josiesobergirl2016-blog

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Day 90, Saturated

Day 90. Three months sober. I really never thought this day would come. When I started this journal, it felt far away and in reality, it was. So much has happened. Christmas, New Year, 3 weeks in Vermont, 1 week in Portland, 2 weeks working for my son, 90 days without alcohol.

It started when I read Rosie Clemons’s book. She chronicled the first 30 days of her sobriety. I thought then that I would keep this up for a year. But I feel done. Not with writing, not with writing about my sobriety, but with this journal. I want to put it out there on Amazon, for free. If it helps anyone, I will be so grateful.

I’m culminating the first 3 months of my sober year by reading another sober woman’s memoir. It’s called, “Saturation”, by Jennifer Place.  I’ve almost finished it.  An incredible story that has a happy ending but at any one point in this book, you can figure she has to die. That’s how much she drank.  Jennifer, wherever you are, I’m rooting for you.

I actually read many other memoirs, “Mrs. D Is Going Without”, is another one. She began writing a blog about her struggle to stay sober and ended up with so many readers, she finally came out of the closet and published it with her real name. Lotta Dann from New Zealand. Thank you, Lotta.

I wondered who I was writing this to when I started. Looks like I’m writing it to you. I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know if I’ll make it through an entire sober year. I hope so. I’m doing my best.

As I write this, I am sure about one thing. I am going back to school this summer. Tomorrow I’m going to mail a form that reads, “I accept your offer of admission into the __________________ Certificate in New Play Directing.” That’s what sober women do. We follow our dreams.

Josie M., 02/28/2016

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Day 89, The Tower

Day 89.  My three months is up tomorrow. I have so unappreciated the sober time I had the last few times I stopped drinking. I really am proud of myself. Not only have I stayed sober, I have kept a good attitude, gone to a lot of meetings, and reached out to people. That part is and probably always will be hard. When I’m in pain, I want to isolate. I have heard that alcoholism is a disease of isolation- and denial, of course.

I flew back to Florida last night. Now I’m facing trying to establish some kind of truce with my husband. He swings between being cordial to being cold. I’m just trying to stay on an even keel.

Blair drew Tarot cards before I left. “When will my mother be back?” she asked.

She drew 3 cards. The Lovers, The World, and The Tower. They are her cards, not mine. But I can’t help reading into them. When Jenny A. was here at Christmas, we asked what the outcome might be for the solar venture. We got all kind of crazy cards- and then… The Tower! Destruction. Well, I asked for it when I got sober. Remove my character defects. Take away my difficulties that victory over them might bear witness to those I would help. Dismantle me.

Speaking of the solar venture- we made 2 sales! Zack spent every morning this week with the sales team. Perhaps my going away was a good thing for everyone.

I really don’t know what’s best for me. My work today is to continue to smile. Tap tap tap, “No matter what other people do or say, I love and accept myself.” “Even if I walk in fear, I love and accept myself.”

Three more days and I will finish this journal. Something else is coming. I’ll have to wait and find out what it is.

Josie M., 02/27/2016

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Day 87. Tap tap, who’s there?

Day 86. Oops. Day 87.  Yesterday was the first time I flaked out on writing this daily account of my sober year. In my defense, I started my computer and discovered it wouldn’t connect to the internet. By the time Blair and I figured out the problem, I just completely forgot that I hadn’t written. Kind of like- problem solved! On to the next adventure.

This week has been an adventure. Sitting vigil at my grandson’s side in the hospital, struggling through jet lag, wanting so so much to have relaxed, family time with my daughter and her fam. Connecting with women here in Portland who are in recovery- going to 4 meetings! I usually find it too difficult to go to meetings when I’m traveling, or too inconvenient. I really pushed myself and as a result, I’m not going home on empty like I usually go. Or worse. Ready to relapse.

I do leave today. Blair is so sad about it and I am, too. I don’t know if we would feel the same bliss if we actually lived near or with each other but I suspect it would be heavenly. Seems odd to say that. In most western cultures, living with your grown children is like a jail sentence. But we simply love being together, cooking, dreaming, planning. I feel that families should be together, maybe living in a sort of compound so everyone has privacy. But it has to be the right mix or it would, for sure, be hell.

I just realized that I’m going to have 3 months of continuous sobriety on Saturday. And that is something to definitely celebrate.

I think… I think… I will only write when I feel like I need to. The daily journal feels somewhat forced now. Perhaps why I forgot yesterday? This is for me- this is for my sobriety. My freedom. Nothing is more important than that.

I am grateful that 4 of the past 14 or so weeks have been separated from my husband. Not only for the time away from him, but for the space to really try and get sober. Go to a lot of meetings. Talk to women, my daughters and others, who care about me.

I’ve started tapping. Did I already write about this? And now that I’m doing it, I’m aware of how often I’m filled with anxiety. Tap tap tap- “Even though I’m afraid to fly back to Florida, I love and accept myself.” Tap tap tap- “Even though my daughter is filled with pain because I’m leaving, I love and accept myself.” Tap tap tap- “Even though I am filled with memories of the past, I love and accept myself.”

Time to get ready for the Uber cab. Time to leave this little paradise behind and face, with God’s help, whatever comes next.

Josie M., 02/26/2016

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Day 85, Stalked!

A great night of sleep. Boy, did I need it. I realized after about 8 hours in the hospital room yesterday, that I had the oppressive feeling of being on a long airplane ride. Uncanny how much it felt that way. The moment when you’ve had enough, you cannot sit there any longer and just need for it all to end. This is Grandma complaining but it’s still real and very difficult. Blair doesn’t want me to go home on Friday- the day after tomorrow. Candace is texting me, “You can’t leave on Friday. You’re really hurting Blair!”

I don’t take offense. Candace is always trying to arrange things for those she loves- long distance. Just a few weeks ago:

“Get Oliver on a plane for Valentine’s Day. I’ve found his wife,” she announced on the phone.

Candace texted a picture of this lovely girl to Oliver.

“Not my type,” he shot back.

To me, Candace said, “She’s going to be heartbroken. She’s already in love with Oliver!”

I know I’m needed here. I hate to go. But the truth is, I’m needed all the time here. Having a chronically sick child is too much for anyone. They need family. Blair’s husband’s parents are about an hour ago, but it’s not enough. We all want her to come to the east coast, to live near us, but I know it’s impossible. This is actually where she belongs, the wild and weird culture of Portland, among the many, many friends who love her.  And Isaac needs to be near his father, whatever they decide to do as husband and wife. No, there is no easy answer here.

God’s will. I try and swim with the current, keeping my head out of the water unless I need to keep it down.

Go with the flow. Do not take responsibility for the reactions of others. Understand I can’t make everybody happy.  This, too, shall pass- for them.

Alcohol cravings are getting better. They still visit unexpectedly, like a rude guest who doesn’t call.

“Sorry, busy right now. Can you come back later? Oh, and please call first, actually. If I’m free to be driven to distraction, I’ll let you know.”

Not a rude visitor, actually. More like a stalker. Hm. That’s an insight I can do something with.

Josie M., 02/24/2016

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Day 84, Astral and projection

Not sure what day this is. I mean, what day of my sobriety. I'm writing this in am email to myself from the hospital. We had hoped hoped hoped Isaac would come home today but it will be at least another night. It's the first time,e I've been alone wi him; always one of his parents has been here. He's sleeping. I'm watching his little chest rise and fall with the effort of breathing. He's starting to accept his plight. Becoming resigned like I imagine all chronically ill children do. I have to go home on Friday and I can tell that Blair is already frantic. I'm trying to keep her in the day. Telling her I'll be back. Because I will. I bought him a lovely stuffed bunny the other day. Obsessed as I am with naming things, I asked him if he could think of a name. 

"Esther," he said, without hesitation. "How do you know that name?" His mother asked, wide-eyed. "I just do," he said. 

Blair is going through a phase she calls, "fairies of glam-rock". It started a few months ago. She felt something bad was coming and was inspired to wear sparkly things as an amulet. Then David Bowie died and the premonition was fulfilled, she felt. 

"Esther is a form of astral," Blair announced after a moment. 

Zingy Stardust waving hello to Isaac from another sparkly place? This is the world that makes sense to Blair and when I'm with her, it's the only world I want to live in.  If David Bowie is watching over us, and why not, we'll get through this, no problem. 

I'm looking at his oxygen level all at once. He's been asleep a half an hour. And the number is rising, rising...

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Day 83, Breathe, just breathe

 I woke up early this morning. It’s now 6:30 AM and I’m already eating my oatmeal and drinking tea. Jet lag! Except that I went to sleep early so I don’t feel too bad.

Already spoke to Rick. The movers are there, bringing in our art work and other things we decided we wanted in Florida. He’s anxious, wishes I was there to oversee all of this. I’m waiting for an explosion, something I did wrong, something I didn’t tell them to pack, something they shouldn’t have brought. I actually forgot to tell them they needed a certificate of insurance for our condo association that named us on it. Oh, well. Seems like I dodged that bullet somehow.

I am feeling quite blessed. My children love me. They “fight” over who gets to live near me. Both of my daughters want me to move in with them. Seriously. And both of them recently proclaimed that their greatest pleasure in life is having breakfast together. It’s my greatest pleasure, as well.

I shared that pleasure with my own mother. Once I reached a certain age, perhaps 14 or so, we became great friends. The mother of my early childhood was a scary person, too many kids (5), not enough help, working nights as a nurse, coping with my father, and she drank, too. I can call her an alcoholic because she considered herself to be one. Thankfully, her drinking was confined to before dinner and not after, except for some occasions and then it changed when she was elderly. For the worse, that is.

But during these years, she drank 2 cocktails before dinner and wow, what dinners. My friends loved to come over and eat at our house, even though they were terrified of my father. Perfect, perfect roasts, salads, desserts. And the fried chicken! My mother was southern. She used to say that in the south, they never let the chickens get so big. She coated the chicken in Bisquik and then friend it in a combo off bacon fat and butter. Then made the gravy. Holy cholesterol. Was that ever good.

But our breakfasts. My mother and I would drink coffee and smoke cigarettes (bad, bad and bad mother, I guess) and talk for hours, if we had the time. She had been an army nurse during World War 2 and had the most glamorous and exciting tales to tell. She was petite and lovely, a southern lady. Managed to stay single until the age of 32 when my father swept her off her feet, I guess. They got married in about 10 days- he was being sent to Korea. So off he goes and my mother resumed her social life which meant going out to dinner with men, dancing and whatever else takes place in Officer’s Clubs at Fort Knox. I guess she wasn’t focusing too much on the fact that she had gotten married. I guess my father just about went out of his head when he found out.

Somehow they parlayed that inauspicious beginning into 5 children and several decades of marriage. I always wished she would leave him. He was, after all, a monster when we were growing up. But for what it’s worth, he loved her.  They weren’t demonstrative- that wasn’t in fashion in those days. But I’ll always remember him bending down into her casket to embrace her one last time before we left the funeral home. He waited until everyone had left except Blair and me. And rested his cheek against hers for a long moment.

My father was sober by this time. He drank and drank and drank until one day I called his doctor and pleaded with him to help. He called my father and said something like, “Well, your daughter and wife are worried. I think it’s time to do something.”

My father, the soldier, marched to the Veteran’s Administration Hospital and spent 30 days in rehab. He was advised to go to 90 meetings in 90 days and he did. And that was it. He never went to another meeting and he never drank again.

“Your father respects doctors,” my mother had said right before I made the crucial call. Why hadn’t we thought of that 20 years before?

Everything in time. In God’s time.

My mother was on oxygen for the last 5 or so years of her life. Too much smoking.  Isaac is on oxygen now while he’s in the hospital. Blair turned to me yesterday and said, “He has Grandma’s mouth.” He does, I could see. A perfect cupid’s mouth.

It takes a lot of faith to get through this life.

Josie M., 02/22/2016

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Day 82, Mohawks and Placentas

Exhausted. How often do I start an entry with that word? It’s almost 8PM, Oregon time. So really, it’s 11PM my time. Had an emotional day. I think spending time in a hospital, especially a children’s hospital! Is simply draining. Even though Isaac is getting better, he’s strung out on steroids and he’s angry. His parents are doing a wonderful job caring for him, being patient and keeping their own faces cheerful.

Blair and Harry were really not expecting to have a baby. An “accident”. But Blair was not going to have an abortion. She had been through that once. It was very early- about 3 weeks, in fact. I went with her. She was completely her junior year at Mount Holyoke and she almost dropped out of school afterwards. She had a breakdown. It was terrible.  So when she got together with Harry (who had been her first love when she was 15), and got pregnant, they decided to get married. Both of my daughters married at 23. Unbelievable. They are both accomplished, educated and independent.  

Blair has parented her son very differently than I did mine. Not surprising, of course. Times change. But I had no idea she would embrace motherhood so fiercely.  She was never interested in dolls. Cats, for sure. Ponies, uh huh. But never babies.  I don’t believe she babysat more than a time or two.  Through high school she was a… how do I describe this? She cut her gorgeous red hair into a Mohawk and then proceeded to dye it every color she could think of and several at the same time. She went through a period when she did not bathe. At all.  She wore clothes she bought at a thrift store and then ripped them to shreds. Dog collars. Radical cheerleading. At one point, she made a necklace of condoms and wore them to school.

She went on a cross- country trek with her boyfriend the summer she graduated from high school. I still don’t know all the details, but when she made it back, we literally burned and buried her clothes. Somehow that released her from the madness and we wound up going to Boston to buy a partial wardrobe. Including, get this… a Betsy Johnson dress!

After graduating from Mount Holyoke with a degree in Russian, plus two summers studying at Middlebury College in their immersive Russian program and spending two summers in Russia, one in Moscow and one in Siberia, no less, she managed to create a career as a post-partum doula and placenta encapsulist. In other words, she dehydrates placentas for new mothers, pounds them into a powder, puts the powder in gelatin capsules and delivers these capsules for the mothers to eat as medicine. This from a girl who wouldn’t play with dolls.

Josie M., 02/21/2016

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Day 81, Witches and cannabis

I made it to Portland. Long flight from Fort Lauderdale. My grandson is still in the hospital and it looks like he will be for a couple more days. I’m glad I made the decision to come. Blair is so relieved! And as always, it is so good to be with her.

She rubbed my feet with coconut oil that she infused with cannabis. Seriously! They were cramping like crazy- I had worn new shoes and they hurt like hell. My feet didn’t even get high. Well, a little. That is, they sure felt better afterwards.

Did I mention that Blair is a witch? A good witch. She actually goes to witch school or, as she explained to a child who asked, “Like Hogwarts for adults.”

For Blair, faeries, spirits, all creatures small and invisible are real. When I’m with her, I view the world the same way. Before I went to sleep, she blessed me by putting a droplet of holy water on my forehead. It’s somehow associated with a female saint whose name escapes me. Apparently, if a droplet of water from the well that is associated with her (no, I don’t think it was Bernadette, although that would make sense), added to a big container of water (someone did this, it seems) makes that water completely blessed. I sure feel blessed.

But another fun item before we turned off the lights. Tapping. I had just read about it about a week ago and it turns out, Blair went to a workshop last weekend. We’re on the same page!

Tapping:  You “tap” your face, chest, sides of hands, not sure where else, while reciting something like this, “Even though I feel the urge to drink, I still love and appreciate myself.” And you can take it to the extreme, “Even though I may get drunk, I still love and appreciate myself.” Or, “Even though I hate my job and feel trapped, I still love and appreciate myself.” Or whatever it is for you.

There is something sane in that practice. I don’t believe it’s giving permission for bad behavior or encouraging bad thoughts. The tapping is very grounding. I’m here. This is my body. This is my body that is suffering. And I love myself.

How much of my life have I spent hating myself? A lot of it.

Blair is still asleep in her son’s room. She’ll get up soon, we will eat the most amazing breakfast because that’s how we roll. We’ll make a plan for the day- going to the hospital, what we’ll eat later, who will spend the night with Isaac.  I will clean her house, buy food and flowers, buy a present for Isaac. These are all ordinary and wonderful things. Isaac is safe. He will be home soon. We are a family.

Josie M., 02/20/2016

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Day 80, Up, up and away

I’m leaving in a few hours for Portland. I’m really grateful to my husband for making this possible. I know I say a lot about him and our relationship, but I also need to acknowledge his generosity. If there was some way to help him understand that his anger destroys my trust and if there was some way for him to be motivated to change it, I think we could be a happy couple.

The Solar Room (I’ll call it that now) is starting to work. First sale last night – except they didn’t pass the credit check. But our team went through the entire process. I actually believe – and cannot believe I’m saying this- IT… COULD… WORK!!

I looked over what I read yesterday. I didn’t mention the irony that after visualizing moving to Portland, I made a decision 12 hours later to actually go there. Be careful what you wish for!

I’m doing 20 minutes of yoga most mornings. I was just telling my colleague Billy (he’s one of the loves of my life-more on him another time), that when I tried to practice the whole routine, 90 minutes, I would fall off after a few months. But 20 minutes of yoga is doable. I don’t dread it.  I actually love it. And I try and add a new posture every month or so. Perhaps I’m even up to 25 minutes and don’t notice it.

I’m 60 years-old. I don’t look it. I’m lucky, I know.  My sister Lily has spent a lot of time in the sun – working, not sunbathing, and she has much more of the Scot/Irish complexion. I take after my mother. She used to tell us we have Cherokee blood. All our other relatives deny it but I tend to side with my mother and here’s why. She was taught as a child – and she was born in 1917 – to count to 20 in Cherokee. That’s good enough for me. Oh, and the high cheekbones. We all got those.

Josie M., 02/29/2016

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Day 79

 I feel like I was just writing this. Oh, right! Late last night. I went to sleep before 10:30PM and was awake before 1AM- HUNGRY! I didn’t eat well yesterday, working like nuts and then the play reading. I made a list some weeks ago about all the things I have to do to have a serene day and EATING WAS AT THE TOP OF THE LIST!

I got up and ate most of a submarine sandwich, left over from the play reading. Which was great, but I think I already went over that.

Sleepy. Woke up to find out that my grandson, Isaac was in the hospital. What?? He lives in Portland, OR with my daughter Blair and his dad. Blair and hubby are on again off again. A sort of congenial separation but they consider themselves a family. It’s complicated.

But Isaac- the most precocious, darling 7 year-old boy I have ever known. Deep thinker, creative problem solver.  For example, by the time he was just 3 years old, he could put together a 300+ Lego model by reading the instructions and by himself. One hundred percent. The instructions are images, but still! I couldn’t do that with the help of an engineer. Unless that engineer was Isaac, perhaps.

He has asthma. And when he gets a cold, it can get very bad. He’s fine, Blair tells us all through email and Facebook. Candace had asthma when she was small, at least some version of it. But not like Isaac, although she, too, spent a night (with me) in an oxygen tent.

I’m looking at 3 months sober in 12 more days. If you ever want your life to slow down, get sober. Every day is different. And I believe that keeping this journal makes me mindful of who I am, what I am doing and why I am doing it.

Rick and I didn’t have breakfast together this morning. I offered to make him something and he decided to go out. I told him I wasn’t hungry- not after raiding the refrigerator in the middle of the night. So I ate an orange and made a cup of tea for myself. Simple.

I keep reading books by women who got sober. The latest author recommends various books that helped her and I downloaded a few of them including, as it turns out, the book apparently written by “Abraham,” author and progenitor of the idea known as “The Secret.”

I remember when that was all the craze and I probably tried to read it then. It’s not that I don’t believe in channeling- who knows? This is a big, mysterious universe. Something unusual is going on! I just feel a little manipulated when the gist of the message feels geared to westerners.  

But I am starting to visualize something. I would like to move to Portland and live with or near Blair. She has asked me. In moments of despair, I have fantasized about it but visualization is different. It’s positive. It’s not dependent on misery. I woke up this morning to an email about Isaac being in the hospital. Yesterday, Blair told me on the phone that the bigger apartment in her darling complex is going to become available. I said- rent it. She said- I can’t afford it. I said- I’ll help. She said- you already do. I said- do it!

I’m going to visualize living in Portland. 

Josie M., 02/18/2016

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Day 78, Coffee and Danish

What a difference a day makes. Work today totally rocked. We fired Jason yesterday- I’m so tired I don’t know if I have talked about him before. It’s going to have to wait another day because my experience with him was truly traumatic. But that’s over.

We hired 3 new people today and one guy could totally take over the world. Seriously. He accomplished more in 5 hours – yes, he started today. Came in for an interview and rolled up his sleeves. That’s what I like to see!! I still don’t know if this will work, but now we have a fighting chance.

This morning I asked Rick if we could go to work early (normally we don’t drive together) and go to this French bakery and have pastries and coffee. I came to the decision recently that if I’m not going to drink - and I’m not – I’m going to eat sinfully. Once in a while. I go into this bakery for lunch quite often, quiche and salad, that sort of thing. But the pastries and desserts drive me crazy! So… I’m going to have them now and then.

After work, I gathered 10 people from the office and we read my new play. It was both painful and wonderful. Painful because not everyone read well and wonderful because it really didn’t matter. They loved the story and they love each other. I’m not sure how much I learned about the play, but I feel closer to these folks. They are hard workers and I’m so grateful that they gave up their evening for me.

I’m sleeping in “the other room” now. I just feel safer and better sleeping alone. I don’t know the future. Don’t know anything. Just that I have a better chance of getting the rest I need without Rick in the room. Although there is a truce of sorts, I am pretty sure that if we get closer, when we get closer, he’ll slam me.  

Every day is a new day. Today was the kind of day I’d like to have- well, not every day. Most days I would prefer to be uneventful. But a good day’s work and a play reading, well, that’s real coffee. J

Josie M., 02/17/2016

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Day 77, God Help Me

Terrible night last night. I guess I knew- I always know- it can’t last. Harmony with my husband, that is. His name is Rick.

I slept well the night before, we made love, I made breakfast, cleaned up, the usual. After work, made dinner, did the dishes, we walked our dog together. Then I settled down to watch the Grammys, one of my favorite television events of the year. Around 9PM (he never wants to watch it) he slammed a piece of paper down on the table. It was a list of the insured paintings we are having shipped.

“Did you get the other paintings insured?” he asked.

“What?” I said.

“The insurance for the truck only covers $100 a pound,” he said. “Did you value everything else?”

“How am I supposed to do that? You talked to the mover,” I said. “You read the contract-“

“This was all up to you,” he said.

Then he more or less stormed off and went into his bedroom – I call it his bedroom because I’M NEVER SLEEPING IN THERE AGAIN. I followed him in.

“I tried to talk to you all weekend about this,” he said.

“What?” I cried. “That is so not true! I struggled to get you to talk about it at all.”

“I told you I wasn’t ready to move and you just went ahead…”

And on and on it goes. How am I supposed to insure items from the house when I don’t even own the house? I don’t have an insurance company to call. Help!

I feel like he’s gas lighting me. I felt so crazy when I went to bed (couldn’t finish the Grammys, of course), that I literally did not sleep more than an hour or so. Woke up to a tornado. Am supposed to drive an hour north for an appointment. Cannot go.

As I write this, I wonder- who will ever read this? I wanted this journal to offer hope, perhaps some laughter, and I feel like I just go round and round and round with the same issues.

How I want to get in my car and drive back to Vermont! If it wasn’t for the fact that I have friends coming here- they’ve bought airplane tickets and everything- I think I would.

I am so unhappily married.

And now the moving truck is on the way with all my beloved belongings. And all I want is to go back home.

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”

Oh, and it’s my daughter Candace’s birthday! Some happiness!!

Josie M., 02/16/2016

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Day 76, Thy Will Be Done

 Monday. My second week at my new job. I had Valentine’s Day dinner last night with Zack and his gorgeous wife, Ophelia. It was the perfect occasion for a relapse- French restaurant, elegant wine list and the wine bottles were on all the tables around us. Fortunately, my son and his wife are also sober. My husband had a glass of wine and I ordered a double decaf Cappuccino. It got me through- that and the incredible meal. I can say that when I went to bed at 9:30PM, sleepy and calm, and woke up this morning after 8 plus hours of sleep, the little struggle was absolutely worth it.

Yesterday was also one of those days that make me feel like my marriage can work. It’s part of the back and forth, I realize. Saturday night we were coming home from a play and Husband honked at someone who didn’t even cut us off. The guy was so furious, he pulled up next to us, rolled down his window, screamed obscenities and then threw something at the car- the passenger side, of course. It wasn’t a rock, unless he keeps a supply handy, but it sounded like one.

I waited a few moments and started to say, “Probably it’s simply better not to honk unless there really is some danger.” I didn’t get all the words out before he snapped at me. I do understand that I probably should have kept my mouth shut but I’m sort of getting sick of keeping my mouth shut.

Road rage! But it feels like just another excuse for my husband to be furious about something.

I got up this morning and did my yoga exercises. It was the first time I did them before breakfast and I think I’m going to try and keep it up. Exercise is absolutely vital to my recovery. I think I wrote a list of everything I need to do to keep sober and it is at the top now. If I exercise, I’m liable to make good choices for the rest of the day. I feel like I own my body, that we’re having a conversation. Because otherwise… my body shouts at me, too!

I’m continuing to read memoirs of women who have quit drinking. It’s interesting that so many of them have chosen not to go to AA. I know I could never do it that way. Me, Myself and I would be in charge. Not a great committee. But what I continually read in these texts is one simple idea: Alcohol does nothing for you. The idea that it makes you relax, or adds anything to your life is a myth. You have been brainwashed. I can accept that idea even as I still occasionally “romance the drink”.

Yesterday at a morning meeting, I sat next to the woman who is dying of cirrhosis of the liver. We hugged and kissed briefly as she sat down. I hate to say this- I hate to say this- but she felt like death. At the end of the meeting, I held her cold hand in my warm one as we all recited The Lord’s Prayer. They will be done.

Josie M., 02/15/2016

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Day 75, Caffeine Blues

A year ago I was sober. Struggling like crazy. The cravings were overwhelming. I had been sober for several months at that point but it was getting worse, not better. Plus, I was working all week and travelling out of town to direct one of my plays on the weekends. Stress, stress, stress. And it was winter in Vermont!

I drank 2 cups of coffee every morning. My favorite was Dark Magic by Green Mountain Coffee Roasters. One day I drank the coffee a little too late in the morning and didn’t sleep at all. So the next day, I only drank one cup of coffee. As I drove home from work that day, around 5PM, I was waiting for my usual crazy cravings to begin- wine o’clock, I called it. And they didn’t come. Like, at all. I was stunned. Was it possible that caffeine was the real culprit?

I experimented. I only drank 1 cup of coffee a day for a while, and then only 1 cup of black tea, then 1 cup of weak black tea. I couldn’t completely give up caffeine because of the side effects. I know, I’ve done the reading. “Three days of migraines and then you’ll be okay.” Not in my case. It was as if I was detoxing from amphetamines. I had to take Advil every night. My skin crawled. I was shocked.

Still, I was able to cope with just a little bit of tea. Kept the withdrawal symptoms manageable. And then I had the bright idea that if I continued this way, I could drink alcohol again. So I did.

 I don’t remember if the reduced caffeine affected my cravings, but I do know that my caffeine intake returned to 2 cups of coffee a day. And when I quit drinking again November 30, 2015, it was only for one reason. The cravings were ruling my life worse than ever before. No matter how much I drank or didn’t drink, I could not satisfy the cravings.

 For some reason, I started drinking tea again this past week. Oh, I know why. The coffee I bought tastes terrible. And without even thinking about it, I have reduced my intake to 1 cup a day. I’m going to try this for a while. See if I can eliminate it altogether.

 “God, please remove from me with love and force all that I will not surrender.” Oh, and Happy Valentine’s Day.

 Josie M., 02/14/2016

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Day 74, A power greater than my husband

Day 74. Saturday. It was one week ago today that my husband and I talked about divorce. We were going to cancel the movers who are scheduled to pack our art work, etc. on Monday. It looks like we’re moving forward with it.

We had a nice enough morning- sex, then I cooked breakfast, walked the dog and did the dishes. He ranted a bit about not having a desk to do his office work. It’s true. On the other hand, there are desks waiting to be purchased all over South Florida.

It does feel permanent to have our art work shipped here. There is much love and much dollars invested in it. Husband owned a lot of art before we met and we’ve added to it. One painting in particular, a beautiful Madonna by a Mexican painter, belongs to me, live or die. It was the only item I added to the prenuptial agreement. He laid out his terms and I signed, except for this.

“That’s worth a lot of money,” he said, trying to reason with me.

“Yes, I’m hoping that it will make you nicer to me, “I replied.

It hasn’t worked. But nice to know that she belongs to me, in any event. I figure if I do leave, I can hand over the art to my sons who live here, if necessary. I’m starting to read about Costa Rica. It’s sounding muy, muy bueno.

Speaking of Bueno, I had lunch with my 2nd husband, Carlos yesterday. That is, several of us from work had lunch and he was there. Did I mention he works for our son? Doing something? Like me- doing something. I don’t know if time really heals all wounds or just buries them. I don’t dislike him at all. I also have absolutely nothing to say to him. I don’t mean this in a dismissive way. Beyond acknowledging that we have a super son, we simply don’t have anything in common. I believe the haze of alcohol and in his case, marijuana and alcohol, was a sort of gray zone that allowed us to cohabitate.

I’ve managed my schedule so that I can go to a 5:30PM meeting on my way home from work. Went 3 times this week and really, I don’t like this meeting. I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t feel welcomed. Perhaps everyone is coming from work and, like me, really can’t wait to get home. But in the meantime, I need to find another meeting.

There was cross talk yesterday. It was awful.  A man shared that he is 20 years sober and feels close to a relapse. His financial situation is shaky, he’s losing money on the stock market and just wanted to acknowledge how he felt. Some woman ranted at him- after 20 years, she said, if he didn’t have a higher power by now, he might as well go out and drink. Or something to that effect. After the meeting I spoke to him. I said, you’re young, strong and intelligent.  Whatever you have you may lose, but you can always get it back. I also said that I’m at the age when people are dying and that I can’t get back. I think my words helped him. They came from my heart. He is young- relatively. Handsome, great hair! One of those deep, glistening tans you rarely see outside of a movie or advertisement.

Well. I know about financial insecurity. The promises tell us that “fear of economic insecurity will leave us.” I’ve been married to someone with money for years and it never helped me.

Need to find rock solid footing. Nothing is sure and safe. Except God?

Josie M., 02/13/2016

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Day 73, Sleep and no sleep

Another sleepless night. It occurred to me while I lay awake that my sleep pattern mirrors my drinking pattern. I sleep badly about 3 times a week, the number of nights per week that I usually drank. Then 1 night per week I sleep incredibly well. The other 3 nights not so much.  

I know I am feeling a lot of pressure with this job of mine. I believe it’s really more that I say “yes” to things that I don’t want to do than that I can’t handle the stress of the job. Because, truth? I don’t want to work there. Even if we were selling (which we’re not), I wouldn’t want to do it. I’m listening to a “closer” who lies all day long on the phone and then swears at the people when they hang up on him. I’m not getting any smarter this way!

Day 73. I’m in early sobriety. I am trying to follow God’s will. So I try to go to work and stay calm, be helpful and let the chips fall. There is only so much money to try and get this business off the ground. And it’s not my money, thank heavens. I also don’t want to disappoint my son. But I’m not comfortable the way the business is being run. Or not being run. It’s on the fly. Been there, done that.

Currently, this is my favorite passage from “The Big Book” of Alcoholics Anonymous.

As we go through the day we pause, when agitated or doubtful, and ask for the right thought or action. We constantly remind ourselves we are no longer running the show, humbly saying to ourselves many times each day “Thy will be done.” We are then in much less danger of excitement, fear, anger, worry, self-pity, or foolish decisions. We become much more efficient. We to not tire so easily for we are not burning up energy foolishly as we did when we were trying to arrange life to suit ourselves.

I am totally blown away by the literature in “The Big Book”. I’ve been in and out of meetings since the late 1980s and only now can I see that this stuff actually applies to me. And I’m thinking… maybe… maybe this really is a disease. Because I have the symptoms of alcoholism even now that I’m not drinking. If removing the drink was all that was necessary, I would be a different person.

I hear in meetings, “You must change everything about yourself.”  

I was using a Rule of 5 recently. Speak to 5 people after a meeting, do 5 yoga postures a day, say and do 5 nice things for my sister, Cathy (need to get back to that one.) Maybe I can write down 5 things a day that I would like to change or examine about myself. Seems like a lot! But if we really have to change everything, there must be hundreds of these “things”. (Big on quotation marks and parenthesis today J).

Josie M., 02/12/2016

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Day 72, In the trenches, on the phones

I realize that having this job makes me feel a lot less sober. All my character defects are raising their ugly heads. I’m judgmental, nervous, and ready to quit! I absolutely loved my freedom before I got this job and now I’m really wishing I could turn the clock back and tell my son- no! It’s such a quandary. Financial independence versus time. How to balance this?

I went to an AA meeting after work yesterday. Rushed over there. Was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. Is that really helping my recovery? This too shall pass.  

The good news is that I slept 9 hours last night. That almost never happens. I cannot remember the last time I had 8 hours of sleep. I’ve been getting by with 6-7 week after week, sometimes much less. I don’t even know how to count sleep that is continually interrupted by mini-panic attacks. Breathe, breathe. Even as I write this, I am distracted, wanting to be eloquent, thoughtful, and I keep looking at the clock- have to go to work!

The poor young women we hired this week… The job of calling people on the phone, cold calling, meaning that the people on the other end have no interest whatsoever in what they are trying to say. This is their job- getting hung up on all day long. And they smile through it. I try and be encouraging, keep refining the “script” we have them say.

It’s all about the leads, I’m told. And the cost for these leads? The good ones? Tens of thousands of dollars. I think we have the tens of ten-dollar bill leads right now.

Aargh!

I’m starting to call this business, “The Titanic.”

And the closers! The guys – usually they are guys – who nail customers to the wall and get them to say, “yes.” This is actually what goes on!  This would be hilarious except that nobody is saying yes- because THE LEADS STINK!

Soon- when my heads clears – I’m going to write a dialogue of what actually goes on. This is, no doubt, great material for a play.

Josie M., 02/11/2016

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