I started out tonight, wondering if someone out there had thought of this. Then, oblivion faded, and I came to the ultimate conclusion... Well, duh.
Of course someone had, so rather than imposing on their "space"... I'm not even going to look deeper into why I'm not an original; it just wasn't meant to be. Surprised?
I couldn't call myself one, or even really profess to be one, but my intrigue for so many aspects of what is, was, and will be has taught me to watch carefully. The world is full of surprises; I am by no means even close to the next one... so let me begin, as is, a mad scientist. Not a "blind philosopher".
Ever wondered what really happens when someone passes on? Of course you have. At least enough to dismiss it. Or validate it. Or just acknowledge it. If you're still in denial, then stop here; the rest of this will be useless to you. Press the little "back" button at the top left of your browser now. No, really...
Human life as we know it, in general, is supposed to be about experiences, learning, and correcting one's own general behaviours in order to better one's self. We are one of the few creatures that understands of our own existence. Whether to reflect yester-minute's activity, or last year's (you know the one where you got really... oh what's the point?), we use this on a regular basis to shape and ultimately define who and what we are. But where is that "grey line" that brings us to that next level?
You know, now come on. You're really not fooling anyone. If you're reading this, I'm talking about you. The one breathing. Yeah, you.
There's a point in life where you realize that you inherently are defined by your generationS. Yes, "S". The one's you've seen come and go. Do you find yourself silently (yet frustratingly) commenting to yourself (or even aloud, haha), "Why don't you know what 'x' is..."? And then trying to apply this logic to another one of your kind in your social surroundings, and found yourself to be the reason it isn't answered easily? You know. Maybe, it's your grandfather. Maybe it's your grandson. Maybe, just MAYBE, it's YOU!
Welcome to my world. I come from a land of good, intelligent, well rounded (yet somewhat loosely eccentric) individuals, yet I'm not like them. I mean, I'm good people, have common morals, I'd like to hope I'm intelligent (if not, then by all means...), and I'm ... well not so rounded, but more eccentric. It applies more in terms of emotional state than it does to the classic definition. There's no money, so no need to get excited.
I dream, and I dream big. I got nothin. Jetsons in 1979, and me, big dick @ whatsitsoft.comorgbiz in 2010. Wrong on both accounts.
But why go for the small stuff, that really is nothing more than just stepping stones. I get an idea of learning everything thoroughly along the way. You must not misunderstand, however. Let's face it, I'm one of those people that will tell you if I can or cannot do something from the beginning. I pick my battles wisely. If I have a thought that I can actually win the challenge at hand, I will bite with full force and not let go. If I think there's a chance I'm not ready, I hang back and watch just a little bit longer. That classic "wall-flower" (only crouching and crying).
Lather, Rinse, Repeat. That's me.
Ok, but why? Well, the answer may surprise you. I'm not afraid of what I know, I'm afraid of what I don't know. Some don't care, some obsess. I'm in between. I'll watch, and when I see the pattern, THEN you're in trouble.
But if I understand the situation, why do I panic? Again, we're looking at the other side. Do you care? Do you not? It might make a difference, although to be honest, if I don't know you I could care completely less. Prevent world damage? Yes. Tree hugger? Not even close.
Why save something that's outside our control? Do some people really think that.. oh nevermind. I don't have time...
But all of this DOES feed into my own personal philosophy. Are you who you are just because? Or are you what you've become? Am I? Are we a number, or entity? Is there a difference?
So then what really (as before) DOES happen when you power down for the last time, and write out your final bits? Surely, they don't find you with your head clicking, so alas, the computer analogies must end here.
But what happens... ?
(Close your browser... no SERIOUSLY... CLOSE IT NOW! I don't want these to be the last words you read!!!)
Sounds nuts, but think about it... Blind, not crazy. If you can read it when it's gone... more power to you.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Friday, July 4, 2008
Sweet Revenge - Weedwacker Style
So...
I come home from work, and my much better half arrives shortly after, and begins opening the mail. Amongst the garbage is a letter from the city. As it turns out, our not so lovely neighbors behind us have decided that they no longer appreciate our weed collection growing in the back yard. Mind you, these are legal weeds, not the more preferable kind. Dandelions on steroids, ivy, and some mysterious variety that makes little fuzzy balls that like to stick to Linus, my Maine Coon.
You see, our back yard is, well, a miniature version of the Amazon. All it's missing is flowing water stocked with piranha. Maybe out back at the new house. Anyway, the problem is that because there is so much debris and flack out there, its a real pain to keep maintained, if not even dangerous to attempt to do so. Amongst the various foliage, there are also chunks of cinder block, broken limbs from dead trees (one of which fell on the fence that separates our yard from another neighbor), odd and end pieces of metal of various shapes and sizes, all arranged haphazardly in harmony with one another. The story is that the landlord (yes, I'm renting at the moment) tried to use construction wastes of various kinds as a bulk landfill material, and then filled in the rest with dirt. This is great and all, except he didnt block off the runoff path, so the dirt all washed away. Dumbass.
So here I am, stuck with a yard that I cant do much with, so we just avoid utilizing it. I've tried weedwackers, foliage killer, and on and on. Nothing really works very well for any length of time. The concept this season was to ignore it totally, since soon, it will not be our problem any more. We're moving!
Now, to add a little pepper to this story before I really get down to what transpired, I must tell you about an irritating little nuisance we have been dealing with for almost two years straight now. It's one of those little kickin' and peein' dogs. You know, the kind that pee when you kick 'em? The neighbor with a distaste for man-size puff-ball generators (ok, so that's an exaggeration, more like kid-size) has one of these things. I've been listening to it yip at me from 75 feet away every time I would go out back to have a smoke for what seems an eternity now. Aside from silently plotting various means to abruptly end it's yipping career, I haven't so much as uttered a peep about the damn thing. Until last night.
Knowing the local noise curfew laws from being an occasionally obnoxious teenager (who, me?), I recalled of a number resembling 11PM. Perfect. It was currently 10PM. The wild hair between the cheeks grew rapidly and I dug out my mega-LED flashlight, a roll of electrical tape, and proceeded to head out the back door. On my way out there, it just so happens that as I was testing the flashlight, one of my targets appeared on the radar, and I couldn't help myself. From all the way across my back yard and partly across his, I nailed him in the face with a bucket of photons, and just began giggling. The look in his eye was priceless. The only thing that could have made it better was if I was closer to get a better look. He looked so puzzled. Hah!
So, as I continued my evil giggle spree, I headed for the shed, where I proceeded to pull out the weedeater. It was full of gas, as I had (ironically) started to trim the yard just a week earlier. As I strapped the flashlight to the shaft of my aural weapon, I turned around and made one last peek before pulling the rope. All was clear. Nobody in that house had a clue. Nice warm summer evening, every window in the house open, the occasional cool breeze? Excellent, Smithers.
A couple presses of the primer, a few tugs on the rope. WaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAH! She came to life. Lets rock.
I made my presence more than known very early in the demonstration. I went directly to the point in the fence where I could get maximum annoyance factor, turned around so the sweet sound emanating from the tailpipe had peak transmission power, and wailed on the throttle, you know, just to warm up the engine.
I could almost feel them stirring in the house, wondering what in the hell I was doing. I began slashing and thrashing about, cutting anything and everything that got in the way of the rotating head. After about 30 seconds or so, the bodies began appearing outside the domicile. I turned and looked one of them dead in the eye, dropped the throttle, and raised the shaft up so they could get another face full of light, and just growled out a phrase that wont leave them for a little while... "Where's that fucking dog at?"
After about 3 seconds of watching the blood drain from her face, I lowered the head back to the ground, pulled the trigger in for round two, and gave it a quick tap on the ground to ensure I was fully loaded with string for my rampage.
It took me about 45 minutes to chop up the entire back yard, and they came and went outside as if concerned what my next move might involve, but no clue what to do about it. It was amusing. Truly amusing.
As my fun came to an end, I spouted off a few lines about the dog and made sure to notify them that their deed did not go un-noticed, and recommended that they explain to the other neighbors just how this night came about. My apologies will go to the unfortunates that were caught in the cross fire; its a shame that they also had to experience my belligerence, but where I come from, how does it go... Oh yeah, Homey Don't Play That!
Of course, I likely would not have done this if I expected to further be here for any significant amount of time, as it's not good karma to wage war with a neighbor. But damnit, they pissed me off!
I come home from work, and my much better half arrives shortly after, and begins opening the mail. Amongst the garbage is a letter from the city. As it turns out, our not so lovely neighbors behind us have decided that they no longer appreciate our weed collection growing in the back yard. Mind you, these are legal weeds, not the more preferable kind. Dandelions on steroids, ivy, and some mysterious variety that makes little fuzzy balls that like to stick to Linus, my Maine Coon.
You see, our back yard is, well, a miniature version of the Amazon. All it's missing is flowing water stocked with piranha. Maybe out back at the new house. Anyway, the problem is that because there is so much debris and flack out there, its a real pain to keep maintained, if not even dangerous to attempt to do so. Amongst the various foliage, there are also chunks of cinder block, broken limbs from dead trees (one of which fell on the fence that separates our yard from another neighbor), odd and end pieces of metal of various shapes and sizes, all arranged haphazardly in harmony with one another. The story is that the landlord (yes, I'm renting at the moment) tried to use construction wastes of various kinds as a bulk landfill material, and then filled in the rest with dirt. This is great and all, except he didnt block off the runoff path, so the dirt all washed away. Dumbass.
So here I am, stuck with a yard that I cant do much with, so we just avoid utilizing it. I've tried weedwackers, foliage killer, and on and on. Nothing really works very well for any length of time. The concept this season was to ignore it totally, since soon, it will not be our problem any more. We're moving!
Now, to add a little pepper to this story before I really get down to what transpired, I must tell you about an irritating little nuisance we have been dealing with for almost two years straight now. It's one of those little kickin' and peein' dogs. You know, the kind that pee when you kick 'em? The neighbor with a distaste for man-size puff-ball generators (ok, so that's an exaggeration, more like kid-size) has one of these things. I've been listening to it yip at me from 75 feet away every time I would go out back to have a smoke for what seems an eternity now. Aside from silently plotting various means to abruptly end it's yipping career, I haven't so much as uttered a peep about the damn thing. Until last night.
Knowing the local noise curfew laws from being an occasionally obnoxious teenager (who, me?), I recalled of a number resembling 11PM. Perfect. It was currently 10PM. The wild hair between the cheeks grew rapidly and I dug out my mega-LED flashlight, a roll of electrical tape, and proceeded to head out the back door. On my way out there, it just so happens that as I was testing the flashlight, one of my targets appeared on the radar, and I couldn't help myself. From all the way across my back yard and partly across his, I nailed him in the face with a bucket of photons, and just began giggling. The look in his eye was priceless. The only thing that could have made it better was if I was closer to get a better look. He looked so puzzled. Hah!
So, as I continued my evil giggle spree, I headed for the shed, where I proceeded to pull out the weedeater. It was full of gas, as I had (ironically) started to trim the yard just a week earlier. As I strapped the flashlight to the shaft of my aural weapon, I turned around and made one last peek before pulling the rope. All was clear. Nobody in that house had a clue. Nice warm summer evening, every window in the house open, the occasional cool breeze? Excellent, Smithers.
A couple presses of the primer, a few tugs on the rope. WaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAH! She came to life. Lets rock.
I made my presence more than known very early in the demonstration. I went directly to the point in the fence where I could get maximum annoyance factor, turned around so the sweet sound emanating from the tailpipe had peak transmission power, and wailed on the throttle, you know, just to warm up the engine.
I could almost feel them stirring in the house, wondering what in the hell I was doing. I began slashing and thrashing about, cutting anything and everything that got in the way of the rotating head. After about 30 seconds or so, the bodies began appearing outside the domicile. I turned and looked one of them dead in the eye, dropped the throttle, and raised the shaft up so they could get another face full of light, and just growled out a phrase that wont leave them for a little while... "Where's that fucking dog at?"
After about 3 seconds of watching the blood drain from her face, I lowered the head back to the ground, pulled the trigger in for round two, and gave it a quick tap on the ground to ensure I was fully loaded with string for my rampage.
It took me about 45 minutes to chop up the entire back yard, and they came and went outside as if concerned what my next move might involve, but no clue what to do about it. It was amusing. Truly amusing.
As my fun came to an end, I spouted off a few lines about the dog and made sure to notify them that their deed did not go un-noticed, and recommended that they explain to the other neighbors just how this night came about. My apologies will go to the unfortunates that were caught in the cross fire; its a shame that they also had to experience my belligerence, but where I come from, how does it go... Oh yeah, Homey Don't Play That!
Of course, I likely would not have done this if I expected to further be here for any significant amount of time, as it's not good karma to wage war with a neighbor. But damnit, they pissed me off!
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
14 Days Clean
A quick post to mark a good start . . .
At the end of today, a total of 14 days clean will have passed, and without regret.
It can't go without saying that it hasn't had its trials, but there is a feeling of relief associated with it, maybe even a little pride. Enough time has gone by now that the aspects that are to be 'missed' are being felt, but the drive is too strong. Besides, thats 2 weeks of faith that my beloved wife has in me that wasn't there at the one day mark. That's important to me; She is important to me.
The DUI has been kept quiet for all but a few. I have thus far only told the people that needed to be told for some direct reason, and the others that know, were told by one of them. There are three exceptions, and I have my reasons for notifying them. For the most part, however, I have wanted to keep this a secret. Why? Not because I don't want anyone to know. Not because I am ashamed of it. Not because it's social suicide in the wrong crowd. So why then?
Faith. People don't have it in me anymore. They're tired of hearing one thing, and seeing it end up the total opposite. That's exactly how it played out as I got into this mess, and it's been that way for a long time.
"I'm quitting.", followed by slurp 'n burp.
You wouldn't have any faith either if you heard me say it as many times as I did. Hell, I was starting to not even have any, and I was the one I was talking about! The only way to do this was to just do it. So that's what I did. No more talk, just do. Or in this case, don't. Let's face it, faith is a powerful force.
On to a jagged tangent for a moment... Someone asked me, "Secret... What the hell are you talking about secret? You put it on the web!"
My response to this is simple: The fact that I have told the entire world (if they all found themselves here for some really odd reason) really gains me nothing in the faith or pride arenas. Nobody reading this really knows who I am unless they already know me and it was in their cards to be privy. For them, they already knew about the entire thing anyway. It's here in case you can get something out of it. The only thing I am getting from posting this is some shit off my chest that I just have to say, but nobody to say it to. Not quite sure what that says exactly . . .
Ok, so long story short for this is simple. I'm happier now. I'm still in a world of shit, but I know that when it finally lets go of me and I come out the other side, I will be that much better for it. I'll never have to look this demon in the eye again. And neither will the ones that I love, and love me. At least not directly. As for you, to me this indicates a spark of hope, even for those of you that may have it worse than I did (and somewhat still do).
There is aftershock, and plenty to go around, but that's a whole 'nother post for some other day. I'll of course spew more as the events unveil . . .
At the end of today, a total of 14 days clean will have passed, and without regret.
It can't go without saying that it hasn't had its trials, but there is a feeling of relief associated with it, maybe even a little pride. Enough time has gone by now that the aspects that are to be 'missed' are being felt, but the drive is too strong. Besides, thats 2 weeks of faith that my beloved wife has in me that wasn't there at the one day mark. That's important to me; She is important to me.
The DUI has been kept quiet for all but a few. I have thus far only told the people that needed to be told for some direct reason, and the others that know, were told by one of them. There are three exceptions, and I have my reasons for notifying them. For the most part, however, I have wanted to keep this a secret. Why? Not because I don't want anyone to know. Not because I am ashamed of it. Not because it's social suicide in the wrong crowd. So why then?
Faith. People don't have it in me anymore. They're tired of hearing one thing, and seeing it end up the total opposite. That's exactly how it played out as I got into this mess, and it's been that way for a long time.
"I'm quitting.", followed by slurp 'n burp.
You wouldn't have any faith either if you heard me say it as many times as I did. Hell, I was starting to not even have any, and I was the one I was talking about! The only way to do this was to just do it. So that's what I did. No more talk, just do. Or in this case, don't. Let's face it, faith is a powerful force.
On to a jagged tangent for a moment... Someone asked me, "Secret... What the hell are you talking about secret? You put it on the web!"
My response to this is simple: The fact that I have told the entire world (if they all found themselves here for some really odd reason) really gains me nothing in the faith or pride arenas. Nobody reading this really knows who I am unless they already know me and it was in their cards to be privy. For them, they already knew about the entire thing anyway. It's here in case you can get something out of it. The only thing I am getting from posting this is some shit off my chest that I just have to say, but nobody to say it to. Not quite sure what that says exactly . . .
Ok, so long story short for this is simple. I'm happier now. I'm still in a world of shit, but I know that when it finally lets go of me and I come out the other side, I will be that much better for it. I'll never have to look this demon in the eye again. And neither will the ones that I love, and love me. At least not directly. As for you, to me this indicates a spark of hope, even for those of you that may have it worse than I did (and somewhat still do).
There is aftershock, and plenty to go around, but that's a whole 'nother post for some other day. I'll of course spew more as the events unveil . . .
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Alcoholism: One Man's 20 Year Reflection
Now I've gone and done it.
I am posting this as to maybe provide some insight for someone else out there who has some of the same problems in life that I do, and can maybe find some help for themselves buried in the rubble that is about to bestow you.
Picture if you can, a failure mode of epic proportions and oppressive timing, all due to my own denial of long term poor judgement.
Not following me? You like analogies? I do. Picture a drag race, the promising car barreling down the strip, everything looks good, he's gonna win, and then... out of nowhere, BOOM! The engine explodes.
In a moments notice, the driver goes from being seemingly in control, to finding himself amongst a couple thousand pounds of matter with a velocity higher than anything operating on the autobahn, now suddenly under something else's control. He no longer has any say in where he goes, how he gets there, and more importantly, if he will even survive the trip.
Now a quick Q&A session, before we go on with the real story:
Did the driver know this was a possibility? Of course.
Was there something to tell him he was close to destruction? Maybe.
Do you think he would keep going anyway? Almost certainly.
Is it simply human nature to push well beyond known limits, particularly on some form of proving ground?
Must be. I damn sure did, and probably didn't fare much better than our buddy in the nitro rocket either.
"What is your point?", you ask.
Well, let me give you the actual scenario. It somehow seems easier to work backwards this time; maybe I will pick up on something [else] that I missed along the way. For once, however, at least my analogy is not all that far fetched; even though my engine didn't explode, and the car (luckily) didn't physically go out of control, my short-term destiny has still ended up in the hands of a force that I have no control over at this point. Three letters become an all too familiar menacing acronym in the aftermath of the situation I am about to describe; DUI.
I must pause at this point to remember just how lucky I really am, all things considered. Nobody was physically injured in all of this, and for that I am grateful. I have other reasons to feel spared, but more on this later. For now, I am going to just recall that it could have been much, MUCH worse than it is; a scenario I don't believe I can begin to try and imagine at this point.
A couple of friends of mine and I were out on what was originally intended as the usual monthly hangout, riding around. Now, while I admit I had been drinking, at the point that we left, there wasn't a whole lot to it, and everything was under control. Well, sort of. In the grand picture, being in control is the exact antithesis of reality's version of the story.
Blinded judgement led to a couple of pit stops, in order to 're-fuel'. Before I know it, I had apparently consumed substantially more than what could even be misconstrued as a legal limit; this didn't even unfold entirely until almost 48 hours after the arrest, at the initial consultation with a lawyer. I believe my words to him were, "I'm screwed, aint I?"
I'm not going to mention exactly what the numbers were, but suffice to say that this fact alone scares the crap out of me, since I know I have driven in the past with much more than what was determined to be in my system that night. As the cop put it, I didn't do all that badly on what I call the 'analogue' tests - those which do not involve a quantizing device. You know, touch your nose, stand on one leg, etc.
Even after returning home, inventorying everything, and calculating based on what was known to have been consumed prior to leaving, then roughly doubling that number based on time and remembered stops, I came to the conclusion that the amount may have even exceeded the number estimated by the lawyer. Add this to the fact that I remember about 90% of the entire night, and true fear ensues; I've had a few rides where I didn't remember anything more than where I started, and where I ended up; a few hours of driving between them. Anyone who has ever gone outside the following evening (avoiding sunlight is paramount after nights like that) just to check the car for signs of blood out of paranoia can see where I am coming from on this. Scary shit.
Ok, so lets back up a bit more, and get to some more insight.
My friends (of several years) were with me, and I believe we all reached about the same conclusion at about the same time. Driving through a somewhat notorious area for police activity was a bold move at best, but of course, I felt like the situation was under control, and there was no need for any panic. Well, as it turns out, I had stumbled upon the needlepoint, a T intersection where just about every cop in the city had to funnel through to do their daily business. The speed limit drops radically here; from 45 to 25 in a short distance, and an even shorter intermediary 35 zone in between. Letting off the gas, even in a stick shift, is insufficient retarding force for any vehicle to remain in legal limits on this road; brakes are definitely needed.
Upon crossing into the 25 zone, I looked down and the needle was right at 35. For most areas around here, this is not generally a problem, but it is well known that the specific location we were in has an affinity for ticketing based on speed, and it became apparent on short notice that I was no exception. I crossed the T intersection, at which time a cop was in the opposing lane, and looked to be turning left.
As I passed, I had pulled the speed down to 25, as another car had briefly appeared in front of me, and now was not the time to dispute the laws of physics. The impeding car turned off the road as quickly as it had turned on, in front of me no more than about 2 blocks or so. As the car turned away, I crept the speed slightly back up, just under 30. As I looked back in the rear view mirror, the cop was executing a U turn. Not good. They don't do this unless something has piqued their interest. Guess what it was?
Not even a quarter of a mile or so had gone underneath the wheels after this fateful moment, and then the lights.
"Why?", I wondered to myself. Anywhere else, it is just-about-universally (does that cover it?) acceptable to be within 5 mph of the posted limit. I intentionally kept it between 3 and 4 over, to avoid suspicion; a well oiled tactic from experiences in the past. If I would have dropped it to 20, I would have been a dead ringer for sure. They would have stared me down like an old british nanny.
Now, mind you, blue is my favorite color, particularly that shade, but not when they are flickering and strobing wildly on top of a car behind me. I knew then, it was over. I wasn't going to be heading home; at least not any time soon.
When I finally decided on a place to pull over, I stopped the car, every one of my senses perked up. It's almost as if I could hear a black cloud forming over my head. I learned what the Grim Reaper looks like when he carries a flashlight.
To make matters worse for this moment, I had an open beer. In a panic, I passed it to my friend in the passenger seat and asked him to hide it. Like that was going to save me. Did I mention impaired judgment in here anywhere? Very shortly after passing it off, the cop appeared at my window and asked me if I realized I was speeding. Almost as if interrupting himself, he promptly indicated that he had me at 35 in a 25, then stopped and stood up completely, with a MagLite beam brighter than the sun pointed right at my face. Of course, I'm still baffled by him nailing my speed dead on the head. How the hell did he do that? Isn't rolling radar illegal here?
Suffice to say, he lost interest quickly in the speed issue, as it didn't take long for him to figure out what had been going on. Then again, it aint rocket science either. Hell, I'm sure even a half skunked wino could have smelled the sauce from across the street. It wasn't long at all before those words that nobody likes to hear came from an authoritative voice.
"Would you mind stepping out of the car please, Sir?"
This particular combination of sound waves invokes immediate and further panic when you're the one they are directed at. I complied, however, and the inquiries began.
Right here, I'm going to cut more of the details out, but I will leave enough so you get the drift. The initial U turn was invoked due to "excessive speed". Ok, now maybe there are some distortions within my mind, and in fact it is likely, but the spedo was definitely one of the things I became very mindful of. I knew where I was before I got there, and had even been externally reminded by my co-travelers before we approached it, that we were fixing to be in the equivalent of a speed DMZ. I was watching that needle, trust me. I suppose, this is neither here nor there at this point, and so all I have to say on that particular subject is "Anal."
The trigger for the actual stop itself was that I had apparently crossed the lines slightly, and this is all they needed. Once again, I'm a little in awe; I never once heard anyone say anything to me in the car about it, and it would have been expected, given some ironic circumstances, as either one of them was more than qualified to pipe up about a concern, as you will find out shortly. There wasn't much going on either, it isn't like we were throwing a party inside the car. Casual conversation, mostly about music, and no real driver distractions (other than the obvious).
Maybe it is my perception of what the classic definition of 'swerving' is. For me, it resembles the teenager that we have all seen driving down the road, yapping on a cell phone (or worse; texting), causing them to not even be aware that the car has severely crossed into another lane (and more often than not, several times). Happens all the time, and on straight roads. Hell, in my own defense, the road I was on is somewhat curvy, and I know I cut curves all the time, when it is clear to do so. I know I had not crossed a line any worse that night than I ever would intentionally, being completely sober. A lot must be said about location and timing, huh? I suppose that whole 'microscope effect' has something to do with it also.
Here, I break off, as the details of the arrest are of a moot point here, and would expose more than I am willing to reveal at this point. I have my reasons.
The agonizing irony of all of this is comprised of only a handful of concepts, that for some reason, did not logically apply on that fateful night. One is, that either one of my friends that were with me that night could have both driven perfectly legally, and yet I made no provision for this. Remember my comment earlier about proving grounds? They were both sober. Something about primitive human nature is the only explanation that I can figure. Sigh.
The other, is that this was a nasty setback to a much larger plan, and the entire thing backfired violently in my face. For many years, I have done battle with alcohol. It has been my friend, my enemy, and everything in between. I've done everything from conjure up the seemingly impossible all the way to performing the most damning of activities, this one being absolutely no exception. The irony comes in the sense that I was almost to the quitting point anyway. In the months prior to this incident, there was one other tripping point that I stumbled across, that ultimately led me to the conclusion that yes, there was indeed a problem.
One of the hazards to alcohol (as previously stated) is it's ability to confuse it's victims. There are nasty tendencies of alcoholics to mislead themselves into believing control is possible. Once someone has fallen into a pattern where lack of control is evident, it is virtually futile to even try to get normal control over it again. Please note that I am not referring to the people that have only been plastered a handful of times in their lives. This does not apply to them. Don't mistake either statement as referring to the other.
Now, I admit, I have personally seen a few people that were able to reverse the process, but they are few and far between. I also don't have any real information about the surrounding circumstances of their lives. Without that, success in this arena is a difficult thing to measure. For my purposes, I will just say that since it is such a rarity, that it is more or less an impossibility. From my experiences at least, it is a monumental task that while at first seems possible (and may even appear to work for short periods), will ultimately fail, usually with more catastrophic results than the last attempt did. Refer back to the description of the DUI after reading the rest of this post if you believe anything else; it is a very good example of this.
One of the hardest things to come to realization about is the fact that control has been lost. Alcoholism really exists as a single entity, however with several different personalities, or phases. While I am not a certified professional with degrees on the subject, I am an expert, I have been an alcoholic for what is working on 20 years now. [That in itself just knocked me back a bit... ouch!]
The distinct phases are as follows:
Phase 0: This actually does not fall under the alcoholic category, but is here for comparison. It describes someone who has never consumed alcohol in excess, because they do not care for the intended nor adverse effects, and so for the most part, they avoid it completely. One can only remain in this phase until an addiction sets in; at that point, an entirely different category arises, since the so-called 'addictive personality' is apparent.
Phase 1: This is first blood. The taste for the feel. Early stages don't really fall under alcoholism either, although they display the first signs that it is impending. Typically, this occurs in the mid to late teenage years (but not always), immediately following introduction to alcohol. It is the alcoholic side of the first 'fork-in-the-road' that leads to more advanced phases. It is also during this time that one is most associated with experimenting with other mind altering substances. I will not be going into this here, but in many ways, those addictions are similar, they just have their own specifics. Usually, someone in this phase doesn't stay here long, they either determine that it is not for them, going to phase 0, or they enjoy it a bit too much, and move to phase 2, where the real battles begin to take shape.
Phase 2: Habit forming. This is where the young (meaning early, not necessarily chronologically) alcoholic begins continuously seeking the substance that will inevitably attempt to destroy them. The addiction begins to become unruly in this phase, and logical behavior begins to disappear. There is an important distinguishing characteristic to be seen here. In this phase, only the mind is seeking alcohol, not the physical body. Hence habit forming. The body has not yet become dependent on the substance, it is only being craved psychologically. This is generally the last phase where it can be considered even remotely easy to stop drinking, although by this time, since the mind is involved, denial begins to come into play, and phase 3 begins.
Phase 3: Outward denial. Things get very difficult here, both for alcoholics and the people around them. By this time, an alcoholic has become crafty, yet at the same time, ashamed. Some of this comes from feeling the effects of hangovers on a regular basis. In this case, the shame is a primal response to someone knowing deep down that they are causing their own suffering. Also, at the same time, since excessive alcohol use is somewhat considered to be taboo in nature, this fuels these feelings of shame, furthering the issue. Denial then forms out of the sheer necessity for internal protection; the logic behind it is that denying one's addiction helps at the very least to mask it from the outside, reducing the shame. This works early on, but begins to fall apart as the people around the alcoholic start to notice the behaviors presenting more and more problems. Relationships may already be suffering from the effects of alcohol interfering with thought processes on a regular basis.
Phase 4: Internal denial. In phase 3, the denial is only of an outward nature, and is not prevalent to the alcoholic internally. Thats not to say that there is not some internal denial earlier on, but in phase 4 it becomes directed inward as well. This is to further protect them from themselves; in phase 3 they were primarily concerned about the outside world. Now the entire issue becomes self-evident at some point, and the internal conflict begins. Denying a problem to one's self [ideally] is intended to bring internal peace and resolution to the ongoing problem. It should be noted at this point that it is during this phase that the schizophrenic-like behavior of an alcoholic begins. While not completely and directly connected, schizophrenia and multiple personality disorders have some interesting parallels here; they can also be caused by traumatic events, which are effectively blocked out by switching to an alternate personality. The mechanism is similar, as it is common at this point for depression to begin setting in, since the alcoholic feels as though his secret makes him a failure. This is of course traumatic, and causes personality shifts in the alcoholic. Problems with relationships are more than likely very evident at this time as well, as several types of mental instabilities are present now; Bi-polar disorder is also a common side-effect of alcoholics (and other addicts as well), and for many of the same reasons, cause very similar social problems. At this point, the body (as well as the mind) is also starting to require alcohol to be present, and begins to show signs of improper function when it is withdrawn. Physical manifestations include shaking, sweating, nausea, and the like, while the mind exhibits abnormal function such as dementia and paranoia.
Phase 5: Irresponsibility/Irrationality. At some point, due to external recognition by peers, and compounded by mental dysfunction, the denial scheme begins to break down, and the alcoholic is faced with a truly magnificent dilemma; who can he trust? At some point, this propagates both externally as well as internally; the alcoholic begins to question both the outside world, as well as himself. Further disconnection from a 'proper' society occurs, as this is the only rational means for the irrational mind to keep the chaos in order. The result is reality also takes a split, and there becomes an external and an internal reality; usually not lining up very well. Since the external reality is inevitably going to be the furthest from internal demands, irresponsible behavior begins to ensue, and the alcoholic starts honing his craft, regardless of the consequences. By now, the body sends painful signals to the mind whenever alcohol is missing for any length of time, and since rational behavior no longer prevails, the alcoholic will do whatever is necessary to obtain the required intake to keep things 'normal'. At this point, employment is "optional" for some (not viewed as an important nor viable aspect of life), and other means of acquiring the alcohol may begin taking shape, as they are a much easier and faster alternative to working. These may include but are not limited to stealing money from friends and family, robbery, and direct theft of the alcohol itself.
Phase 6: Stagnation. This is the phase where life basically goes on, until something major happens that causes a change in behavior. Generally speaking, the longer an alcoholic stays in 'operation', the more ingrained the behavior becomes, the worse all of the aforementioned behaviors get, and the harder it is for them to stop (if they are even inclined to do so). This period can last several years, and sometimes even tens of years. Somewhere in here, the road will generally divide one of two ways; the primary paths are as follows:
a. The so-called 'functional' alcoholic has a higher tendency to last in this phase, since he is actively providing a legal means for feeding his habit, and there is less that is likely to become a direct impedance to obtaining the alcohol. This also applies to a 'disabled' alcoholic, who's primary source of money is something like welfare, pension, or other form of 'gratuitous' income. The primary impedances to a functional alcoholic are things like arrests due to bar fighting, drunk in public, DUI, and domestic violence.
b. If the alcoholic is dependent on thievery or robbery to feed his habit, this phase is generally shorter (or at least paused) due to a higher likelihood of either being arrested or killed in the act of committing his crimes. For the former, unless he then decides that it is not the path to continue on, the behavior will very likely resume upon release from the facility that is keeping it from him. Beggars also fall loosely under this category, as they have a higher likelihood of being placed into involuntary programs repeatedly (mental institutions or even incarceration) as they are likely to be found intoxicated in public of a fairly regular basis, which can of course lead to other 'health' problems, up to and including death (either by overconsumption or as a social target).
The outcomes of (a) and (b) will then split into one of two secondary paths. When immediate death (as a consequence of a direct action) or internal recognition (see below) has not emerged as the solution, they continue a vicious circle, regardless of the consequences they encounter, until their health deteriorates, then ultimately, death. The other requires deep internal and personal reflection, and is not an easy path to take, but proves worthwhile to those who wish to take it. Enter phase 7.
Phase 7: Internal Recognition. To reach phase 7, the alcoholic has realized that there is something seriously wrong, and while invisible to the outside world, the conflict within begins to see resolve. Unfortunately, this in and of itself is not enough to cause an alcoholic to stop drinking, but it provides a target to aim for while the internal battle with the disease starts to lose its balance. This phase is actually one of the more dangerous phases for the alcoholic; mental stability is a long lost concept, and it is very difficult to discern exactly which way is up. Usually, internal recognition also still coincides with the physical dependency on the alcohol, further disrupting progress. The consequences of discontinuation of alcohol intake can be very discouraging. If symptoms are severe enough, the alcoholic is highly likely to flip back and forth between phases 6 and 7 several times, sometimes indefinitely. It is in this phase that relapses truly begin, as the consequences of completely stopping the consumption of alcohol can be as much as even fatal if the dependency is high enough. Relapses may or may not be visible to the outside world at this point, as the alcoholic is not ready to admit defeat, and thus may not divulge the bigger plan. Why would he? Its an internal battle! Nevertheless, one of the actions that is visible during phase 7 is that the alcoholic may begin to dissociate other alcoholics, as they pose a threat to the overall goal - getting sober.
Phase 8: External Acknowledgement. Many argue that true recovery cannot begin until the alcoholic has fully admitted to himself that there is a problem, as well as admitting it to the outside world. In my particular case, I wanted to win the battle before I admitted defeat to the outside world, or at the very least, throw my dying punch. It is unclear to me at this time how much of an effect external acknowledgement had on my actual internal battle. I will concede at this point however that if physical dependency is of significant relevance, that external help is not only desirable, but should be viewed as a necessity. If not, the alcoholic may find it better to keep it internal to himself. This is really a personal thing. The ugly truth is that an alcoholic will not quit drinking unless there is sufficient desire, regardless of external poking and prodding. If an alcoholic wants to stop, phase 7 will begin by itself, and will then naturally progress to phase 8 as the healing begins. It is not an overnight process, either. In my particular case, I spent 2 or 3 years or so in phase 7, and only about 3 months ago hit phase 8. Unfortunately, this is also the phase where family and friends usually begin to lose all hope, because it does not appear that the alcoholic can regain enough control to keep any intent promises that get made during the process. Relapses are an unfortunate part of cleaning up, but as is apparent to an alcoholic who has ever tried to stop, or anyone who has had to deal with family or a friend that is an alcoholic, it is never as easy as it sounds. Don't despair however, if phase 7 and 8 are in play, and not by force, sobriety is inevitable.
( I want to take a side note here, and say that external forces placing pressure on me to admit that I had a problem, and trying to make me get external help actually slowed progress down for me. I bring this up here, as a personal experience, targeted at the reader who may be dealing with a loved one who is an alcoholic. As I mentioned before, an internal battle is just that. It cannot be won from the outside. This is not to say that expression of concern is not a good thing, but pressure causes stress - something that an alcoholic is already very adept at running away from, and knows only one way to deal with - drinking. Think about this as you come up with the best way to express your concerns. Remember that if they aren't ready, they wont do it anyway, and if they are ready, they may feel the need to work it on their own. Let them feel loved, but tough love is not necessarily the answer for every case. This becomes particularly important if you see evidence of them trying to get clean already, no matter how minimal it may be at the time. Progress is progress. As the saying goes, don't rock the boat.
The [somewhat understandable] argument against this is simply that it goes against psychological models to not concede when something is bigger than you. However, in my view, if this were always the case, why would so many living species use physical intimidation to win battles, when in actuality, they could easily be physically defeated by the enemy? A good example is a king cobra. It will use the exact same defensive strategy against a human as it will a mediocre rodent. The human is clearly much larger, and has a sharper wit; yet only the bravest of humans will tangle with a cobra that is sending warning signals. The parallel here is of a psychological nature; just because something seems intimidating, doesn't necessarily mean that you cannot defeat it on your own. The battle doesn't necessarily have to be physical for this tactic to work. Think poker. Mental intimidation. Since it is all a matter of perception, when someone can overpower another mental force inside of their head, not only will it be more effective, but they will carry greater pride in having successfully won the battle. )
Now then . . .
Phase 9: "Controlling" the beast. So, as an alcoholic, you've resolved that there is a problem, and that it has taken over your life. Good first step. You've admitted it to yourself. Maybe even loved ones. You've detached physically, no longer in danger of causing undue physical suffering due to withdrawals. Big step. Gave it that 'sobriety check' that allowed you to see real results of your progress. Nice. Unfortunately, what comes next is all too common, and is one of the more disgusting menaces of the subject. One word.
Moderation.
This is one of the nastiest arguments one can try to make for one's self to continue to be 'normal' like everyone else. Reason being, it almost takes an alcoholic right back to phase 1, only with a new Jedi mind trick in play; the belief that an addictive personality can control and regulate the intake of an addictive substance. Not likely to happen. Not very likely at all.
In my particular case, I raged battle with this particular demon for a good portion of phase 7, and even through phase 8. Early in the year, I did one of those 'detox-test-runs' for 3 weeks (on my own, not an actual detox) to prove to myself that I had broken free from the physical dependencies, and that all that was left was the psychological aspects of it. I then looked at my disease with new light. My battle had now become what seemed simple.
Just control it!
It all looked fine at first. I was amazed, felt like I finally beat this bitch. Hey, I can do this. 1 beer. Done. A week later, another beer. Wow, this could work. A few days later? Eh, whats a second beer. No biggie, I'm in control now. A couple days later, three. A few days pass, and then four beers. But, I'm in control, right?
Well, this is where I ask you, the reader, some questions.
If I was in control, why is it that inside of a two month window following that first beer, I ended up sitting inside a small concrete room, humiliated, and blowing into a little plastic tube?
If I was in control, why is it that I not only humiliated myself, but two of my friends at the same time?
If I was in control, why is it that the machine spit a number that most states consider to be so significant that it had crossed the line where an ignition interlock device will be required for me to drive my car for some time to come?
If I was in control, why is it that this same number represents mandatory jail time for me?
If I was in control, why is it that my wife had to hear about this entire fiasco when she was almost all the way across the country?
If I was in control, why is it that I am trying to figure out how to pay a lawyer some astronomical fees, and there is still no guarantee that I can get the charge reduced to a 'normal' DUI?
If I was in control, why is it that due to the requirement of an interlock device, I may lose my job because the company might not allow it to be installed on their vehicle (it is a condition of the license itself, not any particular vehicle)?
If I was in control, why will my insurance go through the roof for some time to come?
The answer to ALL of these questions is the same.
I WASN'T IN CONTROL.
And believe me, the list doesn't stop there. I can't see much value in putting any more details out than I have. This is the internet after all...
Phase 10: Abstinence. The only answer. It wasn't until the DUI that I actually sat down, confessed to myself, and took a long hard look at where I had put myself (jail will do that, you know). I realized that I can't control it. Moderation is what keeps people inside phase 0. But remember, for an alcoholic, this is not an option! Phase 0 is long gone. This was an extremely difficult conclusion to draw for myself, as I have been looking at this whole thing as something I had come this far with; and that if I could do that, why couldn't I just simply control it? Remember what I said about that Jedi mind trick?
See "Phase 1: First Blood." and then we'll go [again] from there. When you get tired of reading this entire thing over and over and over and over and over again, maybe it will sink in for you too. Consider yourself lucky if you drink heavily, and have never had the misfortune of something as devastating as a DUI (or worse) to contend with. Do whatever it takes to stop the madness before it is too late!
If you're a casual drinker, and you truly do not have any tendency to abuse alcohol to any degree, yes, moderation is the key.
If you're an alcoholic, forget it! Moderation is the leading edge of a vicious circle that will not hesitate to take you right back in to the horrific game that alcoholism is. Abstinence is the only way. Plain and simple.
Footnotes:
Before I go, I want to make note of a few odds and ends that are out and about for working through alcoholism. If you notice, not once in this document did I mention any organizations (until now). This is because I respect everyone's belief system, but I do not necessarily feel that anything greater than one's self is required to get sober. I want to make one thing abundantly clear, however. There are several handfuls of organizations out there of all different genres, and there is probably at least one for anyone out there who needs help with their drinking. Just remember that ultimately, it has to work for you, and not the other way around, because ultimately, the power to go where you want to go comes from within you.
I want to also say one other thing about 'learned moderation' before I close. I am not denying that there is a remote possibility that it can be done; I have a friend that lives several hours away that claims to have done it successfully. I also can't verify it due to the distance. I will say this, in his defense, it appears to have worked for him. Heed my warning however, he is the exception.
Thanks for reading, and hopefully I am able to help someone else out there. Its been a long road, but I have faith in myself. You can do it too.
Oh yeah, and the drag car? I made all that up. Reality is better than fiction anyhow, right? :)
I am posting this as to maybe provide some insight for someone else out there who has some of the same problems in life that I do, and can maybe find some help for themselves buried in the rubble that is about to bestow you.
Picture if you can, a failure mode of epic proportions and oppressive timing, all due to my own denial of long term poor judgement.
Not following me? You like analogies? I do. Picture a drag race, the promising car barreling down the strip, everything looks good, he's gonna win, and then... out of nowhere, BOOM! The engine explodes.
In a moments notice, the driver goes from being seemingly in control, to finding himself amongst a couple thousand pounds of matter with a velocity higher than anything operating on the autobahn, now suddenly under something else's control. He no longer has any say in where he goes, how he gets there, and more importantly, if he will even survive the trip.
Now a quick Q&A session, before we go on with the real story:
Did the driver know this was a possibility? Of course.
Was there something to tell him he was close to destruction? Maybe.
Do you think he would keep going anyway? Almost certainly.
Is it simply human nature to push well beyond known limits, particularly on some form of proving ground?
Must be. I damn sure did, and probably didn't fare much better than our buddy in the nitro rocket either.
"What is your point?", you ask.
Well, let me give you the actual scenario. It somehow seems easier to work backwards this time; maybe I will pick up on something [else] that I missed along the way. For once, however, at least my analogy is not all that far fetched; even though my engine didn't explode, and the car (luckily) didn't physically go out of control, my short-term destiny has still ended up in the hands of a force that I have no control over at this point. Three letters become an all too familiar menacing acronym in the aftermath of the situation I am about to describe; DUI.
I must pause at this point to remember just how lucky I really am, all things considered. Nobody was physically injured in all of this, and for that I am grateful. I have other reasons to feel spared, but more on this later. For now, I am going to just recall that it could have been much, MUCH worse than it is; a scenario I don't believe I can begin to try and imagine at this point.
A couple of friends of mine and I were out on what was originally intended as the usual monthly hangout, riding around. Now, while I admit I had been drinking, at the point that we left, there wasn't a whole lot to it, and everything was under control. Well, sort of. In the grand picture, being in control is the exact antithesis of reality's version of the story.
Blinded judgement led to a couple of pit stops, in order to 're-fuel'. Before I know it, I had apparently consumed substantially more than what could even be misconstrued as a legal limit; this didn't even unfold entirely until almost 48 hours after the arrest, at the initial consultation with a lawyer. I believe my words to him were, "I'm screwed, aint I?"
I'm not going to mention exactly what the numbers were, but suffice to say that this fact alone scares the crap out of me, since I know I have driven in the past with much more than what was determined to be in my system that night. As the cop put it, I didn't do all that badly on what I call the 'analogue' tests - those which do not involve a quantizing device. You know, touch your nose, stand on one leg, etc.
Even after returning home, inventorying everything, and calculating based on what was known to have been consumed prior to leaving, then roughly doubling that number based on time and remembered stops, I came to the conclusion that the amount may have even exceeded the number estimated by the lawyer. Add this to the fact that I remember about 90% of the entire night, and true fear ensues; I've had a few rides where I didn't remember anything more than where I started, and where I ended up; a few hours of driving between them. Anyone who has ever gone outside the following evening (avoiding sunlight is paramount after nights like that) just to check the car for signs of blood out of paranoia can see where I am coming from on this. Scary shit.
Ok, so lets back up a bit more, and get to some more insight.
My friends (of several years) were with me, and I believe we all reached about the same conclusion at about the same time. Driving through a somewhat notorious area for police activity was a bold move at best, but of course, I felt like the situation was under control, and there was no need for any panic. Well, as it turns out, I had stumbled upon the needlepoint, a T intersection where just about every cop in the city had to funnel through to do their daily business. The speed limit drops radically here; from 45 to 25 in a short distance, and an even shorter intermediary 35 zone in between. Letting off the gas, even in a stick shift, is insufficient retarding force for any vehicle to remain in legal limits on this road; brakes are definitely needed.
Upon crossing into the 25 zone, I looked down and the needle was right at 35. For most areas around here, this is not generally a problem, but it is well known that the specific location we were in has an affinity for ticketing based on speed, and it became apparent on short notice that I was no exception. I crossed the T intersection, at which time a cop was in the opposing lane, and looked to be turning left.
As I passed, I had pulled the speed down to 25, as another car had briefly appeared in front of me, and now was not the time to dispute the laws of physics. The impeding car turned off the road as quickly as it had turned on, in front of me no more than about 2 blocks or so. As the car turned away, I crept the speed slightly back up, just under 30. As I looked back in the rear view mirror, the cop was executing a U turn. Not good. They don't do this unless something has piqued their interest. Guess what it was?
Not even a quarter of a mile or so had gone underneath the wheels after this fateful moment, and then the lights.
"Why?", I wondered to myself. Anywhere else, it is just-about-universally (does that cover it?) acceptable to be within 5 mph of the posted limit. I intentionally kept it between 3 and 4 over, to avoid suspicion; a well oiled tactic from experiences in the past. If I would have dropped it to 20, I would have been a dead ringer for sure. They would have stared me down like an old british nanny.
Now, mind you, blue is my favorite color, particularly that shade, but not when they are flickering and strobing wildly on top of a car behind me. I knew then, it was over. I wasn't going to be heading home; at least not any time soon.
When I finally decided on a place to pull over, I stopped the car, every one of my senses perked up. It's almost as if I could hear a black cloud forming over my head. I learned what the Grim Reaper looks like when he carries a flashlight.
To make matters worse for this moment, I had an open beer. In a panic, I passed it to my friend in the passenger seat and asked him to hide it. Like that was going to save me. Did I mention impaired judgment in here anywhere? Very shortly after passing it off, the cop appeared at my window and asked me if I realized I was speeding. Almost as if interrupting himself, he promptly indicated that he had me at 35 in a 25, then stopped and stood up completely, with a MagLite beam brighter than the sun pointed right at my face. Of course, I'm still baffled by him nailing my speed dead on the head. How the hell did he do that? Isn't rolling radar illegal here?
Suffice to say, he lost interest quickly in the speed issue, as it didn't take long for him to figure out what had been going on. Then again, it aint rocket science either. Hell, I'm sure even a half skunked wino could have smelled the sauce from across the street. It wasn't long at all before those words that nobody likes to hear came from an authoritative voice.
"Would you mind stepping out of the car please, Sir?"
This particular combination of sound waves invokes immediate and further panic when you're the one they are directed at. I complied, however, and the inquiries began.
Right here, I'm going to cut more of the details out, but I will leave enough so you get the drift. The initial U turn was invoked due to "excessive speed". Ok, now maybe there are some distortions within my mind, and in fact it is likely, but the spedo was definitely one of the things I became very mindful of. I knew where I was before I got there, and had even been externally reminded by my co-travelers before we approached it, that we were fixing to be in the equivalent of a speed DMZ. I was watching that needle, trust me. I suppose, this is neither here nor there at this point, and so all I have to say on that particular subject is "Anal."
The trigger for the actual stop itself was that I had apparently crossed the lines slightly, and this is all they needed. Once again, I'm a little in awe; I never once heard anyone say anything to me in the car about it, and it would have been expected, given some ironic circumstances, as either one of them was more than qualified to pipe up about a concern, as you will find out shortly. There wasn't much going on either, it isn't like we were throwing a party inside the car. Casual conversation, mostly about music, and no real driver distractions (other than the obvious).
Maybe it is my perception of what the classic definition of 'swerving' is. For me, it resembles the teenager that we have all seen driving down the road, yapping on a cell phone (or worse; texting), causing them to not even be aware that the car has severely crossed into another lane (and more often than not, several times). Happens all the time, and on straight roads. Hell, in my own defense, the road I was on is somewhat curvy, and I know I cut curves all the time, when it is clear to do so. I know I had not crossed a line any worse that night than I ever would intentionally, being completely sober. A lot must be said about location and timing, huh? I suppose that whole 'microscope effect' has something to do with it also.
Here, I break off, as the details of the arrest are of a moot point here, and would expose more than I am willing to reveal at this point. I have my reasons.
The agonizing irony of all of this is comprised of only a handful of concepts, that for some reason, did not logically apply on that fateful night. One is, that either one of my friends that were with me that night could have both driven perfectly legally, and yet I made no provision for this. Remember my comment earlier about proving grounds? They were both sober. Something about primitive human nature is the only explanation that I can figure. Sigh.
The other, is that this was a nasty setback to a much larger plan, and the entire thing backfired violently in my face. For many years, I have done battle with alcohol. It has been my friend, my enemy, and everything in between. I've done everything from conjure up the seemingly impossible all the way to performing the most damning of activities, this one being absolutely no exception. The irony comes in the sense that I was almost to the quitting point anyway. In the months prior to this incident, there was one other tripping point that I stumbled across, that ultimately led me to the conclusion that yes, there was indeed a problem.
One of the hazards to alcohol (as previously stated) is it's ability to confuse it's victims. There are nasty tendencies of alcoholics to mislead themselves into believing control is possible. Once someone has fallen into a pattern where lack of control is evident, it is virtually futile to even try to get normal control over it again. Please note that I am not referring to the people that have only been plastered a handful of times in their lives. This does not apply to them. Don't mistake either statement as referring to the other.
Now, I admit, I have personally seen a few people that were able to reverse the process, but they are few and far between. I also don't have any real information about the surrounding circumstances of their lives. Without that, success in this arena is a difficult thing to measure. For my purposes, I will just say that since it is such a rarity, that it is more or less an impossibility. From my experiences at least, it is a monumental task that while at first seems possible (and may even appear to work for short periods), will ultimately fail, usually with more catastrophic results than the last attempt did. Refer back to the description of the DUI after reading the rest of this post if you believe anything else; it is a very good example of this.
One of the hardest things to come to realization about is the fact that control has been lost. Alcoholism really exists as a single entity, however with several different personalities, or phases. While I am not a certified professional with degrees on the subject, I am an expert, I have been an alcoholic for what is working on 20 years now. [That in itself just knocked me back a bit... ouch!]
The distinct phases are as follows:
Phase 0: This actually does not fall under the alcoholic category, but is here for comparison. It describes someone who has never consumed alcohol in excess, because they do not care for the intended nor adverse effects, and so for the most part, they avoid it completely. One can only remain in this phase until an addiction sets in; at that point, an entirely different category arises, since the so-called 'addictive personality' is apparent.
Phase 1: This is first blood. The taste for the feel. Early stages don't really fall under alcoholism either, although they display the first signs that it is impending. Typically, this occurs in the mid to late teenage years (but not always), immediately following introduction to alcohol. It is the alcoholic side of the first 'fork-in-the-road' that leads to more advanced phases. It is also during this time that one is most associated with experimenting with other mind altering substances. I will not be going into this here, but in many ways, those addictions are similar, they just have their own specifics. Usually, someone in this phase doesn't stay here long, they either determine that it is not for them, going to phase 0, or they enjoy it a bit too much, and move to phase 2, where the real battles begin to take shape.
Phase 2: Habit forming. This is where the young (meaning early, not necessarily chronologically) alcoholic begins continuously seeking the substance that will inevitably attempt to destroy them. The addiction begins to become unruly in this phase, and logical behavior begins to disappear. There is an important distinguishing characteristic to be seen here. In this phase, only the mind is seeking alcohol, not the physical body. Hence habit forming. The body has not yet become dependent on the substance, it is only being craved psychologically. This is generally the last phase where it can be considered even remotely easy to stop drinking, although by this time, since the mind is involved, denial begins to come into play, and phase 3 begins.
Phase 3: Outward denial. Things get very difficult here, both for alcoholics and the people around them. By this time, an alcoholic has become crafty, yet at the same time, ashamed. Some of this comes from feeling the effects of hangovers on a regular basis. In this case, the shame is a primal response to someone knowing deep down that they are causing their own suffering. Also, at the same time, since excessive alcohol use is somewhat considered to be taboo in nature, this fuels these feelings of shame, furthering the issue. Denial then forms out of the sheer necessity for internal protection; the logic behind it is that denying one's addiction helps at the very least to mask it from the outside, reducing the shame. This works early on, but begins to fall apart as the people around the alcoholic start to notice the behaviors presenting more and more problems. Relationships may already be suffering from the effects of alcohol interfering with thought processes on a regular basis.
Phase 4: Internal denial. In phase 3, the denial is only of an outward nature, and is not prevalent to the alcoholic internally. Thats not to say that there is not some internal denial earlier on, but in phase 4 it becomes directed inward as well. This is to further protect them from themselves; in phase 3 they were primarily concerned about the outside world. Now the entire issue becomes self-evident at some point, and the internal conflict begins. Denying a problem to one's self [ideally] is intended to bring internal peace and resolution to the ongoing problem. It should be noted at this point that it is during this phase that the schizophrenic-like behavior of an alcoholic begins. While not completely and directly connected, schizophrenia and multiple personality disorders have some interesting parallels here; they can also be caused by traumatic events, which are effectively blocked out by switching to an alternate personality. The mechanism is similar, as it is common at this point for depression to begin setting in, since the alcoholic feels as though his secret makes him a failure. This is of course traumatic, and causes personality shifts in the alcoholic. Problems with relationships are more than likely very evident at this time as well, as several types of mental instabilities are present now; Bi-polar disorder is also a common side-effect of alcoholics (and other addicts as well), and for many of the same reasons, cause very similar social problems. At this point, the body (as well as the mind) is also starting to require alcohol to be present, and begins to show signs of improper function when it is withdrawn. Physical manifestations include shaking, sweating, nausea, and the like, while the mind exhibits abnormal function such as dementia and paranoia.
Phase 5: Irresponsibility/Irrationality. At some point, due to external recognition by peers, and compounded by mental dysfunction, the denial scheme begins to break down, and the alcoholic is faced with a truly magnificent dilemma; who can he trust? At some point, this propagates both externally as well as internally; the alcoholic begins to question both the outside world, as well as himself. Further disconnection from a 'proper' society occurs, as this is the only rational means for the irrational mind to keep the chaos in order. The result is reality also takes a split, and there becomes an external and an internal reality; usually not lining up very well. Since the external reality is inevitably going to be the furthest from internal demands, irresponsible behavior begins to ensue, and the alcoholic starts honing his craft, regardless of the consequences. By now, the body sends painful signals to the mind whenever alcohol is missing for any length of time, and since rational behavior no longer prevails, the alcoholic will do whatever is necessary to obtain the required intake to keep things 'normal'. At this point, employment is "optional" for some (not viewed as an important nor viable aspect of life), and other means of acquiring the alcohol may begin taking shape, as they are a much easier and faster alternative to working. These may include but are not limited to stealing money from friends and family, robbery, and direct theft of the alcohol itself.
Phase 6: Stagnation. This is the phase where life basically goes on, until something major happens that causes a change in behavior. Generally speaking, the longer an alcoholic stays in 'operation', the more ingrained the behavior becomes, the worse all of the aforementioned behaviors get, and the harder it is for them to stop (if they are even inclined to do so). This period can last several years, and sometimes even tens of years. Somewhere in here, the road will generally divide one of two ways; the primary paths are as follows:
a. The so-called 'functional' alcoholic has a higher tendency to last in this phase, since he is actively providing a legal means for feeding his habit, and there is less that is likely to become a direct impedance to obtaining the alcohol. This also applies to a 'disabled' alcoholic, who's primary source of money is something like welfare, pension, or other form of 'gratuitous' income. The primary impedances to a functional alcoholic are things like arrests due to bar fighting, drunk in public, DUI, and domestic violence.
b. If the alcoholic is dependent on thievery or robbery to feed his habit, this phase is generally shorter (or at least paused) due to a higher likelihood of either being arrested or killed in the act of committing his crimes. For the former, unless he then decides that it is not the path to continue on, the behavior will very likely resume upon release from the facility that is keeping it from him. Beggars also fall loosely under this category, as they have a higher likelihood of being placed into involuntary programs repeatedly (mental institutions or even incarceration) as they are likely to be found intoxicated in public of a fairly regular basis, which can of course lead to other 'health' problems, up to and including death (either by overconsumption or as a social target).
The outcomes of (a) and (b) will then split into one of two secondary paths. When immediate death (as a consequence of a direct action) or internal recognition (see below) has not emerged as the solution, they continue a vicious circle, regardless of the consequences they encounter, until their health deteriorates, then ultimately, death. The other requires deep internal and personal reflection, and is not an easy path to take, but proves worthwhile to those who wish to take it. Enter phase 7.
Phase 7: Internal Recognition. To reach phase 7, the alcoholic has realized that there is something seriously wrong, and while invisible to the outside world, the conflict within begins to see resolve. Unfortunately, this in and of itself is not enough to cause an alcoholic to stop drinking, but it provides a target to aim for while the internal battle with the disease starts to lose its balance. This phase is actually one of the more dangerous phases for the alcoholic; mental stability is a long lost concept, and it is very difficult to discern exactly which way is up. Usually, internal recognition also still coincides with the physical dependency on the alcohol, further disrupting progress. The consequences of discontinuation of alcohol intake can be very discouraging. If symptoms are severe enough, the alcoholic is highly likely to flip back and forth between phases 6 and 7 several times, sometimes indefinitely. It is in this phase that relapses truly begin, as the consequences of completely stopping the consumption of alcohol can be as much as even fatal if the dependency is high enough. Relapses may or may not be visible to the outside world at this point, as the alcoholic is not ready to admit defeat, and thus may not divulge the bigger plan. Why would he? Its an internal battle! Nevertheless, one of the actions that is visible during phase 7 is that the alcoholic may begin to dissociate other alcoholics, as they pose a threat to the overall goal - getting sober.
Phase 8: External Acknowledgement. Many argue that true recovery cannot begin until the alcoholic has fully admitted to himself that there is a problem, as well as admitting it to the outside world. In my particular case, I wanted to win the battle before I admitted defeat to the outside world, or at the very least, throw my dying punch. It is unclear to me at this time how much of an effect external acknowledgement had on my actual internal battle. I will concede at this point however that if physical dependency is of significant relevance, that external help is not only desirable, but should be viewed as a necessity. If not, the alcoholic may find it better to keep it internal to himself. This is really a personal thing. The ugly truth is that an alcoholic will not quit drinking unless there is sufficient desire, regardless of external poking and prodding. If an alcoholic wants to stop, phase 7 will begin by itself, and will then naturally progress to phase 8 as the healing begins. It is not an overnight process, either. In my particular case, I spent 2 or 3 years or so in phase 7, and only about 3 months ago hit phase 8. Unfortunately, this is also the phase where family and friends usually begin to lose all hope, because it does not appear that the alcoholic can regain enough control to keep any intent promises that get made during the process. Relapses are an unfortunate part of cleaning up, but as is apparent to an alcoholic who has ever tried to stop, or anyone who has had to deal with family or a friend that is an alcoholic, it is never as easy as it sounds. Don't despair however, if phase 7 and 8 are in play, and not by force, sobriety is inevitable.
( I want to take a side note here, and say that external forces placing pressure on me to admit that I had a problem, and trying to make me get external help actually slowed progress down for me. I bring this up here, as a personal experience, targeted at the reader who may be dealing with a loved one who is an alcoholic. As I mentioned before, an internal battle is just that. It cannot be won from the outside. This is not to say that expression of concern is not a good thing, but pressure causes stress - something that an alcoholic is already very adept at running away from, and knows only one way to deal with - drinking. Think about this as you come up with the best way to express your concerns. Remember that if they aren't ready, they wont do it anyway, and if they are ready, they may feel the need to work it on their own. Let them feel loved, but tough love is not necessarily the answer for every case. This becomes particularly important if you see evidence of them trying to get clean already, no matter how minimal it may be at the time. Progress is progress. As the saying goes, don't rock the boat.
The [somewhat understandable] argument against this is simply that it goes against psychological models to not concede when something is bigger than you. However, in my view, if this were always the case, why would so many living species use physical intimidation to win battles, when in actuality, they could easily be physically defeated by the enemy? A good example is a king cobra. It will use the exact same defensive strategy against a human as it will a mediocre rodent. The human is clearly much larger, and has a sharper wit; yet only the bravest of humans will tangle with a cobra that is sending warning signals. The parallel here is of a psychological nature; just because something seems intimidating, doesn't necessarily mean that you cannot defeat it on your own. The battle doesn't necessarily have to be physical for this tactic to work. Think poker. Mental intimidation. Since it is all a matter of perception, when someone can overpower another mental force inside of their head, not only will it be more effective, but they will carry greater pride in having successfully won the battle. )
Now then . . .
Phase 9: "Controlling" the beast. So, as an alcoholic, you've resolved that there is a problem, and that it has taken over your life. Good first step. You've admitted it to yourself. Maybe even loved ones. You've detached physically, no longer in danger of causing undue physical suffering due to withdrawals. Big step. Gave it that 'sobriety check' that allowed you to see real results of your progress. Nice. Unfortunately, what comes next is all too common, and is one of the more disgusting menaces of the subject. One word.
Moderation.
This is one of the nastiest arguments one can try to make for one's self to continue to be 'normal' like everyone else. Reason being, it almost takes an alcoholic right back to phase 1, only with a new Jedi mind trick in play; the belief that an addictive personality can control and regulate the intake of an addictive substance. Not likely to happen. Not very likely at all.
In my particular case, I raged battle with this particular demon for a good portion of phase 7, and even through phase 8. Early in the year, I did one of those 'detox-test-runs' for 3 weeks (on my own, not an actual detox) to prove to myself that I had broken free from the physical dependencies, and that all that was left was the psychological aspects of it. I then looked at my disease with new light. My battle had now become what seemed simple.
Just control it!
It all looked fine at first. I was amazed, felt like I finally beat this bitch. Hey, I can do this. 1 beer. Done. A week later, another beer. Wow, this could work. A few days later? Eh, whats a second beer. No biggie, I'm in control now. A couple days later, three. A few days pass, and then four beers. But, I'm in control, right?
Well, this is where I ask you, the reader, some questions.
If I was in control, why is it that inside of a two month window following that first beer, I ended up sitting inside a small concrete room, humiliated, and blowing into a little plastic tube?
If I was in control, why is it that I not only humiliated myself, but two of my friends at the same time?
If I was in control, why is it that the machine spit a number that most states consider to be so significant that it had crossed the line where an ignition interlock device will be required for me to drive my car for some time to come?
If I was in control, why is it that this same number represents mandatory jail time for me?
If I was in control, why is it that my wife had to hear about this entire fiasco when she was almost all the way across the country?
If I was in control, why is it that I am trying to figure out how to pay a lawyer some astronomical fees, and there is still no guarantee that I can get the charge reduced to a 'normal' DUI?
If I was in control, why is it that due to the requirement of an interlock device, I may lose my job because the company might not allow it to be installed on their vehicle (it is a condition of the license itself, not any particular vehicle)?
If I was in control, why will my insurance go through the roof for some time to come?
The answer to ALL of these questions is the same.
I WASN'T IN CONTROL.
And believe me, the list doesn't stop there. I can't see much value in putting any more details out than I have. This is the internet after all...
Phase 10: Abstinence. The only answer. It wasn't until the DUI that I actually sat down, confessed to myself, and took a long hard look at where I had put myself (jail will do that, you know). I realized that I can't control it. Moderation is what keeps people inside phase 0. But remember, for an alcoholic, this is not an option! Phase 0 is long gone. This was an extremely difficult conclusion to draw for myself, as I have been looking at this whole thing as something I had come this far with; and that if I could do that, why couldn't I just simply control it? Remember what I said about that Jedi mind trick?
See "Phase 1: First Blood." and then we'll go [again] from there. When you get tired of reading this entire thing over and over and over and over and over again, maybe it will sink in for you too. Consider yourself lucky if you drink heavily, and have never had the misfortune of something as devastating as a DUI (or worse) to contend with. Do whatever it takes to stop the madness before it is too late!
If you're a casual drinker, and you truly do not have any tendency to abuse alcohol to any degree, yes, moderation is the key.
If you're an alcoholic, forget it! Moderation is the leading edge of a vicious circle that will not hesitate to take you right back in to the horrific game that alcoholism is. Abstinence is the only way. Plain and simple.
Footnotes:
Before I go, I want to make note of a few odds and ends that are out and about for working through alcoholism. If you notice, not once in this document did I mention any organizations (until now). This is because I respect everyone's belief system, but I do not necessarily feel that anything greater than one's self is required to get sober. I want to make one thing abundantly clear, however. There are several handfuls of organizations out there of all different genres, and there is probably at least one for anyone out there who needs help with their drinking. Just remember that ultimately, it has to work for you, and not the other way around, because ultimately, the power to go where you want to go comes from within you.
I want to also say one other thing about 'learned moderation' before I close. I am not denying that there is a remote possibility that it can be done; I have a friend that lives several hours away that claims to have done it successfully. I also can't verify it due to the distance. I will say this, in his defense, it appears to have worked for him. Heed my warning however, he is the exception.
Thanks for reading, and hopefully I am able to help someone else out there. Its been a long road, but I have faith in myself. You can do it too.
Oh yeah, and the drag car? I made all that up. Reality is better than fiction anyhow, right? :)
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Job hunt successful, Nobody injured (yet), and Uncle Sam still gets his cut
It was a long ride getting back on track, and I have once again proven that jobs are indeed like women; remember that it's always easier to get one when you already have one. This tidbit of information will likely prove useful (or annoying) in the near future, as I'm sure I can expect the phone to start ringing now as if it were red and an infamous quivering caveman was spotted in a NY train station. Dry, poorly crafted afghan jokes aside, if someone pipes up about something better coming along before the gig begins, I'll be listening.
Rejoining the work force will take a little getting used to again, as I have been on an extended vacation more or less, and my sleep schedule looks like something resembling the geophysical location knowledge base for the aforementioned caveman: Non-existent. Of course, correcting this little anomaly is a moot point as of now. For 'availability' on the questionnaire, I put 'any', and only clarified that I was not interested in swing. This being said, I won't know what to set my actual schedule to until the job commences. I am tired all of the time right now, however, and my anal side shows a bit more than it usually does. Which leads me to my next thought...
Thanks goes out to my wife, as she has put up with some insane amounts of stress, from many angles all at once, and for the most part, has held it together. Anyone who has become used to the monotonous flow of day to day life and had the misfortune of finding yourself employmentally challenged (you like that? I just made that up), knows what it feels like when it hits the fan and sticks. The distinct odor of failure looms like the darkest of black rainclouds, and never lets up. It causes quite possibly one of the most stressful set of circumstances that one can find themselves in while nurturing a newborn marriage, and I feel much gratitude toward her for sticking with me during these sometimes impossible moments.
As for the new job, it seems like it will be a good stain to have imposed on my growing resume, as it is for a prominent tax preparation service, supporting a nationwide network of IRS victims. I personally tried to avoid being in that particular situation myself during the interview, and offered my services on an under-the-table basis. It seemed an appropriate muse at the time, and while I did get points for originality (apparently nobody has ever thought to ask a tax-prep operations manager for this special consideration), alas, I will continue writing welfare checks, just like the rest of you.
Rejoining the work force will take a little getting used to again, as I have been on an extended vacation more or less, and my sleep schedule looks like something resembling the geophysical location knowledge base for the aforementioned caveman: Non-existent. Of course, correcting this little anomaly is a moot point as of now. For 'availability' on the questionnaire, I put 'any', and only clarified that I was not interested in swing. This being said, I won't know what to set my actual schedule to until the job commences. I am tired all of the time right now, however, and my anal side shows a bit more than it usually does. Which leads me to my next thought...
Thanks goes out to my wife, as she has put up with some insane amounts of stress, from many angles all at once, and for the most part, has held it together. Anyone who has become used to the monotonous flow of day to day life and had the misfortune of finding yourself employmentally challenged (you like that? I just made that up), knows what it feels like when it hits the fan and sticks. The distinct odor of failure looms like the darkest of black rainclouds, and never lets up. It causes quite possibly one of the most stressful set of circumstances that one can find themselves in while nurturing a newborn marriage, and I feel much gratitude toward her for sticking with me during these sometimes impossible moments.
As for the new job, it seems like it will be a good stain to have imposed on my growing resume, as it is for a prominent tax preparation service, supporting a nationwide network of IRS victims. I personally tried to avoid being in that particular situation myself during the interview, and offered my services on an under-the-table basis. It seemed an appropriate muse at the time, and while I did get points for originality (apparently nobody has ever thought to ask a tax-prep operations manager for this special consideration), alas, I will continue writing welfare checks, just like the rest of you.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Madscientists, Everywhere
It has become more than apparent that there are more than one of us out there. So, in an effort to distinguish amongst us, I have foregone any research of the others. Do a Google search for yourself; the proliferation will soon become apparent (have you counted them all?!?). Asylum becomes a better and better word all of the time . . .
We all appear to live up to our names, in one form or another, from what I have read so far. With this being said, I cautiously welcome myself to the genre. Kind of like a rogue meerkat (yes, I am a fan), we like to think of ourselves as 'the one' that can (or does, depending) make the difference. Since it is not possible for all of us to be 'the one', I bow down to those before me, and hope they accept me for what I am. I fit in, if it is any consolation; maybe I'll get a shiny new paint job and cloak amongst my predecessors... if I do it right, they won't even know I'm there. :)
Does anyone know, anyway, what exactly defines a mad scientist? Is it 11 painfully outdated laptops strategically placed under one's bed for storage, awaiting the prime 'striking' moment in old-school AI? Is it the small cluster of servers under the staircase that makes yelling for your spouse impractical because the fans are too loud? Is it the giant scale model remote control car sitting in your living room that you picked up out of a neighbor's 'bulk' trash pile because it 'just seems to fit' your current RC projects? The use of plastic bulk cat litter containers as a place to store the power supplies for the laptops? A transmogrified RC airplane remote that has been retrofitted with a PIR motion sensor to tell you when someone is approaching from 1/4 mile away?
Asylum? Where?
We all appear to live up to our names, in one form or another, from what I have read so far. With this being said, I cautiously welcome myself to the genre. Kind of like a rogue meerkat (yes, I am a fan), we like to think of ourselves as 'the one' that can (or does, depending) make the difference. Since it is not possible for all of us to be 'the one', I bow down to those before me, and hope they accept me for what I am. I fit in, if it is any consolation; maybe I'll get a shiny new paint job and cloak amongst my predecessors... if I do it right, they won't even know I'm there. :)
Does anyone know, anyway, what exactly defines a mad scientist? Is it 11 painfully outdated laptops strategically placed under one's bed for storage, awaiting the prime 'striking' moment in old-school AI? Is it the small cluster of servers under the staircase that makes yelling for your spouse impractical because the fans are too loud? Is it the giant scale model remote control car sitting in your living room that you picked up out of a neighbor's 'bulk' trash pile because it 'just seems to fit' your current RC projects? The use of plastic bulk cat litter containers as a place to store the power supplies for the laptops? A transmogrified RC airplane remote that has been retrofitted with a PIR motion sensor to tell you when someone is approaching from 1/4 mile away?
Asylum? Where?
Hello all
Ok, so first things first. I'm new here, so I'm going to say hello, to start. So, Hello!
Now that the pleasantries are out of the way...
I don't generally subscribe to these kinds of things, as I have watched a few people's lives become a little bit on the difficult side when personal info, thoughts, and other attributes to one's private life become visible to the world in such a high speed vehicle such as the web. Just ask my ex, after I get done destroying her credibility during the early portions of 2008 in a courtroom with a little help from her very own myspace page. I guess it goes without saying then, that I may very well be the last person on the planet (maybe even the universe, right Tom?) without a myspace page when D-Day comes, and we all must answer to whatever it was that put us here. I bid you well.
This, though, I found to be a little bit different. I am not here to advertise myself, nor am I here to try to find friendships, a date, or a lewd sex act. I *AM* here, however, because I read the story of the 95 year old great-grandmother in Spain who has found true joy in just speaking out, and the world appears to love her for it. While I am not looking for notoriety, I am looking for a useful outlet for the things in life that I find to be the most interesting, perplexing, or disturbing, whatever the case may be. Either way, her story was inspiring, and has brought me here to see if it can serve my purposes as well.
I look forward to 'serving' you, I think it will be a little on the entertaining side, at the very least!
Now that the pleasantries are out of the way...
I don't generally subscribe to these kinds of things, as I have watched a few people's lives become a little bit on the difficult side when personal info, thoughts, and other attributes to one's private life become visible to the world in such a high speed vehicle such as the web. Just ask my ex, after I get done destroying her credibility during the early portions of 2008 in a courtroom with a little help from her very own myspace page. I guess it goes without saying then, that I may very well be the last person on the planet (maybe even the universe, right Tom?) without a myspace page when D-Day comes, and we all must answer to whatever it was that put us here. I bid you well.
This, though, I found to be a little bit different. I am not here to advertise myself, nor am I here to try to find friendships, a date, or a lewd sex act. I *AM* here, however, because I read the story of the 95 year old great-grandmother in Spain who has found true joy in just speaking out, and the world appears to love her for it. While I am not looking for notoriety, I am looking for a useful outlet for the things in life that I find to be the most interesting, perplexing, or disturbing, whatever the case may be. Either way, her story was inspiring, and has brought me here to see if it can serve my purposes as well.
I look forward to 'serving' you, I think it will be a little on the entertaining side, at the very least!
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