Pilgrim in the Trailer Park

 I live in my own little world.  Sometimes I have to hide my crazy from John, and I don’t think he thinks my jokes are funny. But it keeps me going, like the coffee (getting a kick and getting my kicks); I have to see the humor in things (and I want to, but it wouldn’t be the first time I confused my needs with my wants (alcohol, case in point)). I don’t watch a lot of tv or movies: I write on this blog. Maybe too much. I’m really into writing my stories, even though I don’t know if I should share my life with the world. Heck, I don’t even know how many people read it; my numbers are skewed because I open my own posts to read them (what do you do in your spare time? Oh, I read my own blog. Lol). I keep trying to correct that on the blogger site, but it doesn’t seem to work (I need tech help).  My mom has given me some advice about what I write: please don’t write about the psych ward, and stop telling people you’re on medicine, and for gods sake stop telling people you’r...

 There is one part of the Florida reflection that I have never written, that I forgot to include, and that is how I stayed at my aunts house for a while (she is my uncles girlfriend but I call her my aunt. I hope she is okay with that). It wasn’t even a while, it was more like a bit, or a “minute” (isn’t that what the kids are saying now days?). Anyways, I am alive to tell the tale, so might as well…jump! (A little Van Halen for my dear old dad (as I light up a cancer stick. I think this blog might be bad for my health…)) In 2021 I was on my way to Virginia from Florida via 95 (i wanted to take a country road but I had to settle for the highway to hell) after quitting my job and leaving my boyfriend. I was gonna live with my brother in our hometown, cause he was freshly divorced, and my life sucked anyways, so I figured we’d smoke weed and drink and party (the best plan ever. Because I am a Floridian). That never happened because during the trip (blasting Foreplay by Boston) i fail...

 We didn’t grow up together/ you lived very far away/ I saw you in the summer/ and that is when we played/ in the pool and in the chicken pen/ and I was scared of both/ you always loved animals/ since you had emus, ducks, and goats/ it seemed you grew up so fast/ since you were four years older/ I always tried to steal you away from your computer/ remember when we made a music video with that camcorder?/remember the food that nana made for dinner?/ climbing up the treehouse and eating chocolate pudding/ I had so much fun up there/ I thought that it was better/ cause you lived at Carroll Manor/ and I lived in a trailer/ remember when I wrote you letters/ and you never wrote me back/ I should have figured you had better things to do than that/ remember nana’s sewing room and all the pretty dresses/ remember how I copied you/ and how you called me Lessie/ remember dressing up for the anniversary party/ the chocolate fountain and the tango/ how our papu liked to eat mangoes/ and medjoo...

“The smoke alarm is going off and there’s a cigarette still burning , please tell me why…I am my own worst enemy…” (the band Lit)  Where was I? Ah yes, the physical dependency. I had been through that rodeo, before my short lived sobriety, after four days of pounding beer and liquor with the neighbors (somehow this park might be my personal worst enemy). I didn’t have the shakes at first (only when I started driving my car) but I considered drinking gasoline, I was that desperate (I think it was more of a passing thought, but I looked at the container and I thought i wonder what that would do… anyways I ended up in the hospital after that ( don’t worry I didn’t drink it)).  After the cruise which was basically a week of heavy drinking, it wasn’t so much physical as it was consuming my thoughts, like I need to be drunk right now (the mind and the body are  connected after all), but I could feel the discomfort in my body as we walked down the terminal. So I got what I...

 If there’s one song I could listen to forever, or at least every day, that would have to be Don’t Look Back by the band Boston. It came out in 1978 on the album of the same name, way before I was listening to music…cause I wasn’t even born (I hate the term millennial. Don’t lump me in with those 2000s people). I’m a fan of classic rock already, but I must have rediscovered this song (or it discovered me). The lyrics are in such alignment with new found sobriety:  I’m much too strong not to compromise everything in my life was leading me on cause I can’t lose now, there’s no game to play I see what I am is holding me down  Plus it has a killer beat; I love Bostons rhythmics. Sadly, I found out that the lead singer, Brad Delp , lost his life to suicide, and that pains me because the music that I love that he helped create could not save him. It speaks to me every time I listen to it: it’s like having peace of mind with more than a feeling, lol. I hope it never loses its ma...

 “Red hot mama, velvet charmer/times come to pay your dues…” So now I was messing with a son of a bitch, as Jesus of Nazareth says. I had never had a one night stand before, or whatever that was, so to me it meant I was in a relationship now. I was really putting the cart before the drunk horse (“whiskey for my men, beer for my horses,” like that was ever a good idea. Toby Keith thought it was). But this was my Journey, and I was straight Stone(d) in Love (sorry I’m listening to a lot of music while writing this). Now every night I was cracking a Busch tall boy and carrying the other three to his house so I could get a whiskey and ginger ale later, because like I said I was drinking again and I was gonna do a good job of it this time. You know what your nana says, practice makes perfect. Plus the alcohol gave me the munchies and this dude made some good food on the grill (have you ever had a tomahawk steak?) I think I was really, in reality, using this dude for the alcohol and food...

 I’ve lived in this park a long time…well, three years…and I’ve met a lot of people, but there is only one person I actively avoid. Like the plague (he’s worse than the plague. Funnier joke: he probably gave me the plague. Literally). He lives four trailers down, and I used to be in a relationship with him. For three months (yeah that was short lived. Should have seen it coming). My then roommate would tell me how great this guy was, how he did seafood boils for the park, how he served coffee after the hurricanes because he was the only one with a generator (along with a propane grill, a golf cart, a street machine (I don’t know what the damn thing is called, looks like a go cart on steroids), and a bunch of fucking boats (yeah there’s gonna be a lot of fucks in this story)). You could say he had it “going on.” He was 64 when I met him. I was 30, and just asking for trouble. I used to meet him on his porch for coffee in the morning, before I had to drive to Ormond to work at Winn D...

 You don’t know what might come walking in when you leave a window open. Raccoons. Possums. Bugs (on their little bug feet). Not to mention the cold air, and as I write this I’m wearing my winter coat and sitting next to a heater. No, in our case, it’s cats. And they’re not ours. Currently there are two stray cats that are coming in to eat (and maybe others that we don’t know about) because the dry cat food sits on the counter by the open kitchen window. You could say we are running our own drive thru (but we’re not making any money). One of the cats is a cute orange and white we call Creamsicle. I call him Creamy for short. He won’t let us touch him and he’s very sneaky with his eating habits, making sure no one is in the kitchen and stealthily grabbing chunks of chicken that we leave on the window sill for him. I dream that one day he’ll realize we’re not going to hurt him and make himself at home. The other cat has definitely made himself at home. That’s Rusty. He belongs to som...

This website had some “sober poetry” written by a guy named Dave (Hi Dave. I like your work). I think he’s British; seems like he was getting “sloshed” a lot at the “pub.” I’m glad he’s over that nonsense. Anyways, I really liked it, so I thought I would take a stab at it, as I happen to also be sober and I like creative endeavors and im sort of an amateur poet (I published one poem on this blog before but I think most people thought it was weird and didn’t understand it (that was also around the time I was communicating with spirit guides. Go figure). But hey, that’s poetry) (though I have to ask, if it’s sober poetry, why is it about drinking? Seems oxymoronic… yet romantic, so…whatever).  If I had to name my favorite drink, I’d really have to think About alcohol, and that wouldn’t be good, As Jesus said: lust starts in the heart But what he meant was the head And before you know it Jack’s in your bed And you’re cheating on Jim with Crown instead Then you’re hitting up captain ...

 My former therapist told me “you won’t stay sober long without a program” (That’s why she’s a former therapist, just like all the others). She meant A.A. Which I don’t attend (and it’s not because I’m not an alcoholic. I wish that was the reason). Why? When it’s right up the street, too (and so are a couple bars (if that’s not a coincidence, godsend, or a cosmic joke…)). I was going the first time I got sober, like for a solid two months every morning at 8 am (there’s nothing like an AA meeting to get you out of bed. Oh, and the coffee). But I never spoke, except to say “Hi, I’m Celeste and I’m an alcoholic” (I’m adding words. It was more like “Celeste. Alcoholic.”). But even saying that made me nervous, and honestly being there the whole time made me nervous. I volunteered to read the “Promises” and that made my voice shake, like I was back in high school giving a presentation. So I declined that and kept quiet and clung tightly to my styrofoam coffee cup. Even other people talk...

 Sometimes I wonder, is alcohol the problem or am I the problem? (Sorry Taylor swift. It’s actually me). Probably best to let that one go, as Rob Bell warns us of “abstract theological discussions that can tie us up in knots for years” ( Love Wins, page 12). I say F the chicken and F the egg. I’ve got bigger fish to fry anyway (as I go from the frying pan into the fire. Thanks mom). Sorry if I’m boring you. Let’s get to the heart of the matter (even if you don’t love me anymore). Sometimes I get so excited I could almost…take a drink (woah that’s not the right answer). Yeah. But then I reach for the nearest coffee and realize it’s all the sustenance I need (man doesn’t live by bread alone). If you remember from the previous lesson, alcoholics drink in good times and in bad times (and all the in between times). And it’s the good times I miss: a birthday cocktail (here I come Long Island), a New Year’s Eve champagne (although I never did drink many of those anyway. Just sounds nice),...