral Therapy - I have a few apps on my phone for it, plus I signed up for an account at Mood Gym.

The say that sometimes God calms the storm, and other times he lets the storm rage and calms the child instead. I can handle that. I'm looking forward to a little calm this weekend.

Thanksgiving 2011.

I slept til 3 PM and ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

But I am thankful for my friends, for the man I love, for my job, for the love of my Maker.

I am.

I should NOT be blogging when I want to get another 5,000 words done on my novel before I go to bed, but I left this on such a bad note last time I felt I owed an update.

One night, a little over a week ago, I was lying in bed, crying uncontrollably. I texted a friend who'd been gone for a week. I told him I hurt so bad. He asked what was hurting me, and the answer was...nothing. There was no cause, the pain just came, relentlessly, from inside myself.

Pain. That's all it is. I can handle pain. I get migraines, and I have to deal with them. I have a bad knee, and I have to deal with it. My fractured tailbone still hurts, and I have to deal with it. So why is it so hard for me to deal with this pain?

Depression is like a vampire. I can see myself that night, lying in bed while the monster drained the life out of me.

No more. I have a stake in one hand and a sledgehammer in the other. If my depression wants me, it can try and take me, but I won't go without a fight.

I know that part of my improvement is from the Prozac, and part is from the love and support of my friends. But part of it is rediscovering the strength of my will.

I've got this.

Treading water.

I hate what I've become.

I'm back on Prozac because honestly, I don't want to live anymore. The endless cycle continues; my highs are awesome, but my lows seem to be getting lower and lasting longer. I cry all the time. I'm stressed, anxious, worried about everything. My stomach hurts all the time. I have nightmares almost every night. I don't enjoy...anything. I don't even listen to music anymore. My self-esteem is nonexistent. I feel totally and completely alone, even though I'm not. I want to talk about it, but to what end? It doesn't make me feel any better. I want someone to help me, but...how? There's nothing that will help. I don't even know how to exist anymore. Pretending I'm okay makes me feel more alone, but being honest about how I feel makes me feel like a burden. I'm starting to go numb. I feel like my inner self is curled up in a corner with her head down and her hands over her ears and all the negativity inside me is just a dull, muffled roar.

Tomorrow is the start of National Novel Writing Month. I'm hoping I won't have time to feel anything.

In Loving Memory

In the days leading up to PAX when I was starting to fret about shit like how I'd get back to the airport, DP was the one who kept saying "Just get here. Everything will work out." It was awesome to get to put a real person to my drunk-text buddy and the guy who (didn't remember that he) popped my WP Halo cherry. He's a really awesome guy to be around and I'd even go to Florida to chill with him.

That's what I wrote in my PAX Peeps Recap after my trip to Seattle in September of '10.

Chris Brown, aka D34THP1MP72 or just DP, was a staple of my gaming group, The WorkPLace. He was loud, crude, trash-talking, lightning-quick with a hilarious insult or comeback. He was also kind, supportive, and genuine. He was a blast to game with and always the first to assure me that it didn't matter how bad I was, we were playing to have fun, and have fun we did. He was a good friend who got me through some of my toughest times, either just by being there for me or in his own style of "Shut up, you're being stupid, everything's gonna be okay." He was a man who loved his friends and wasn't afraid to say it.

I'm so glad I went to PAX last year. Glad I got the chance to track him down at the airport and lead him to the wine bar to wait for the rest of the limo crew. Glad I got to laze around his hotel room with him and Pat Friday morning and, from the patio, bust a couple getting busy in the pool (at ten AM, seriously guys?). Glad I got to stand around outside the Taphouse with him Saturday night, entirely shitfaced, smoking and bullshitting with our friends. Glad that Sunday night he said that he hadn't been down to the Pike Street Market, so a handful of us went for a walk, clear out till we could see the sound. Glad I got a few minutes alone with him on the patio, smoking and talking about what an amazing weekend it had been and how much it meant to both of us to get to spend it with our friends.

I can't believe he's gone. I miss his voice, his sense of humor, his bitching and swearing. I miss him saying "No" for no reason, or strolling into a random thread and posting "I'm gonna have to lock this." I miss being on XBOX Live and getting invites from him for games that he knew damn well I didn't have. I miss my friend.

RIP Christoper Wayne Brown 5/23/72-10/14/11. Spartans never die, they just go MIA.

I know I'm not easy but I thought I was worth it.

I'm difficult.

I hate hearing about your exes in any context.

I'l get upset if you mention that you find another girl - ANY other girl - attractive.

I need frequent reassurance.

It doesn't take much to hurt my feelings.

I get insanely jealous and possessive.

I require a lot of time and attention.


I don't like that these things are who I am. But they are. And loving me means loving those things too.

I never liked math anyhow.

I'm not getting on the scale anymore.

I used to weigh myself every single day - well, every day that I worked - and that stupid number had the power to make or break my day.

I haven't run in about three weeks, first because I didn't have time in the days leading up to my trip, then because I was gone, and now because I've been sick since I came home. I miss it, though, and I'm hoping to get started again next week. And I'm going to restart the 100 Pushups Challenge - and stick with it - as well as the 150 Dips. And I'd like to find time to do Pilates again, maybe once or twice a week.

And I want to start eating more fruits and veggies, because they make me feel good. And the more good stuff I have in my tummy, the less room I'll have for chips and fries and bacon cheeseburgers and pepperoni pizza and chicken nuggets. But I'll still eat those things too, because I like them.

I know that doing these things will affect that number on the scale. But that's not why I want to do them. Nor is it about how my body looks or what size clothes I wear - another arbitrary and useless number! I'll be doing it for the way it makes me feel. Doing it so I become capable of things I'm not capable of right now. So I feel good and well and fit and healthy.

But I'm not a slave to numbers anymore.

City Museum

By far my favorite part of my vacation earlier this month was the half day we spent in St Louis, mostly because of the City Museum.

My friend Krista told me about it, or I might never have known to go there. It's like no other museum I've ever heard of. We arrived around 8 Saturday night and paid our $10 for the Museum At Night and another $5 for the Roof Atop The City. It was crowded, an odd mix of families, tourists, and drunk 20-somethings.

Our first stop was the Tree Houses - huge, sprawling networks of wood and metal, pieced together for your climbing, crawling, sliding, exploring enjoyment. I got dirty. I got sweaty. I tore my shirt. At one point I got stuck because I was too short to get from A to B, so Eric had to pull my hands while some random pushed my feet till I could get myself out.

Next we hit the Skateless Skate Park, but it was packed full of kids. We did find a circular maze, narrow passages with lower and lower ceilings that eventually had me flat on my belly, GI Joe-crawling along until I reached an opening I couldn't fit through and had to go back. We stopped by the Shoelace Factory and dipped into the free sample bucket before moving on to the Wurlitzer Pipe Organ display, Art City, and finally to the giant slide that led back down to the ground floor.

Next stop: MonstroCity, an epic sculpture/jungle gym/obstacle course of scrap metal spanning the front of the museum. Now, I'd already been pushing my body to its limits in the Tree Houses. I'm in the worst shape of my life - I'm almost 20 pounds overweight and all the problems I have with my knee make things like crawling and climbing very difficult. But now I had to push my mind to its limits; I'm terrified of heights, and suddenly I can see the ground two, three stories below me through the gaps in the metal under my feet (or hands and knees sometimes). The scariest part for me was the plane - walking out on the wing of a suspended plane to get to the metal slinky leading off the tip of the wing. I didn't think I could do it, but Eric pretty much told me I had to - so I did! After that it was hard to be afraid of anything.

Soon we decided it was time to hit the roof. There are two elevators, and we found ourselves waiting with a crowd of drunk people. When we got on one elevator, they tried to tell us it was the wrong one. We ignored them because...well, because they were drunk. Then one of them got on with us - and this guy was extra-drunk - and someone else followed to insist that really, our elevator would not go all the way to the roof. We switched to the right elevator. Their inebriated amigo did not, even though they were all yelling for him. The doors were about to shut by the time he caught on. "What the fuck, you guys?!" His friends yelled at him about his language, and he demanded to know if there were children present (there weren't). "You don't know these people," one girl said, "you're gonna offend someone." "Seriously!" I said, "I'm fucking offended!"

There is a park on the roof with a pond and everything, it's lovely. I was in a hurry to get into the schoolbus that juts off one corner of the rooftop. It was full of drunk, amiable Australians. I just wanted to sit in the driver's seat, which is sticking out over an eleven-story drop, and open the door (the door is blocked by a metal grate for safety) so I did. One of the Aussie's yelled "door's open, I'm off!" I got up to leave and another said "I bet if we all jumped, we could tip this off the roof." "Oh you wait till I get off before you do!" I cried, and got "That's what she said!" in return, much to my delight.

This is the best picture I could find of my favorite part - the dome on the roof. See the gratework to the right of the photo? It extends down the dome to a little ladder from the floor. I stood at the ladder and traced the path upward and out. "Do you think you can do it?" Eric asked. I said no - and started up. And I did it. Two thirds of the way up, as it was shifting from an upward climb to a belly-crawl, I saw a couple standing below, pointing up at us like "Holy shit, look at them!" I don't know that I've ever been so proud and exhilarated.

Then a hilariously awkward thing happened when we tackled this slide. We'd already done it once, and I knew I couldn't make it all the way to the top without using the rope, so I was waiting for a clear path to make my run. Eric was already at the top, since he has freakishly long legs and didn't need the rope. I was JUST ABOUT to go when a little girl cut in front of me, entirely on accident I'm sure. Once she was up I made my ascent, with some random fratboy type standing at the top of the rope yelling "YEAH! YOU GOT THIS! COME ON! YOU GOT THIS!" like a cheerleader on steroids, or Matt Foley. I got to the top and pointed out to Eric the little girl who'd cut me off, who was just about to go down the slide. "Now's your chance for payback," he joked. "Hell yeah! You wanna be first? BE first!" and I mimed kicking her off the top of the slide. But as the words were coming out of my mouth, the fratboy cheerleader was slipping in front of me to go down the slide, and mistook my little tirade as being directed at him. "Oh I'm so sorry, here, go ahead!" I just stood there. How do you tell a complete stranger that no, you weren't talking to him, you were making a joke about kicking a little girl?

Eric had no desire to ride the rooftop ferris wheel, but I didn't want to miss it so he grudgingly went with me. It was scary and a little nauseating, but so incredible to see St Louis all lit up below us in the dark.

Finally we rode the 100-foot slide (it was so fast that near the end I used my feet to slow myself) and - exhausted, dirty, sweaty, bruised, and exhilarated, headed back to Springfield.

I can't wait to go back.

HOLY COW LIFE'S TOTALLY GOING SO FAST!!!

It's been so long since I've posted here that I don't even know where to begin. Every time I think of all the things I have in my head and my heart, the prospect of trying to fit it all into words overwhelms me!

I don't want to do an enormous, sprawling, rambling, multi-topic post (although I'm sure I have in the past) so stay tuned for at least two entries this weekend.

Yeah I know, what a cop-out.

You count the days as they barely move.

Whoa. Last time I paid this thing a visit, I was only 27.

27 was probably the most difficult year of my life, if not the worst. But all the struggling I did made it the most important year, too. I think I learned more, grew more, and changed more while I was 27 than I did collectively over all the years prior.

27 brought out the worst in me, brought me down to my basest level. I finally saw the girl I really was...and I didn't like her. I didn't hate her, either; I felt sorry for her. She was a victim, someone who let all the pain and ugliness around her ruin all that was good within her. She was pathetic.

But I'm a year older now, and thanks to the many ways I was blessed when I needed it most, I'm not that girl anymore. I've never been stronger or more self-assured. I now know that no matter what happens to me, I can and will survive.

That girl is still in here. Sometimes I catch glimpses of her under the surface. And honestly? I'm kind of glad. It feels good to know that I'm not her anymore because I choose not to be.

Stop the wagon, I'm getting off.

I've decided to drink.

I don't think it's a relapse. It's not a matter of "OMG life sucks I can't take it I need a drink!" I don't NEED a drink. Hell, I don't even want one right now.

What I want is certainty.

I wasn't what they call a "low-bottom drunk" when I quit. I didn't lose a job, or a spouse, or get sent to rehab.

I quit drinking because I could not picture my life without alcohol. This is no longer so. I haven't had a drink in ten months. I can do it.

But do I have to? I grow weary of being the only sober person at the party. Of the sheepish looks and awkward silences that follow harmless slips of the tongue from normal drinkers. If that's the way it has to be, then so be it. But what if that ISN'T the way it has to be?

I had a very bad year last year. No support system, no healthy coping mechanisms, no belief in myself or my future. I knew I was out of control, I just didn't care.

I'm not that girl anymore. I know who I am, and more importantly, who I want to be. I want to continue to grow as a person, to keep strengthening my relationship with God, to work toward my as-yet-undiscovered Personal Legend.

And I can no longer say with any degree of certainty that I must abstain from alcohol to do that. I can no longer say "I'm an alcoholic" and know it's true.

The Big Book says, if you're not sure you're an alcoholic, try some controlled drinking. So, that's what I intend to do. I'm not running back to the bottle or anything. But, the next time I'm in a social drinking situation, if I feel like it, I'll have a drink. My sponsor is on board. He says that the fact that I decided yesterday morning to try again, yet I haven't had a drink yet, is a good sign. He will be there for me whether I succeed or fail, and he will love me no matter what.

Maybe I'll discover that I CAN be a social drinker; that I'm not an alcoholic, I was just lost. Or, maybe I'll discover that I still can't have just one, that when I take that first drink I still lose all control. If so, then I'll go back to AA. But at least I'll know for sure.

We all shine like stars.

I need to start writing again. Not just here, but working on my dozen or so unfinished works of fiction. God gave us gifts with the expectation that we would share them with the world.

We owe it to our Maker to be our very best, to shine. I've been failing miserably at that lately.

Relationships are hard. They come packaged with a laundry list of worries we don't have when we're single, especially when we're single and NOT looking. A month ago, I was happy and comfortable with who I was, no need to compare myself to others, no sense of competition - I was good at being me. And now here I am, feeling like I'm in a constant battle to prove my worth over every other woman around, comparing myself to them - and losing - feeling like every word, every move, every look is a competition to hang onto what's already mine.

Now I look in the mirror and realize that there's very little left of the woman he fell in love with. I have lost her to my insecurities.

I for one will not stand for this. I often say that I'm not so afraid of losing something as to not try to have it; nor will I be so afraid of losing something that my fear will cost me that thing.

I don't have to be the prettiest. Or the smartest, or the funniest. Because I'm the best at being me. And being me is what he loves about me.

She's having my baby.

Stand down, I'm not really having a baby. But, I've been sober for nine months as of last Sunday. It feels at once like a long time and no time at all. I'm proud, I'm grateful, I'm acutely aware of how far I've yet to go.

I feel good about a lot of things, though. I'm a good person with a good heart. I'm genuine, compassionate, and tender. I'm learning to recognize and rectify the things I do that don't serve me well. I'm working on not taking responsibility for the people around me, on focusing my energy on things within my control.

Someone very dear to me relapsed last night. Not just relapsed, but "gave up on recovery" altogether. It breaks my heart. But I can't do anything about it. He's just not ready yet. All I can do is pray that someday he will be.

Whenever someone falls off the wagon, we say "They just haven't hit that bottom yet." It terrifies me. Have *I* hit that bottom? I was pretty lucky compared to a lot of people.

I know next time, I might not be so lucky. I know I don't want to find out. I know I don't want to go back out there, don't want to lose the things I've gained in recovery, don't want to go back to being that girl again. And I don't have to, so long as I keep working, keep praying, keep going to meetings. It's my choice.

Half Measures: Availing Me Nothing since 9/2010

One of the first things I learned in AA was "The only thing you have to change is everything." So I quit drinking, dropped some old friends, made some new ones, started focusing more on my relationship with God, started working the steps, started emphasizing acceptance...

But what did I really change?

Monday night I got into a heated debate with a fellow addict. I declared and explained my beliefs. Then I started questioning them. I knew WHAT I believed, but why did I believe it? Because it's right? Because it's convenient? Because I've been twisted by bad experiences?

I went to my sponsor and explained what I was feeling, and he ordered me to conduct a thirty-day experiment. I balked. "But that goes against who I am!"

That's when it hit me. How am I supposed to grow and change if I'm holding on to who I've always been? Who I am is a drunk. That's why I joined AA. But I've been trying to work the program while still being the same girl I've always been. And that won't work.

"Some of us have tried to hold on to our old ideas and the result was nil until we let go absolutely." I've heard that HUNDREDS of times and somehow I just never got it.

No more half measures. I'm going to stop justifying my behavior with "This is who I am!" I'm going to start trying new approaches to life and forming new beliefs.

For the record, I pretty much have no clue what I'm doing. But no idea is better than the wrong idea, right?

The brighter the light, the deeper the shadows.

We are so rude to God.

When someone gives you a gift, you express gratitude - whether or not that gift is the one you wanted.

But when God gives us a gift, we don't hesitate to bitch and complain that it's not what we wanted. And we often reject the gift entirely.

I received some incredible gifts this weekend. I made new friends in another recovery fellowship, who invited me to attend their meetings. I learned a new way to look at things, and I learned something about myself I hadn't previously realized.

These things occurred because I met someone special. Someone with whom I shared a connection before we ever met. But due to bad timing, we had to go our separate ways after 24 life-changing hours together.

Life is strange, and beautiful, and sometimes cruel. But as painful as it is to say goodbye, we have to see how lucky we are to make the connections we do. There are people become a part of our lives - a part of us - for a reason. They may only stay an hour, but the impact they have upon us lasts forever, if we let it.

Life is just a chain of experiences, and the ones that hurt the most are often the ones that we can learn the most from. We have to take what joy we can find and leave the pain behind.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

The best love song I've ever heard was from my sister to me.

"Can't Stand It" by Nevershoutnever. "Let's sell all our shit and run away to sail the ocean blue. Then you'll know that my heart is true, yeah."

And then it was "Unaware" by My Favorite Highway. "Don't let it pull you down, don't let it burn you out, you're so much stronger than you know...if you feel the sudden urge to escape, a fast car and your favorite mix tape, runaway..."

I <3 my baby girl. She knows who I am and who I want to be, even when I don't know.

Mother's Day.

It IS a happy Mother's Day for me. In a few hours, my own mother will be home, and we will have steak and salad for dinner and I'll give her a pedicure while she watches whatever she wants on her new cable TV. I am lucky - to have a mother, to have a mother who loves me, to have a mother who loves me close enough by that I can show her my appreciation with more than just a card or a call.

But not everyone will have a happy Mother's Day, and the lack of sensitivity to this frustrates me.

Valentine's Day gets all the attention. Renamed "Singles Awareness Day," billions of lonely people get to bitch about V-Day and draw faint vapours of guilt from happy couples around them.

What about today? What about the unspoken millions who never knew their mothers, or whose mothers were, for any number of reasons, undeserving of honour and celebration? Or the women who have yet to become mothers, despite an intense longing to do so? Or the women whose children were conceived but never born, putting them in a limbo state between motherhood and not?

As a tragic overthinker, I can find happiness and heartbreak in every situation.

I'm not trying to make anyone feel guilty. I, myself, am choosing to focus on the celebration of today, and not on the lingering shadows in my heart. But, as we lift the mothers of the world up to God in prayer today, let us also ask for peace and comfort to touch the hearts of those who can't fully celebrate today.

Little Love Story #6: "Power Is Sexy"

Once upon a time, there were two sisters, eight years apart. For a long time, they didn't get along, but once they moved past that, they were nearly inseperable. One week, they saw Revenge of the Sith at the theater four times, because the older girl was infatuated with Hayden Christensen. The younger girl agreed that as a powerful villain, he was sexy. This same week, the family acquired a fancy new vacuum, which delighted the younger girl. One day she rolled the vacuum into her sister's room. "Jax, do you love the vacuum?" "It's a pretty sweet vacuum, but I don't know if love -" "But it has power! See?" She pointed to the POWER sticker. "Look, just because I think power is sexy, doesn't mean -" "IT HAS A HEADLAMP!" the younger sister shouted. "Does ANAKIN SKYWALKER have a HEADLAMP???" The two sisters collapsed together in a hysterical heap.

Happy May Day!

I know some people are conflicted, but personally, I think it's a glorious day.

I lived in Flagstaff in 2001. I remember a semi trailer that sat in a field alongside I-17, just north of Phoenix. There were streamers waving from poles on each corner, and stencilled across the white side was "THE YANKS ARE COMIN, BIN LADEN - KISS YOUR BUTT GOODBYE!"

It has taken nearly ten years, but we have delivered, in an operation nearly elegant in its precision. Osama Bin Laden is dead. The message is clear: no matter where you go, no matter how long it takes, WE WILL FIND YOU. Justice is inescapable.

A cloud that has hung over this country for almost ten years has dissipated. Now, I'm sure no one thinks the terrorist threat is over. But I'm confident that our military is steeled for the retalitory blows we anticipate. I believe that we are in no greater danger than we have been.

I don't speak for those most deeply affected by the September 11th attacks. But we as a nation were attacked, and I believe each of us was wounded. For me, the death of Bin Laden feels like the debridement of that wound, that now it may heal properly. We have closure.

This is not just a victory for Americans, but for Muslims. Not only because the vast majority of Al Qaeda's victims post-9/11 have been Muslim, but because Bin Laden has soiled the Islamic faith with his atrocities.

I feel no guilt at celebrating the death of a man-turned-monster. Justice has been served. A reign of terror has ended. Though I don't expect we'll see immediate effects, I have no doubt that this is a turning point in our war on terrorism.

I'm also pleased that his remains were disposed of respectfully. There was a point when he was without sin, just another child of God. Though the lesser parts of us may have wished for capture, torture, for a body dragged through the streets, I'm glad that we rose above that. That we showed the nation of Islam our respect.

I respect those who disagree with me. It's okay if you don't want to celebrate this death. It's okay if you don't feel safer in a world without Bin Laden. It's even okay if you're disappointed that his death was quick and clean, or that his remains weren't desecrated. But please respect my right to my opinions.

Let's not use this as a reason to fight. Let us be one nation, under God.

Little Love Story #5: "Being a Good Hostess"

Once upon a time, two girls went to Washington DC around midnight. One was getting married the next day; the other had flown cross-country to sing at the wedding. They were bringing a friend to the metro station, but the bride-to-be decided that on her first trip to DC, her friend should at least see the Capitol Building. "If we get off by the Smithsonian and walk a block or two, you'll be able to see the dome." They got off at their stop and headed down the street. After a few blocks, the bride-to-be had a revelation: she had done this in winter, when the trees were bare. This was August; the trees were obscuring the view. They walked three miles, but they finally saw the Capitol Building! Exhausted, they went home, arriving with barely 4 hours to sleep before the wedding. The girl declared the bride-to-be The Best Friend EVER.

Little Love Story #4: "I Want Candy"

Once upon a time, a girl and two Canadians were playing a video game together. The girl and one of the Canadians...well, they were having an off night. But the other was kicking ass. In the midst of a particularly successful match, he declared "I am tearing it UP tonight! Must be because I got my hombres with me!" The girl said "Ooh, I've never been anybody's hombre before!" to which he replied "What IS an hombre, anyhow?" The other Canadian explained "I think it's a type of piñata." "Yeah," the first cheered, "I got my piñatas with me!" The girl found so much delight in this. One particularly difficult day, one of the Canadians texted her just in time to offer some much-needed advice and support. She praised his ability to know just when she needed rescue. "I'm no superman," he insisted, "just a magical piñata."

Lucky Number Seven.

I don't believe in luck, or coincidence, or accidents - aside from the kind like I had yesterday when I hit myself in the head with my car door. So the fact that today marks seven months sober isn't particularly auspicious, aside from the sense of accomplishment that comes with knowing I made it another month.

And it hasn't been a good one, in terms of my sobriety. It's not just the depression, or the near-relapse. It's just the voice in my head, louder and more constant than ever. The voice that insists that I'm NOT an alcoholic, I just had a bad year last year. The voice that assures me that I can drink again, that it won't hurt anything, and wouldn't it be nice to have a break for a little while, to not have to think or feel so much? My addiction and my depression are forming an alliance and the battle is exhausting. But I'm protected by the love and support of my friends and my faith in God, so I know I'll survive.

Little Love Story #3: "Fifty Cents"

Once upon a time, there was a girl who avoided any kind of romance fiction, because she was certain it was all just make-believe and never happened in the real world. She loved video games, though, and one of her favorite games had the sweetest love story she'd ever heard. Even though she claimed to hate romance, she couldn't resist the beauty of the story, and she thought of it often. Several months after she heard the story for the first time, a very special man gave her a very special gift, and the words he said to her were so much like those from her favorite love story that it made the girl feel like the fair heroine of her own great adventure. She learned that day that romance isn't about the happy ending, but about the epic moments that make one's heart soar. It's a lesson she'll never forget.

There's no place like home.

So we made it to Kansas, and it only took like TWICE AS LONG AS EXPECTED.

Friday was awesome. I got to visit some dear friends of the family and hang out with my baby sister and future brother in law. I love those kids more than anything. I think the highlight was dancing to Journey in the car.

So the three of us hung out until 2 AM, then they went home and I went to bed. Till 4 AM. *I* was packed and ready to roll by 5:30, but mama took her sweet time, so we didn't leave till 7.

She drove the 2 hours to Flagstaff...except a few miles south of Flagstaff, they closed the road. 6 car pileup. Said we'd be delayed for several hours. So we turned around and went back.

So, 4 hours on the road and we're...right back where we started, resigning ourselves to take the I-10 clear down to Tucson and through WAY more Texas than we want and then Oklahoma City and up into Kansas. So, I bust out the atlas and determine that we can take the 60 from Phoenix to Socorro, New Mexico and then up to Albuquerque to catch the 40. Mama puts her faith in my navigational abilities and we go for it.

At this point, I need a nap, so I doze off for about half an hour. I wake up as mama's getting off the freeway. She's nodding off; she figures we can nap for an hour. I volunteer to take over, I feel fine.

And here comes an important lesson:

It's not about where the road goes. It's about how it gets there.

Sure, the 60 took us to Albuquerque...but it did so through winding, snowy mountain roads. I keep saying "We've got to be almost out of the mountains!" and next thing I know, we're crossing the Continental Divide. And while I've NEVER driven in the mountains before, I have more experience driving in snow, so I do all the driving. Ten hours worth. On 2 hours of sleep. Bitching, raging, and shaking my fist about how there shouldn't be snow in APRIL. And there's NO cars on the road, probably because all the other drivers were smart enough not to go that way. And I can't use cruise control because the roads are slick.

Naturally, when it's pitch black and 25 degrees and snowing and windy and we're a billion miles from civilization...Princess Tiny Bladder here gets the call of nature. Let's just say I did my business and it was quite unpleasant and we'll never speak of it again.

We finally got out of the snow, out of the mountains, and out of Arizona. When we hit Socorro, mama wanted to stop for the night. I made with the atlasing again and determined that we were a mere hour's drive from Albuquerque and the 40. But my tailbone is in agony, I can't keep sitting. I beg mama to please please please drive the hour to Albuquerque so we can stay there for the night. I promise to stay awake with her, and I do, and we bed down in Albuquereque for the night, and it's sublime because I got to sleep and stretch out and things like that which I used to take for granted.

Sunday morning, fueled by a fruit and maple oatmeal from Mickey D's, we set out, with mama behind the wheel. We inadvertently made the proverbial wrong turn at Albuquerque, Bugs Bunny style. So we set out again, and got it right this time. It was all clear blue skies, wide open spaces, and smooth sailing...till it was time to pick up the 54 in Tucumcari.

There's ONE sign telling you which exit to take for the 54. And once you take that exit...nothing. You hit a 4-way stop and they don't tell you which way to go. So it took us three tries to go the right way. Dear New Mexico: fix your shit.

I fell asleep toward the end of Texas and snoozed all the way through the Oklahoma panhandle. Mama stopped in Liberal to let me take over since we were in my home state, even though I've never been through western Kansas. No sooner do I pull out of the gas station but I stop and shout "I think those cows are crossing the road!"

They were dogs. Not even really big dogs. I just...yeah, I got nothing. Herp da derp.

Anyhow, the remainder of the drive was without incident, and we rolled into Newton around midnight. We should be moving into our rental house tomorrow!

Little Love Story #2: "The Great Outdoors"

Once upon a time, a little boy of almost three was out with his mom when they saw - and smelled - the remains of a roadkill skunk. "He can't walk anymore?" the boy asked, too young to understand death. His mother explained to him that no, the skunk had been hit by a car and it was game over, and that's why the boy had to stay off the road, so he didn't get hit by a car. The boy looked from his mom, to the skunk, then back to his mom. "If he didn't stink," the boy inquired, "could I fix him with my love?"
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

What a girl wants.

In my time off from dating, I've been thinking about how prone I am to settling for less than I want. Any port in a storm, eh? Someday I will date again, and if I jump into that melee without a clear concept of what I'm looking for, I will surely find naught but failure and disappointment.

That being said, I'm making a hard and fast list of things I positively require in a future partner. No more settling for this girl. If I can't find someone who meets my needs, I'm better off alone.

* Sense of humor. This is a must. Anything you can't laugh at can kill you. I don't take life too seriously, nor could I be happy with anyone who does.

* Intelligence. I like to have worthwhile conversations, not on rare occasions, but frequently.

* Open-mindedness. Those worthwhile conversations are occasionally about the zombie apocalypse, religion, aliens, predestination, omens, and other things that overly-practical people don't get.

* Spirituality. My faith is very important to me and I need someone I can share that with. I don't necessarily need to pray before every meal or anything, but I want someone I can pray with when times are tough.

* Commitment to personal growth. I strive to be constantly learning and growing, and if my partner isn't growing with me, I will outgrow the relationship.

* Geekiness. It's not just about being a gamer, either. It's about being able to use "teh" and "lol" and "fail" and "win" in everyday conversation. It's about debating the ins and outs of surviving the zombie apocalypse. Nerd stuff like that.

* Energy. I'm a very animated person. I'm loud. I'm talkative. I'm hyperactive. I need someone who's on my level, who can compete with me, otherwise I'm too much and they're not enough. Goofing around is what keeps me sane, and I need someone who will not just tolerate me making an ass of myself in the name of fun, but who will be right there with me.

* Patience. I'm bright, but I'm also derpy and inept. I need someone who won't blow up at me when I lock my keys in my car for the third time in a month, or when I inadvertently start a small kitchen fire, or when I back over the garbage can.

* Compassion. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's people who never consider the wants and needs of others. It's not just about how they treat ME, it's about how they treat everyone they come in contact with. Kindness is the best tool we have to make the world a better place.

Little off-guard and unprepared.

I am so disappointed in myself.

No, I didn't relapse. But it was a near miss. I had a chance, and I wanted to take it. By the grace of God and the help of two very dear friends, I survived.

I just...I crashed this weekend. It didn't matter that life is pretty good. I just have so much going on, I felt so many things at once, that I completely overloaded. Total meltdown. Friday night I hated myself so much that I just wanted to get drunk and total my car. A phone call from a friend kept me from accepting the very appealing invitation I had just recieved to split a 30-pack of Budweiser with an old friend. But I wasn't fixed. It was just the eye of the storm.

Saturday I spent most of the evening lost in my own morbid pursuits until I decided I was no good to anybody and I may as well go to a meeting. I went, but for the first time since I sobered up, I didn't WANT to be there. I would rather have been dead, or at least drunk.

After the meeting, I texted my recovery battle bro. "It's over. I'm done. Today I sat in a meeting and realized I'd rather be drunk."

I need to never forget that phone call. When I answered the phone, he asked "Did you already start?" The sad, defeated tone in his voice...I'm so ashamed to have made anyone feel that way, much less someone I care about so much. But I was determined to give up. I had an answer for every question, a retort for every bit of wisdom he tried to impart. It came down to a simple plea. "Please don't hurt my friend anymore."

I spent 27 years fucking up. I don't know why I thought I could get better in a matter of months. Especially when I fucked up in new and exciting ways AFTER I sobered up. And as an added bonus, I fucked up a very important friendship over the weekend. I'm like the anti-Charlie Sheen. All I do is fail. And I've never done coke or partied with hookers. And I'm probably full of kitten blood.

But giving up isn't gonna fix anything. I must soldier on. No matter how undeserving I think I am, the fact is that people DO care about me, and I owe it to them to keep trying.

I'm trying a "vow of silence" type thing for a little while. Less talking, more listening. I'm trying to only talk when I have to, I'm not going to share at meetings for a while, I'm going to get in touch with my own stillness. But blogging and social media are exempt, because I'm just talking, not expecting anyone to listen or hear.

“Even a fool knows you can't touch the stars, but it doesn't stop a wise man from trying.”

For the record, I'm not a fan of April Fool's Day. It preys upon my sweet and trusting heart. But I did tell my sister I was pregnant last year. I still feel like an ass.

Life is good today. The sun is shining. There's colour to the sky for pretty much the first time this week. I "trained" the new girl this morning - except she's pretty much got it already. We got a catered lunch today. I'm a week away from seeing the kids, from bringing Mama home to start a new life here. I am sober, I am growing, I am lovely. My future feels bright and full of promise. My heart is so full it aches.

"The wise are wise only because they love. The fool are fools only because they think they can understand love." - Paulo Coelho

Little Love Story #1: "Skinny Jeans"

Once upon a time, a sad, slightly inebriated girl wandered around downtown Seattle. She felt as if she were lost in the crowd, not just because she'd gotten separated from her friends, but also because the subtle, insidious voice of depression whispered "No one knows you're gone. Just go back to the hotel, call it an early night. No one will miss you," until she started to believe it. Just as she decided to try and find her way back to her room, her phone rang. Someone did know that she was gone; someone did miss her. The voice guided her back toward where her friends were waiting. She was almost there when the boy to whom the voice belonged came around the corner. He swept her into a hug, held her close, and said "We're not gonna be sad. We're gonna have fun." And that is precisely what they did.

Still alive!

I've been neglecting this thing, half because I've been busy, and half because when I have time to write I'm so tired I know I won't write anything worthwhile. And today is no exception. Three days in a row I stayed up till 2 AM. Last night I conked out before midnight, only to be plagued by bad dreams. I guess I'm doomed to exhaustion.

I fly out to Phoenix next Friday to drive back with mama. I'm so excited!!! And stressed, because I have a week to find us a place to live. Doesn't help that my computer is out of commission, or that I've been crazy busy with other things to boot, or that I have no idea what I'm doing.

I've decided to expand this thing beyond just my random ramblings by setting some halfassed goals. My first goal: Little Love Stories. Each week, I'll try and post a very short story about love, partly because I think all too often love gets overlooked, overshadowed by the chaos of life, and also because I want to give examples of how love is in the little things. Some of them will be true, some of them will be (probably obviously) autobiographical, but not all of them will be either of those.

Alchemy, sorcery, and everyday magic.

Okay, so I can't quite turn lead into gold, control the weather, or transform into an animal. But then, I never tried to do any of those things.

I can, however, extract joy from darkness, spread sunshine on the dullest day, and find contentment in the simplest pleasures.

I can hear the wind sing of my loveliness. I can look at a coin and see a rose. I can find God in the strangest places.

I can't see the future, but I'm learning to stop looking. No good will ever come from wasting today worrying about a tomorrow that's 48 hours from being yesterday.

I can spend each moment at work on my heart, so that when I arrive at my unforseen destination, I will be ready for it.

And I can thank God that my destiny isn't limited to the scope of my finite mind.

"We all falter...but it doesn't matter."

You expect your parents to be mighty and infallible. They've been entrusted with all that you are and ever will be, and you NEED them not to fail.

But they fail anyhow, because they're only human. Inevitably, they do. Even the best parents with the best intentions, at one time or another, will err in their judgement and you will be wounded as a result. They'll be too harsh, or too lenient. Smothering, or inattentive. Too trusting, or too suspiscious. Whatever the circumstances, there comes a time in every child's life when they suffer because their parents made a wrong decision.

As a daughter, it was so hard to bear scars that could have been prevented had my mother only done something differently. It was a grudge I carried for years. I thought that the hardest part of growing up was forgiving your parents for all the ways they failed you.

No. The hardest part comes much later, when you have children of your own, and despite your best efforts, you fail them. The hardest part is forgiving yourself.

“The day the child realizes that all adults are imperfect, he becomes an adolescent; the day he forgives them, he becomes an adult; the day he forgives himself, he becomes wise” - Alden Nowlan

"To be half of a whole?"

I am so lost, so broken, so alone.

One of the ladies at the women's meeting told me I needed to go through the stages of grief. I thought she was talking about Cadence. And maybe she was.

But it's not my cat that I need to grieve for. Or my last disastrous relationship.

It's me.

I'm what I've lost. I'm what I need to grieve for. I have to learn how to live when so much of me is dead.

I killed myself. A little bit at a time. I parceled myself out until...until how much is left? Not enough.

There's so much I can't get back. What do I do? Is there some way to grow anew? Or is this all that I'll ever be? This empty shell?

Marine, did I give you permission to bitch?

I try to keep a positive attitude. I try my ass off. (Okay, by the size of my ass it's obvious that isn't quite true, but work with me here.)

Stuff sucks right now. Not all stuff, but a lot of stuff.
* I'm dissatisfied with my living situation - I want more control over my own environment, more freedom to make my own choices.
* I have that slightly dizzy, foggy feeling caused by my meds. It could last for another six months. It's not dibilitating, but it's quite unpleasant.
* I miss my family, and every time our reunion plans get pushed back due to financial issues it's a little stab at my heart.
* I'm still in early recovery. I still struggle with spiritual issues, I still get cravings.
But still, I try to keep my head up.
And yes, sometimes I fail. Sometimes I lose my patience, get frustrated, bitch and complain.

I had a little revelation last night about how bad my attitude has been considering how good I've been treated. I was explaining that to a coworker - what an asshole I've been and how badly I felt as a result.

Then I got a text from a "friend" at work about what a bad friend and bad Christian I am for complaining about people. Except the text wasn't directed at me; it was directed at another "friend" - someone with whom I thought I was very close.

It's not just this betrayal that hurts, it's everything I've been fighting against for a week or so. The sleepless nights, the bad dreams, the stress...I've been in tears all day.

I'm human. I'm just as flawed and fragile as anyone else. I try to keep a smile on my face, but sometimes I'm a bitch. But just because I'm not moping around all the time doesn't mean that I'm not hurting.

It feels like a win to me.

I want a drink.

The craving hit around 6:30 this morning. I asked my body "When did you EVER get booze before 7 AM???" (Ridiculous sidenote: I've started talking to myself in a British accent. Just for the lulz.)

Honestly? It doesn't bother me. "This too shall pass." I know damn well I'm not gonna drink. It's not as if I ever believed that the cravings would go away entirely. The important thing is that it's not gonna beat me.

Sometimes I hurt, sometimes I cry, sometimes I lose my way at night, sometimes I stumble, sometimes I fall, but I'm never gonna throw away it all.

Being a great big dork is what I love most about myself.

Stuff is happening. Good stuff. Changes for the better. I dig it.

I laughed more between 8 last night and 9 this morning than most people do all week. I have the most incredible and hilarious friends. When I am overwhelmed by life's myriad frustrations, they either help me find the lighter side, or they distract me entirely. They save me from my sorrow before it can swallow me whole. And I become a better person as a result.

I am zombie-tired today. I can barely comprehend human speech. I can't wait to sleep...in 7 hours...when my day is over...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Swinging around so quickly it makes my head spin.

The good: I'm not dizzy anymore! Turns out, when I fell and hit my head last week, I knocked the crystals in my left ear out of place. I went home at noon and did the Epley maneuvers and POOF! Problem solved!

The bad: I want a hamster. Like I've said, I can't have my cat at home, so I only get to see him a couple hours a week. It would be so nice if I had a cuddly little buddy waiting for me when I get home.

Roommate says - ask the owner of the house.

Owner of the house says - no, hamsters smell.

Okay, hamsters don't smell. And even if they did, it's gonna be in a cage, in my room, affecting no one but me.

I'm almost 30 years old and this is how little control I have of my own life. I can't even get a freaking hamster.

It never goes smooth.

I'm getting off the meds, which is probably why I'm so dizzy I can hardly stand, why it feels like my brain keeps inflating like a balloon. I'll see the doctor again, but I have a hunch I just have to ride it out. I KNEW that it would get worse before it gets better. And I'm getting better at distinquishing between dreams and reality. I just wish I knew for sure what's wrong with me.

Otherwise...I'm happy. I comprehend the word "serenity" and I know peace. I'm sponsoring a girl in the program, which is challenging, but rewarding. I helped my roommate celebrate her birthday this weekend - and it was a better day for me than any birthday I've had in years! I'm making new friends...and family.

Saturday night I got to sit next to my friend's darling son while he drew pictures for me, then he turned to his mom and said "Can my aunt Jacki come over and see my hamster?"

I am truly blessed.

Waxing poetical: "unchosen"

This is more song than poem, but here it is.

You see me on the corner
I don't meet your eyes
The cold sun silhouettes me
Do you realize?
I'm broken without you
And I'll always think about you.

It's so cold in my world
Since you let me go
And I'm lost in the dark
Oh but you'll never know
How you've stolen the light
That you taught me to shine so bright

And if you could go back
Would you do it again?
Would you build me a world
Just to let it all end?
Tell me how do you sleep
With the promise you didn't keep?

The window's cracked, I'm looking out.

I passed my neuro tests. My bloodwork came back normal.

We don't know why I'm losing my mind.

I'm coping with my stress...right? I have my moments when I curl up in bed and cry, or when I want to. But I think I'm okay.

But then...why does my brain feel so disconnected from my body? Why can't I tell my dreams from my reality?

They want to double my meds. They think I'm not coping as well as I think I am.

I want OFF the meds. I think they might be screwing me up...although why now, after four months, I don't know. But what if they're right and I'm wrong? What if I quit the meds when I need them most? I really don't want this to get worse.

I don't know. I guess I'll try praying harder.

"No reason is needed for loving."

This is the best Valentine's Day I've ever had. Because I finally understand love. I finally get it.

First, I had to grasp the unconditional love of the Maker. I had to see how much He loves me.

And in doing that, I learned to truly love myself.

It was that leap that enabled me to see the Soul of the World. And it is beautiful. Because it is love.

Life is a beautiful puzzle. We're all just pieces. Puzzle pieces don't choose their place; they are destined for it.

The people in my life, the ones who love me and who are loved by me, are a part of my own puzzle, and as a result, are a part of the puzzle of every person beloved of me, even those they have never and will never know.

Isn't that beautiful?

I am in love today. In love with myself, in love with the Lord, in love with the puzzle of life.

Love is beautiful. Even the love that hurts. The opportunity and capability to feel someone's pain to the point that it becomes my own is a blessing.

I feel like I'm in Jedi training. I'm learning to love without possession. In AA, they tell us that the only way to keep something is to give it away. In the same way, sometimes the only way to love someone is to let them go. Not necessarily to remove them from your life or yourself from theirs, but to accept that they will never be yours.

My greatest love will always be mine. Always, and never. Learning to accept the balance of those has enabled me to love him, myself, and God more than I ever thought possible. Our great romance was a fleeting moment, a moment that will always be ours and ours alone, a moment that left an indelible mark upon us both. Accepting that moment for what it is has brought me joy beyond measure. We will always be a part of one another, so long as I hold my heart high and love him unselfishly, the way I am meant to.

No evil can come from love. Heartbreak is not the result of love, it's the result of selfishness. Love unselfishly, but love carefully.

"Above all else, safeguard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life." Proverbs 4:23

"Faith is allowing ourselves to be seized by the things we cannot see."

I have two very dear friends, both male, both going through similar struggles, both brokenhearted. I consider it a blessing to be able to be there for them, to try as best I can to give them strength, hope, and faith, to support them and just love them.

Both have expressed the same sentiment - "If I can't her, I don't want anyone, I don't want to live."

This breaks my heart, because both these men are so good, so kind, so loving, so deserving of every happiness. But I understand all too well how hard it is to have faith in God's plan when your own plans get ripped away.

At the same time, I want to yell and scream and pull my hair in frustration. No one has ever loved me half so much as these men love their respective women! How is it that I can still believe myself to be so worthy of love, yet they can't!

And then I laugh at myself, and chide myself for my selfishness. I know that God has plans for me beyond my comprehension. I know that I am meant for happiness.

But if I could give that faith away, I would. If there was any sacrifice I could make to bring joy to those I love in their times of struggle, no price would be too high.

The indescribable sadness of a car with bench seats.

I spent 16 straight hours in bed yesterday. Just sleeping or lying there, not watching movies, not reading, not knitting, not gaming. Just...trying not to exist. I think it's a new record for me. I went to Wichita with dad to get my new car, and when I got home I simply crawled into bed and stayed there.

I know some of it is nerves about my cervical biopsy tomorrow. And to an extent, it's always going to be like this. It'll never just go away. I could go years testing okay just to have it come back out of the blue. The only way to be completely free of this means sacrificing my ability to have children, and I'm not ready to do that.

And the rest of it is just depression. The sorrow, the loneliness, the pain, the anger.

It will get better. I know it will. I will be okay. I know I will.

Someday.

Slipping through my fingers.

I want a baby so much. My own tiny person, my own part of me, that I can love and raise and teach all the things it took me so long to learn myself. A little light that will keep shining after I burn out.

Time is running out. I've felt this way for a while, but before it was just the reproductive viability timeline - the drastically increased risk of birth defects that comes with pregnancy after age 35.

Now I'm 27 and have pre-cancerous cells on my cervix.

My life has now become a game of watching and waiting. My future is full of excruciatingly unpleasant tests, which will tell me when the time has come for treatments that will make it difficult (or impossible) to have a baby.

It's so hard to rely on my faith right now. I know that God has a plan for me that I can't hope to understand, but when my heart cries out for something like this it is hard to ignore.

If the dream isn't real, is the lie worth defending?

I think I'm in shock.

I haven't cried since the 17th, when I confessed at the Monday night meeting that I very nearly took my life.

When I fell and hit my head last week and I hurt so badly in so many places, I didn't cry.

When I found out mama lost her job, throwing a wrench in the machinations of being a family again, I didn't cry.

When I scheduled a painful invasive medical procedure that is likely only the first in a long battle, I didn't cry.

When I realized that I have to quit force-feeding myself and just wait until my stomach cramps and nausea - which I've had since Sunday night - go away, I didn't cry.

People ask me how I am and I smile and tell them I'm good. I go to meetings, I do my studies and meditations, I pray.

My sleep is tortured; every night, a new nightmare. I wake in pain from the tension in my body.

And yet, I smile. I say I'm fine.

I'm starting to worry about what it's gonne feel like when I stop being fine.

Come on, baby, make it hurt so good.

I got a new tattoo on Saturday.

It snowballed very quickly from "I think I'd like to get a cross inside my left wrist someday" to a 5:30 appointment at the shop.

Someone asked me if I like the pain. My instinct is to say no, I don't like the pain - and oh boy was there pain, much more than my first tattoo, but I didn't grit my teeth or cry or anything, just sat calmly and watched the needle dig into my skin - but I can't deny that I get a euphoric feeling from the experience that may be attributed as much to the process as the product.

When I go for a tattoo, I go in with only the vaguest idea of what I'm getting. I don't want to print a picture off the internet and pay someone to scratch it into my skin. I want an artist to take my idea and make it concrete, and then take the design that was done for me and make it a part of me. There's an unmistakable bond there - when someone's vision becomes a part of someone else's body.

I'm already looking forward to my next one.

It isn't so bad now that all the supports have been steady.

I got pulled over Wednesday. My tags were six weeks expired. $125 ticket. Plus the registration cost, even though I may hopefully be getting a new car TOMORROW.

I fell Thursday morning. Went down flat on my back, hit my head. I've got a swollen, bruised place on my back, a bruised arm, and reverse whiplast from my head getting thrown backward. My neck is in agony - even breathing hurts.

I was overwhelmed this morning. Finally I wailed to Michelle, "WHY does this week have to be SO AWFUL? Haven't I had enough? Can't I catch a break?"

She calls it 'someone down there hates us' syndrome. It makes perfect sense to me. I'm finally in the hands of the Father, so my recent miseries and misfortunes are a last-ditch effort to steal my miracle, to turn me back to the dark side. WELL IT'S NOT WORKING. After Michelle and I had a little chat about that, I felt strong and triumphant.

Last night at bedtime I went to read a Psalm, and I opened my Bible to Psalm 51. It was exactly what I needed.

All things work for the good of those that love the Lord.

Everybody's got something to hide except for me and my monkey.

I'm grounded.

* No dating.
* No staying out past 11 PM.
* No going out without telling Michelle where I'll be and with whom.
* Attend at least once a week a church of my choosing.

In addition to the groundation, I have an assignment. When Michelle was a little girl, her mother took a little notepad and wrote down all the prayers and Bible verses she felt a little girl needed to know as she grew up. So Michelle bought me a lovely new notebook, and handed me the notepad from her mother, and instructed me to copy those prayers and verses into my own notebook. (As an aside, the friend that I wrote about in my earliest entries, the dear woman who passed away on Father's Day, was Michelle's mother.) I can't articulate how deeply this has touched my heart.

In my early days of sobriety, I would wake with a feeling of serenity. Sometimes it would be gone within the hour, other times it would last the day. Now, I wake with my heart disquiet. I start the morning with an empty glass, and it is up to me to fill it with serenity as I move through my day. This is a better way; complacency did me no favors.

Today is four months sober for me. My first birthday that I don't get to celebrate in a meeting (after 3 months you have to wait for 6) and I'm relieved it's so. I couldn't celebrate there now. Not yet. Not while I'm so acutely feeling someone's absence.

So many people know the first verse of the Serenity Prayer, but the second verse is so important, so here's the whole enchilada.

"God, grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change,the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardship as the pathway to peace. Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it. Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His will. That I may be reasonably happy in this life, and supremely happy with Him forever in the next."

Amen.

“If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there.” - Lewis Carroll

I believe in miracles.

But I didn't understand them.

I thought that miracles were all beauty and joy, sweetness and light.

Silly girl.

Life tested me recently. Tested US. And we failed. We KNEW the right thing to do, but we hadn't the strength to do it.

God had to intervene. He had to do the right thing for us. And we have to suffer because of it. We must suffer because we didn't choose the easier, softer way. And it hurts God to make us suffer like this, but it was the only way. He had to do for us what we could not do for ourselves. Just as we were promised He would.

We will not regret the door. We will forgive one another, and we must forgive ourselves. God loves us even when we fail Him; he loves us even when we are weak. The Shepherd loves His lambs even when they hear His voice but don't come.

We can't drink. We must go to meetings. We must make things different, that they may get better.

I told you that you'd be my saving grace, and I was right. I just never imagined how rough the path to salvation would be. But I am grateful to you, my friend. Our road didn't take me where I thought it would, but it took me where I needed to go.

"Just because something doesn't do what you planned it to do doesn't mean it's useless." - Thomas Edison

What if I can't trust myself, what if I just need some help?

"But there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them. But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you're fighting for." - Paul Coelho

What am I fighting for?

I thought I was fighting for love and truth. That's what I've always told myself. But I'm lost in the woods. I think I still know my goals, but my methods and motivations have become cloudy even to my own eyes.

Maybe that's the nature of battle. Whatever we're fighting for when we take up arms...when the bullets start flying, our base instincts kick in and we're just fighting to survive, no matter the cost. We act out of fear.

I have aimed with my eye, shot with my hand, killed with my gun. I have forgotten the face of my Father.

It's so hard not to feed that wolf. So easy to forget that every time we feed it, it grows stronger. And someday it will feed on me. Faithless little lamb that I am.

This is the diem we're supposed to carpe.

Yesterday, I attended a funeral for a dear man. He was 70, but his death was sudden, unexpected, tragic.

This could well be the last entry I ever write. Or the last entry you ever read. You never know what the future brings, or when your journey will come to an end.

In AA, we are taught that the most important day in our sobriety is this one. Tomorrow is nothing more than a maybe.

I couldn't afford to go to Seattle in September. But I went, and I don't regret it for a second. Either I'll get out of debt, or I'll die broke. Either way, I still spent four days with some of the most important people in my world, strengthening bonds and forming lasting memories.

I'm doing the same thing next month with my trip to Tampa. I've gotten more than a little crap from my financial advisor about being "reckless" (and irresponsible - he doesn't say it but it's implied) and I assure him that I know, and I don't care.

A year from now, I could be dead and gone. I'm not missing a single opportunity to live.

Eyes on the horizon.

Life is strange, but it's beautiful.

I have this exhilarating feeling, like I'm rushing toward something incredible. Because I AM. In a few months, my family will be reunited. I'll be living in a new place, living a new life, as a new me. There are so many good things in the works, some I'm keeping quiet for now.

Turns out, letting go wasn't necessary. My friend is a part of my life again. I can't begin to describe my joy.

Next month, I'm going on an epic adventure! My first trip to America's wang, to see Kyle! I am excite! We will overdose on energy drinks and deprive ourselves of sleep and much awesomeness will ensue. Tampa may never recover.

I hate to say it, but...my future's so bright, I gotta wear shades.

(I lied. I'm an 80's baby all the way - I didn't hate saying it.)