Flicking wolverines in the balls...

My sponsor and I had lunch after a meeting yesterday. A lovely, temperate Sunday morning. I now have an assignment.

I have to call my ex-wives, (first red flag) and tell them I have developed a story about them that has kept me from accepting them and seeing them as perfect just the way they are, and I harbor no ill will or resentments toward them and I respect them immensely. Are you fucking kidding me?

Whew...Maybe I can get away with an email. Probably not...I know what he's going to say..."You said you were willing to go to any length to get better, regarding these women, and ultimately this will improve your relationships with your daughters, so what's the problem?" Shit. Shit. Shit. Maybe I've gotten comfortable keeping my distance.

These women were the bedrock of the wall I've built around me, so if I do this then I have huge holes in my wall. Then what? Another woman, possibly getting close? I don't feel well...

I just found out someone I thought was dead is very much alive. I knew a young lady my last year in High School. I had joined the army and was home on leave before going overseas. I knew her from school and was actually crazy about her. So we had a fling, each of us knowing I was leaving, and that was that.

A few years later I heard the rumor she had died from a congenital heart defect. I was again halfway around the world, but the thought of her dying sent me in to a spin. I think I may have mourned her.

Thirty years later I heard that the rumor was just that. Today I found a picture of her on the Internet at a reunion a few years ago, looking very much the way I remember her. Will I contact her...probably not. It's enough to know she's still alive, and still beautiful.

It's also safer this way....

Frankly sweetheart, I'd rather have rabies than marry again...

I see them in public.

The couples who have made it past the romantic stage, where sex is now an obligatory chore, (for them both, because that little prize that said I do, keeps saying I do in front of the fried food kiosk at the mall) and she has more in common with her 'mommy' friends (shudder) than she does with Klondike Mike over here, lugging the 65 lbs. of baby crap through Crate and Barrel, while she looks for just the right coochie coaster because her 'girlfriends' all have one in thier mini-vans.

She speaks, and all he hears is a hellish buzzing, eyes rolling back in his head, foam starting to fleck in the corners of his mouth.

That sound, the pitch of her voice, the timbre...my god it could spay animals. Someone please shoot this poor bastard.

Children biting at my ankles

Money. It's how the world keeps score. Fuck that.

I work two jobs just to support myself, and ex-wives who rely on me instead of getting a second job. So, I basically work so they don't have to. Am I happy about that?

Not in the least. Do I make a lot of money? Hardly any at all. With the economy blowing harder than Courtney Love trying to get out of re-hab, it seems to be almost futile.

Time off.?None. Days I only work one job?

I fill time by going to meetings of alcoholics anonymous -for awhile, until I thought something different- doing laundry, shopping for what little groceries I can afford. Thank God I don't need much.

Other days it's work 8-10 hours, rush home, change clothes and work 6-8 more. Then rush home, a little television, something to eat, night-time medication and bed. Then blam! Up again at 6, sometimes earlier. No wonder I'm pissy.

But having whined about it all, it could be worse, hell...it has been worse. So I suppose I'm grateful for the ability to work. That's not to say I couldn't use a nap.

Hold me while I isolate...

I need sleep. It is way too early to deal with others.

I got up too late to make coffee at home, so I'm settling for Starbucks. Venti Americano with an extra shot...no room. That ought to work. Went to a meeting last night before going home. Any day I do that, I consider my day a success.

Today and tomorrow however, no time. Two jobs. Those are the days that test me. Without them I wouldn't be able to pay child support, or eat, or put gas in my car. So it's better than none. Because I've been there, and that's no fun at all. Being willing to take something beneath my skill level and have someone judge whether or not you would be a good fit for thier employee's. (Which means 'is he likely to mow us down in the breakroom?')

When did this tactic start? The employment 'play date'?.

Come spend the day with us and see if you like us and...giggle...if we like you. What in the blue fuck is that about? Either give me the job or don't. We're not having cookies and nap time, it's a job. More than likely one that I will loathe and bemoan ever starting and I will fantasize about walking the fuck up out of here as soon as I can, on to bigger and better as it were, and yes, what's that? I'm not (insert corporate concept here) material? Something about my attitude? Blow me.

And for the record, the people who have seniority and think they they are God's gift to table waiting? Especially the blue eye-shadow wearing pigs. Blow me too. You ain't nothing but an indoor carhop, one lay down away from being an actual whore.

No, I don't enjoy waiting tables, hell, I don't enjoy working at all, but it pays the rent...sometimes.

We're not curing cancer here. Its a paycheck. I deliver pre-portioned food to your table, kiss your ass and hope to god you leave me a tip big enough to make a difference in my day. That 2 dollars you and your co-worker left so generously on that 20 dollar tab does absolutley nothing to further my financial situation.

And no, you can't order everything on the side, with extra ranch dressing, but all on the side, and no this and none of that and two skips and a flip it's a fucking salad lady! WAAAGH!

I don't play well with others...

It's time to put this out there. Let others see it for what it is. Take some shots. Nothing counts but honesty. I will not look good or fare well in this, but I have very well rested laurels. It's time for action...

I suppose I could start now and work my way backwards. The beginning seems so very long ago. Perhaps I could start in the middle and work my way sideways? Just the facts. Lay it out. Let the universe do with it what it will.

I am a recovering alcoholic that has been sober this time for a little over three years.

Cigarette free for 56 days.

Marriage-less for eight years and counting.

Divorced three times and estranged from my four daughters, 26, 18 (twins) and nine.

I'm going to go through some core work at the end of next month. Some of that deep seated, angsty, crying stuff that sets loose the wild things in the dark. Yes, I believe there are things that go bump in the night. I also believe in things that bump back.

Screwed to the floor by a corrupt child support system and vampirellas one thru three I have come to believe I may have issues dealing with women. Okay, a lot of them. I don't trust you ladies.

I want to, I really do, but I can't tilt at windmills anymore. I saved as many as I could, but the building soon collapsed, trapping the rest.

As I fall asleep, I can hear the screams...