Update: Super Awesome

 The Super Bowl…a holiday I don’t celebrate, but I made a big plate of snacks that was beautiful and I’m very proud of. Although I probably consumed a half a block of cheese (! (the small hickory farms kind)). I don’t care to understand the game; the rules never sink in and the objective is lost. If it makes John happy, that’s cool :) Football is going to be around for a long time, so I better get used to it. I told John most of the commercials make me uncomfortable. It’s true.

I’ve been making a “full pot” of coffee every morning (it’s only a four cup maker), and drinking it all throughout the day. I like this better than cup-to-cup (it’s not a damn keurig!), and since I’m going to drink as many, might as well (when I would protest John buying another case of beer he would say “you’re gonna drink it all eventually, right?” True). 

I’m trying to ignore the commercials, but I couldn’t help but looking at a Budweiser commercial playing Free Bird, featuring a bald eagle soaring off a horse’s back. I like it, since I have a special place in my heart for that song, and the horse helped that little baby eaglet (“it’s time for me to fly,” REO!), but John says Bud will never pull themselves out of the mud since that stupid Budlight commercial.

Finishing the last of my coffee, but I might make more, and enjoying another cigarette, because I’m secretly French and openly Hedonist; life’s too short, or will be anyhow. Don’t know how I suffered through all that inebriation; I’m really an intellectual that prefers to be stimulated, though my thoughts can be bothersome…and really I’m more fun when I’m drunk :( Boo.

Dad is still at the LTAC and the other day he got his first drink of real water. He said it was “super awesome.” I bet it was :)

The Rise Above people got back to me and congratulated me on two years :) and said I could schedule my interview whenever. I think I’m going to pass, although going to West Palm Beach would be fun. I had a thought: Kevin Lanning is the Joe Rogan of Sobriety (with a capital S). 

I’m languishing from not posting on the blog (what has it been a whole two days?). It’s like my purpose, I guess. Like I said in a text, inspiration comes and goes: what a fickle purpose. I’m starting to believe that my blog’s future success is a delusion/pipe dream, along with the mysterious accuracy of astrology/numerology and my aspirations of being a guest on a sobriety podcast. My future is not in the stars (I am already a star :)), my writing is mediocre with bits of genius randomly scattered in, and I’m too shy and insecure to promote my alcoholism and recovery journey on YouTube (like my mother says, “think about your face!”)). Langston Hughes said a dream deferred shrivels up like a grape (what a sad raisin), but to me a delusional dream is just…a pipe ( ou “Ceci n’est pas une pipe” ?).

So how do I become successful?

I’ll have to run the register and stock clothes and parse inventory at Goodwill, and that’s okay (insert frowny face). I told John I have a complex about having a college degree that makes me shy away from jobs not in my field (or as John says, any work in general), yet those “other fields” are the exact jobs I’ve had since I started working. Except for the office job at the mental health clinic, even though I never majored in psychology. I wonder if I could do that work again, but I’m scared of the “entities” (the bad ones that leap onto people (this is not a good time to promote the Good Vibes)). If you believe that you can be blessed, you have to also believe that you can be cursed (or you have very bad luck or too many Good Vibes).

A job that doesn’t make me want to drink would be good :) (smiley justified)

Maybe a barista, a substitute teacher, or librarian…pursuits that align with my interests and passions.

Finding “that job” would be super awesome.

For now I play on this iPad, doing the obvious (waiting for inspiration!), and listening to Rooster while trying to request my grandpa’s WWII records, and trying to glean wisdom from Charlie Sheen on The Joe Rogan Experience (why?). Coke was not the only problem (surprise surprise); he was doing testerone (why??), the kind you rub on your body (why???). You never hear of women trying to max out on estrogen, because it would just make us more insane than we already are (to quote Betty G., dumpster fire!). I have heard of women taking testosterone, which will make you grow hair on your face, but will also make your sex drive explode…which is ironic, cause who wants to have sex with a bearded woman? She would literally be a “hairy beast,” in the bed and out. I bet Charlie wouldn’t mind. “Winning” and Super Awesome.

*this was a journal entry that I couldn’t resist using as a post (after major editing). Although, I feel like exploiting my journal is such a sell-out thing to do…