Climbing Uphill

Two Years.
Tomorrow is my Soberversary.
I will have been sober for two years.

An achievement, to be sure.
But holy fuck is it hard. So. Damn. Hard.

I'm an alcoholic. I know I can't have one drink and not have another.
So I abstain. And it kills me. Because I really fucking miss beer. And wine. God, I miss wine.
I've started buying funky, pretty wine glasses that I find at goodwill. I pour juice or soda or sometimes even water in them, and I pretend. And those few minutes when I'm on the balcony, smoking a cigarette, drinking my fake wine... Those are the best minutes of my day.
And that's a problem.

I had a panic attack in the grocery store not too long ago. I was looking for non-alcoholic beer.
I've finally found one I like. Kaliber. (Classy, right?)
Well, I must have spent twenty minutes in the beer aisle, just saying hello to old friends (micro-brews), before I realized that the store didn't carry what I was looking for.
So I walked ahead and turned left, to make a beeline for the door. But detoured in the wine section.g
And then the liquor section.
And then I got dizzy, and somehow ended up back in the beer section crying on my cell phone in the middle of a Safeway.
My room mate talked me down and got me out, but ballz...
There's so much anxiety that goes into not drinking.

I'm an extrovert! I need to go out, enjoy the nightlife, go dancing, kick ass at karaoke!
But it is So. Damn. Hard. to walk into a bar and not order a drink.
After accidentally being served a non-virgin margarita (strawberry! Mmmmm) at a restaurant a while back (Thank god my room mate noticed the smell), I've taken to having friends test my drinks first because I'm so paranoid.
I walk into a pub and I start shaking. My room mate leaves her empty wine bottles on the counter, and I want to lick them clean for any traces of Two Buck Chuck that might be lingering.

I'm an alcoholic. I can't take one drink and not have another.
You know that line in Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" about Samson...
"She tied you to the kitchen chair, she broke your throne and she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew..."
That's what it feels like.
Booze ties me down. The wanting, the depression, the anxiety, the weight of resistance.

They come upon me like Pinkerton Detectives. Depression on my left, Loneliness on my right.
They frisk me, and empty my pockets of any joy I may be carrying. Loneliness starts interrogating me. Why can't I get my act together? Where will I end up if I keep living this way?
Depression simply gives me a dark smile, settles into my favorite chair, puts his feet on the coffee table and lights a cigarette. Loneliness climbs into my bed. He's going to make me sleep with him tonight, I just know it. And I'm too tired to deal with their bullshit.

Two Years.
I've been sober for two years.
Can I do this for three? For ten? For a lifetime?
Drunk or not, Depression and Loneliness always stop in to say hi.

I hate AA. I hate the sharing, the platitudes, the obvious and unhealthy direction to simply replace one addiction with another. But one thing I took away from my (very) brief time with them...
I'm not going to drink today. And I'm going to wake up in the morning, and I'm not going to drink tomorrow.
That's all I need to worry about. Just today.

It's been Two Years. And I'm not going to drink today.

Life is Short; Eat Dessert First

Back again. Hospital time.
Have I mentioned how much I hate hospitals?
I hate the waiting, the smell, the uncomfortable chairs...
And I really hate the food.

What is the deal with hospital food?!
Dry, tasteless, unappealing... But I have to eat something.
And God knows that the cafeteria is cheaper than the vending machine.
...But not much.

Grandma is back in the hospital again.
Cancer. Again.
So we're taking out her Thyroid this time.

The woman is 89 years old. She was born in 1925. She's old.

And normally she's got a great attitude. But she is just not loving it this time.
She keeps asking "Well, why do I have to do this? I just don't see why I have to do this!"
To which we keep telling her ..."Well, you don't."
To which she replies "Well, it's too late now."

My mom's worried about this one.
She's not coming out and saying it, but she's worried that Gram isn't going to come out of this one.
And I'm doing my best to be supportive. Dotting all the "I"s and crossing all the "T"s, and checking in as often as I can, and being loving and calm and supportive.

But all I want to do is run screaming out of here.
Away from all the smells and bad food and uncomfortable chairs.
Away from the overly friendly nurses with the hesitant eyes.
Away from the incessant clucking of the women in the chairs across from me.
Away from the truly shitty food.
Away from the whirring and beeping of machinery.
Away from all the scary possibilities of death.

I just want to run away. Find a place to lounge and cry and have someone hold me until I feel like myself again.

But instead, I'll drink my shitty coffee and eat my dry doughnut, and wait.

I fucking hate waiting.

Happiness is Walking Hand in Hand

So, I have a new room mate. She moved in to my very spacious and lovely two bedroom apartment mid-August. Let's call her "Pepper!" Because that name is fun!

Pepper and I have been friends for oh... 5 years or so... I would definitely call her my best friend.

We found each other at a mutual friend's birthday party. At a club. We both felt out of place, and as I stepped out to have a cigarette, she asked if she could come smoke with me. We hung out and smoked and talked for a few hours, and then went our separate ways, only to bump into each other again at the house of another mutual friend. We connected and have since grown very close.

You know that quote from Grey's Anatomy? About Meredith and Christina being each other's person?
If not, here's a link: http://www.buzzfeed.com/mackenziekruvant/your-person-as-told-by-greys-anatomy

Pepper is my person. Completely. She is an amazing, talented, kind, fun, funny, capable, hardworking woman, and I am so happy to have her in my life.

I was a little nervous about us moving in together; people always say that when best friends move in together it ruins the friendship. But you know what? I think it's made us better friends. I worked a full day, coffee in the morning, class in the afternoon, and came home cranky with a migraine. Pepper, having worked a full day herself, and in the middle of a project, have been so incredibly nurturing and loving. She cooked my soup, got me some water and an ice pack, and I am currently sitting on my couch blogging and sipping the chocolate milk she made me. I adore this woman.

So, in this season of thanksgiving, I can say that I am absolutely and completely and totally overwhelmed with gratitude for Pepper. She's one in a million, and I am so glad we clicked.

All that Noise and All that Sound

Holy Cabooses. I am BONE TIRED.

I have been SO BUSY doing ALL of the things!

Spent the summer working at the Woodland Park Zoo. Which was delightful, as usual. And it was the summer of BABIES! We had a baby porcupine (a porcupette!), THREE baby jaguar cubs (Inca, Arizona, and Kuwan), a baby giraffe, wild baby eagle fledglings, lion cubs.... ALL OF THE BABIES!

Weekends I worked for the soulless corporate machine that pays my bills.

Summer is now over, so I am Slinging Coffee, teaching two classes a week, and rehearsing for the new show I'm in. Blood Pudding with Breeders Theatre.

During that time I dated someone and was dumped. Blurg. Boys are stupid. Like, real stupid. I think my biggest issue is I made some pretty big life changes for this guy (like you do, when you think they're "the one"), and then is falls apart. At this point, I'm more annoyed than anything else. And he drank. A lot. Which, in the long run, was not going to be so good for me.

Also! Soberversary happened. I'm officially ONE YEAR sober! (One year and 15 days to be precise).

AND! I got a KITTY! My very own Kitty! She is adorable and perfect and sweet and cuddly and I love her. She is black and a year old and her name is Kess. And she's the sweetest, smartest, most amazing-est kitty ever. (Obviously, I am a very proud mommy).

Yes. So that is me. The Readers Digest Version. Obviously, lots more going on... But I'm so TIRED.

So that's enough for now.

It Feels Like I Am Just Too Close To Love You

So, here I am in Portland again.
I have an odd habit of running away every couple of months. Although I don't know if you can call it "running away", because I always tell people where I am going...
Maybe it's just a way to escape.
I don't get to take REAL vacations, so I guess this is just the next best thing. A couple of days with a friend in a city that is just far enough away that it'd be very difficult to make it a day trip.

I love this city. Close to everything. Amazing food (no, really. I had Lebanese for lunch, crepes for breakfast, thai for dinner... SO GOOD), easy to walk and navigate, super pretty (just the right color of green) and the price is fantastic (no sales tax!!!!!).

That being said, I am ready to go home and sleep in my own bed again. And my gentleman friend's bed...

Ok, here's a thing... I've been seeing this guy for over a month, we're not dating anyone else, we're not sleeping with anyone else, but whenever he introduces me to people it's "This is Kate" or (the one that really gets me) "This is my friend, Kate."

FRIEND?! Ok, ok, yes I get it. Maybe he's not ready for the term "girlfriend" and maybe he's of a mind that people don't need to know our personal business...
But when they see us kissing and cuddling and doing all the cute adorable things that couples do, they're gonna pick up on it.

Grrrrr. And he drinks too much. Not around me, anymore, thank goodness. Nipped that one in the bud fairly automatically.
"Um, yeah... I'm an alcoholic... I can't date someone with a drinking problem..."

He still drinks too much. But at least it's not around me.

What else... Oh, he's divorced. (He's 29). He's former Navy, going to college for Administration of Justice stuff, plays pool (he "plays" pool like I "play" at theatre), is a cat person, is pagan (like me) and makes me happy.
He's what I like to call a "charming asshole". He's got the whole alpha male thing going on, but he's terribly considerate, opens doors, pulls out my chair, etc...
I'd love to get him in the same room with my dad...

Ever have that moment when you realize you're dating your father? Yeah.... crap.

Wishing I had the strength to stand

Waiting.

I hate waiting.

I hate waiting at a red light, I hate waiting after I've ordered a meal, and I hate waiting in hospitals.

Also, I hate hospitals.

...Ok, hate is the wrong word. I am terrified of hospitals. The smell, the sounds, the colors and lighting. It all scares the fuck out of me. I can't handle it- the pain, the death, the noises... it all hits me like a wall the moment I walk in.

Grandma had to go to the hospital today. She's getting a kidney removed. She made it through surgery, and she's in recovery. The only question is if/when she is going to wake up. The woman is 87. She's earned the right to take her time.

But I hate waiting.

I hate this room. I hate this uncomfortable chair. I hate the smell of, and how dry my hands are from the constant sanitizing. The really shitty food. 

....I have patience. Enough to spare. I just wish it wasn't necessary.

annoyed face

Is it too much to ask people to follow thru?

If you're going to do something, do it.

If you're going to be somewhere, be there.

If you make plans with me, keep your fucking plans.

I scored awesome hockey tickets to a game tonight. Box seats, VIP parking, super freaking sweet deal. And wouldn't you know... two of my people bailed on me at the last minute. We were supposed to be leaving in less than an hour. What the fuck?! Oh, and one of those people had volunteered to drive us. RAWR.

So now, I've got tickets to give away, a carpool to organize, schedules to shift, as well as the rest of the stuff I was going to cram in to the day.

BLERG.





...On another note, I think I'm moving to Portland in the fall.