Monday, March 06, 2006

"Falling" <--- Not the Alicia Keyes Version either

I thought long and hard while I was waiting to get my ashes. I mean, I usually blow whatever it is that I decide to give up for Lent, but I seem to do better than I would if it was a New Years Resolution.
For those who are wondering what the frig is this guy talking about. Lent begins on Ash Wednesday. That is the day you may see people walking around with coal like smudges on their foreheads (this happened last Wednesday by the way), eventually lasting 40 days and nights leading up to Easter Sunday. Someone (Can Hallmark be blamed for this one?) came up with the idea to abstain from something for this time period. It carries the same false promises one might make to themselves on New Years Eve as well.
Since I am free of Alcohol and Drugs and I do not eat chocolate I tried to think of some vice of mine that I need to chill on. I was at a loss @ the time, probably owing to my Narcissistic personality, so I basically was going to ride this Lenten Season out.

I have been a major c word lately (rhymes with Linda Hunt). I've given up on all the 'earthy crunchy love thy neighbor/There- but- for- the- Grace- of- God- go- I' stuff. People are assholes no matter how you slice em. People are stupid no matter if I teach them the right way or not. And finally, I am so much 'better' than these people, that I pity them.
This type of thinking makes for great conversations in my head, but being short on nearby acquaintances and not really being a 'phone talker', I have begun to notice myself slipping into this negative mode.
This as you will learn when you see my movie and the educated person in the goofy counselor role wearing the requisite dangling earring and smoking like a fiend will explain that this shift in personality is the number one cause of relapse. Throw into the mix me walking from my job the other night after receiving my seventh week in a row paycheck lacking my supposed correct salary and the fact that I have to find a place to live within the next two months and all you have to do is know basic math as to what followed.
I got off the train @ 2 pm and walked the long stretch of Rooservelt Avenue looking for a Liquor Store. For all the bigots out there who cling to their cry of 'drunken' when describing Latino's I couldn't find a store that sold Hootch in about a half a mile. When I finally did see that familiar type of Italy Shaped logo saying "Liquors" down a side street, I had no regrets upon entering. I chose a nice potato Vodka which was triply distilled and bought a couple of Mango Arizona drinks in those big cans. I went back to the halfway House and drank the bottle. At 4 am I had to wake for my flight to Florida, and the only thing I can remember from the night before while I rode in the taxi was not procuring a better hiding spot for the empty bottle while I was gone for the next two days.
I cringed on the plane ride down as certain faces from the previous night popped into my head and wanted to hide my head in the sand when I checked out my phone to see who I drunk dialed as well. One happened to be this guy 'friend' from Rehab that I felt unceremoniously dropped me from his life like a stalker.
The first few hours in Florida with Joyce and Sloan seemed to have me acting 'jet lagged' and distant as I thought of myself being kicked out as soon as I arrive back in NYC. All the 'losers' I made fun of who got kicked out before me (the girl who dreamed she was smoking crack with her ex and actually turned up positive, the guy who I had pegged as a closet case and a possible prospect for a quick bj in the 'broom closet' who got kicked out for being in a police/hooker sting, et al) seemed to pop into my head as I wondered where they were living. I wanted so much for this weekend not to end; being in the womb like comfort of my friends but all I could think of was what was going to be my plan of action if I did get kicked out. I wore a fake smile the whole time having in the back of my head visions of garbage bags full of my stuff waiting outside the house.
I could not even pray for help, because I felt so guilty (thanks Catholicism).
After arriving back, a block from the house I had a cigarette. I rang the doorbell and was greeted by two guys who I kind of talk to. I expected to hear "Your back for your stuff" or something of the sort, but they just said hello as I walked up to my room which was still the same as I had left it. The Oliphant Vodka was still in the same bad 'hiding' space and I felt glad to have escaped eviction. This Time.

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