Posts Tagged ‘alcoholism


today i die

i am leaving.  Whoops!  I’m back.  Shit, that was fast.  Did I already write this?

this is confusing.  there’s no joy to be had in time.  we must run from it.  if we adapt our bodies to night/day, light/dark chaos it could possibly save the species.  we must adapt our enjoyments or risk losing enjoyment as a motivator.  human creativity is suffocating itself to death, we must fight soon.  time is a motherfucker not to be trifled with, but, how did it get this power?  i smell an oppressor.  i’ll be first and zealous in the slaying of the defenders of time.   defenders of quantity and measurement.  they are the evilest, vilest and most sinister lot, those, while they undo our creative instinct, molding it with time.

fight this bullshit oppressor however you can.  write fiction on office time.  have everyone on your block get night jobs and have bar b-ques after work at 7am.  get a tivo.  sell your tivo.  make your own bread.  spazz out about nothing in the most loving way you can and then hide in the bathroom.  find peace in rejecting zen.  make samyama on the mundane.

Most important, give yourself a chance.


back to school

Don’t read this if you’re not a voyeur, it’s going to be very uninteresting and journal-ish.  I may just be documenting this for my own decompression’s sake.

Mondays are going to be very tough for the next 13 weeks.  I learned that today.  I (should) get up at 6:45, work until 2:30, go to classes from 3-8:30, and then brave the bus or take the not-so-scenic 40 minute walk home.  I chose walking.  Now I am finally relaxed in my ‘fort’ with a glass of wine and some herbal platitude feeling the desire to write but not necessarily have to think about it.  I figured imnotme was the place to do just that.

So, this semester I am taking Intro To Writing Fiction and Asian Philosophy.  Both conceptual walks in the park, though I have been additionally blessed by two extroardinarily competent instructors who are also both gifted facilitators and lectors.  This, of course, translates into more challenging work, and more challenging work.  Not what I had hoped from the course titles.  I figured I could doodle my way to a 4.0 for the term.

Oh well.  A. and I have been living in the aforementioned ‘fort’, which is our office turned snuggle-pen via streaming netflix movies on my computer aimed at the bed that was not always in the middle of our office.  It’s a cramped, but cozy place.  So cozy we even watched 2 seasons of Family Ties.  And liked it.  This is also the only room in our ginormous apartment that has air-conditioning, which neither of us are huge proponents of, though it’s aided the desperate-crack-addict appetite we’ve had for fits of snuggling and various other pillow-and-blanket oriented tasks.

Getting high does improve both my writing, and my reading.  I’m sure of it.  Hehe.

I’m going to abandoned this now and go let my friend in the house.


Stress Induced Walking Coma

I am really only writing this post for myself, because it’s highly abnormal that I would arrive home after a hard day at work and not be excited to crack a beer and play my favorite online game. So, in order to get this dark cloud off of me I am blogging, which I have done very little of lately because I have not had anything interesting to say and even CNN has resorted to two or three headline stories about frozen or otherwise distraught animals.

Work has recently gotten so out of hand that I feel brain dead.  I sit down at my desk and look at stacks of complex or annoyingly stupid fraud claims to investigate and get the same feeling I get when staring at a pile of laundry that you’ve let collect until you have nothing clean to wear except the clothes that no longer fit you.  People are quitting, or just going MIA and then looking very sad upon return, or having babies.  One of the people, who birthed a child right around the time I passed out drunk last night, was a file organizing machine who made my job painless.  Her absence feels like what I imagine it would feel like to suddenly lose a limb.  Not just a foot or a finger, but one arm and the leg on the same side of your body.

Actually, that is all wrong, because in all reality I am working very fast at tackling impossible mountains of chaotic nonsense.  So I suppose it is more akin to taking speed when you would rather nap.  Which, is not really that bad, but the exhaustion and anxiety are beating my soul in the face with an industrial three hole punch.

Now, aside from the boring gripes about job stress, which is utterly too common in entry level corporate jobs, I have also potentially fallen out of my supervisor’s good graces by reporting three instances of racist, sexist and otherwise innappropriate comments made by the same coworker.  It was A. who had the first run-in when overhearing this person tell an African immigrant that they are no longer in Africa for whatever reason, and then adding that she wishes he would just go back.  Now, the person she was referring to is intolerably obnoxious, granted, but you cannot respond to said obnoxiousness with throwbacks to black inferiority, segragation, and slave ships.  It’s just not ok.  Even if the receiver of this sentiment was not hurt or offended by it, my work environment and feelings about my job, which I spend way too much time at, are highly diminished when faced with the knowledge that my coworkers are racist overgrown children.  I debated with A. about whether or not the incident should be reported.  It’s a tricky thing.

Then today I had the displeasure of hearing this coworker referr to another employee as a cocky asshole and “if there’s nothing swinging between your legs he will not listen to you.”  Again, I will grant her the possibility that this employee may indeed be sexist, but please leave referrences to genitalia, the image of a swinging penis, and the phrase ‘cocky asshole’ out of any situation which requires me to be sober.

I had enough, and brought it to my boss’s attention.  There was a formal meeting in which she took down notes and had me write a signed statement and then thanked me for bringing it up.  However, later that afternoon (after hearing my coworker call another customer a persistent bitch, which, even if true is sometimes necessary for our customers to get their claims resolved) my boss came to my desk and informed me that the issue had been forwarded to HR and that there would be a sit down the following day.  Good, I thought.  I am now percieved as a competent, hardworking employee who also helps maintain professionalism and avoid lawsuits.

Ugh.   In the same conversation my boss also managed to imply that my concerns were possibly petty and that I was likely the only person in the office bothered by my coworker’s conduct.  On top of that, I was informed that our company’s harrasment policy encourages employees to respectfully confront eachother before filing a complaint.  Upon hearing this I had to will my mouth shut.  I wanted to ask my boss if she was aware of my hourly compensation and the fact that personnel management and maintaining a non-hostile work environment is not in my job description.  Instead, I meekly nodded and said “okay, I will keep that in mind” when what I meant was “Shit, if I’d known I would be risking becoming an annoyance over this I would have just saved it for smoke-break bitching.”

So tomorrow I am going to have such a wonderful shit fuck of a day trying to keep my cubicle from going nova while also worrying constantly that three people in the office suddenly think I am a prude crybaby who will tattle if you say a naughty word.  Of course, I realize that the law is on my side, but up until today I had been so consistently impressing my boss and winning various flavors of brownie points that I am really saddenned to think I would suffer adverse effects over this, and I now fully understand why A. was hesitant to pursue the matter.

I really do not wish this to be lumped into the general personality conflicts our office suffers from.

Finally, and most upsetting, this situation makes the fact that our employees are the bottom of the banking barrel glaringly obvious.  The simple notion that this type of conduct would even be considered tolerable only reinforces the fact that I am surrounded by juveniles who are going nowhere fast.

Thankfully, none of them read my blog.  And even if they do, I am right, and I don’t care.

Thanks WordPress.  I think I will go crack a beer and play Xplorers now.


[futurenotme: that was a really whiny post.  I thought about deleting it, but that also defeats the point of having some really raw unedited thought being expressed in this blog as erroneously and human as possible.  I should have had much more fun at the job, having the intellectual upperhand and all.  Phooey on me for not recognizing opportunity]


what the doctor didn’t mention

You know, it’s really too bad that pot can’t be prescribed for sleep problems.  I’m sure it would be cheaper than street price, and it seems to be the perfect cure for my insomnia.  I quit drinking finally, and the not drinking is honestly so easy it’s laughable, but bedtime is still a challenge.  Now, for a measly (I kid) $50 per week or so, I can fall asleep like a little stoned baby and wake up feeling rested though slightly disconnected.  Not ideal, but it beats watching the clock change for eight hours before climbing out of bed to go to work.  It also beats drinking 10-12 beers or half a box of wine every night to knock myself out.

Hopefully this transition will lead to a drug-free bed time ritual, but in the meantime the green stuff is working just fine.


out of alcohol? Sell the laptop!

Today I pawned my laptop. I bought it when I started college two years ago and it served me faithfully. However, since then I’ve become an alcoholic and, as frugal as possible, spend roughly $250 a month on beer/wine. Combine that with pack-a-day smoking and you have a very expensive team of vices. So what’s the deal? Why not dry out?

I hate being sober at night. It’s just that simple. The drinking is easy to abstain from. I can enjoy a nice cup of tea as readily as any liquor. The problem comes after sun set when it’s time to consider bedding down. I cannot handle the idea of just laying in bed hoping for sleep, because I know it will not come. I will not go gentle into that dark night. Therefore, boozing myself to sleep, while expensive and unhealthy, is the best I can do to relinquish my hold on the current day and accept that I am going to let it slip away from me.

I wonder often about what it would take to accept the insomnia and force myself into natural sleep.

A child. I think it would take having a child.


detox camping

A. and I have decided to take a camping trip to help with our efforts to detox. I’ve been drinking enough alcohol every night for the last year and a half to where my circulation is bad. My feet are hot and vaguely hurt all day, and I shake all the time. I fatigue way too easily even though I’m no wuss on moving day.

So a camping we will go. We’ll take advantage of the three day weekend, because being at home is what really kills our detox efforts. It’s just way too much fun to hang out on the porch and toss a few back, unfortunately, as tolerances shot up, so did the consumption along with our cost of living. combined with a decrease in quality of health… it’s just not worth it mate.

Of course, anyone that knows me is thinking, sure J. you’ll buy a case of beer the day you get back.

Yeah, probably. But stranger things than me quitting drinking have happened.


insomnia be damned

I’ve decided to no longer prescribe myself alcohol to pass out at night.

I don’t know if I will fill the prescription I got for a sleep aid. I don’t know if I will have the discipline or desire to just get up at the same time every morning to regulate my sleeping pattern, because that would require missing a lot of time with A. I guess I just don’t know what I am going to do, but I know the drinking cure winds up turning into a beast too often for me to let it continue.

It’s a bittersweet moment when you realize something has gone too far, because you simultaneously wish that you could take back all the times when you drank while knowing you shouldn’t, and also wish that you could just go home after work and have a beer.

Well, you can’t. You can’t do either.

This will be an identity struggle in many ways, but I am trying to see it as struggling back to an identity, not away from the one I’ve assumed. I have always had a hard time falling asleep, for as long as I can remember. I can go back to that. I used to hang out late at night without needing to drink. I can go back to that. I used to wake up and know exactly what I had said or done. I can go back to that. I used to love myself enough to enjoy the little things in life.

I can go back to that.

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June 2019
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