My Demon – Jason Adams, Fine Line Design Photo – Mallory Peck
Embracing sobriety and learning how to live without drowning emotions, good or bad, in a bottle – or three – of vodka requires honesty, openness, and willingness. The ability to look at oneself objectively, see the pieces that aren’t so great, and strike a balance with the ones that are.
So in the vein of honesty, I have some confessions to make. I’m not revealing the secrets of the universe here. I’m mostly just musing out loud (on the computer – whatever). If you’re reading this, you just happen to be along for the ride. Which is cool.
I am a natural redhead, yet I dye my hair redder. I have to dye my eyebrows too.
On a dare, I will do things I really absolutely do not want to do, at all. Like pulling a Linda Hamilton (Terminator) move, cocking a really large shotgun, before firing said shotgun at a tin can. Three times. Pretty sure I missed. I hate guns with a passion. I take no pleasure whatsoever in aiming at an inanimate object and pulling the trigger. I take less pleasure in the immediate black, purple and blue bicep I will likely sport for a week, and did, after pulling said trigger. Three times. In a row. C’mon even I can admit when Linda did it, it was totally bad ass! The thought of shooting a living, breathing majestic animal for sport (or at all) makes me sick to my stomach, however, and I have never dated, much less had sex with someone who hunts. Not that it’s ever been an issue. Just saying.
I have, however, run over a bear. (Seriously, who does that?) This was not on purpose, honestly, I had no choice. I was driving along a narrow stretch of road on Highway 199 in Northern California, sheer cliffs on one side, huge drop off into the canyon on the other when out of the corner of my eye I saw a large black shape walking along the side of the mountain. Before my brain had time to register the thought “that is a freaking huge dog”, it had jumped in front of my Pathfinder. With cars behind me and coming toward me in the other lane all I could do was keep going. For like three miles before I could pull over and freak out. Apparently it did get up and run off the other side of the road, according to the guy behind me who also pulled over to make sure I was ok. I was not. At least not until 20 miles later when I got to my mom’s and she poured me a really large glass of wine to help stop my shaking. My son and his cousin were in the backseat playing on their Gameboys. They didn’t even notice it had happened. True story.
If the same situation occurred today I would not be able to have a glass of wine to calm me because I am an alcoholic. I have no idea whether a cigarette would “do it” in that circumstance, even though it does at other times. Like when my daughter pisses me off. Which happens often. How are you supposed to not get pissed off at a ridiculously stubborn 14 year old who thinks she has to have the last word, and will not back down or shut her mouth? Especially if you are a control freak and want the last word yourself sometimes. (It’s a character defect, I’m working on it.)
Smoking sucks. It is a disgusting habit that I will quit. Someday. When I’m ready.
It’s possible to love someone with your entire heart, and not like them very much, at all. Sometimes.
It’s also possible to not like someone at all and still be attracted to them. Not necessarily in a sexual way. More like a sick fascination with sticking around to find out what completely fucked up thing they’ll do next. Not that I’ve done that. No not me.
I secretly have a thing for 6’ tall guys with tattoos and motorcycles…and if they can pull off the GQ look…mmm. Actually I have a thing for guys that make me feel like a little porcelain doll, which at 5’2 isn’t all that tough. Shh don’t tell! I can also appreciate a beautiful woman. That’s not a thing.
I like a little 5:00 shadow on occasion, but am not at all into the Grizzly Adams look. It’s a personal choice, not a negative reflection on any particular individual, or society’s movement back to facial hair. It’s just my opinion folks, I’m allowed to have one. It never ceases to amazes me how a simple comment on a friend’s social media page can spark such a crap load of controversy! Really, did my asking said friend I’ve known for 20 years “what’s with the rug on your face” need to ring in the apocalypse? And yet the negativity and outright hostility left me feeling like “damn, people get a life”! And while you’re at it learn to spell!
Posting TMI on Facebook is like hanging your dirty underwear from the flagpole in the middle of town for everyone to see. My daughter hates it when I tell her that. Makes me want to say it more.
TMI is text language for too much information. Just in case you don’t speak text.
Nair sucks. And yet somehow every few months I manage to convince myself that maybe the last time it didn’t work was a fluke and try it again. It never gets better.
All these years later I still think Nikki Sixx is a god.
We all have our demons. How we battle those demons, and survive, is part of what makes us who we are. I’ve chosen to tattoo mine on my shoulder as a reminder that it will always be with me, but I no longer have to let it control me.
I always put my left foot in during the Serenity Prayer. Only a couple of people know that about me. But what if the hokey pokey really is what it’s all about? To me it reinforces that everything we need to know in life, we really did learn in kindergarten!