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Tuesday, August 26, 2008

I might have a problem...

I was so screwed up I failed to see that my circumstances, (living in a refrigerator box, under a pier in Alaska,) were indicative of anything other than really shitty luck. The area in which I placed the box was dry, although sloping toward the water at about a forty five degree angle. I would pass out in the box, and awake halfway down the slope.

I kept to myself like some tragic, phantom after my last foray into the public realm ended with me being passed out against the front of the Red Dog, while being pissed on by three Indians. I didn't have the strength or the self-respect to stop them. (Note- very hard to remove the smell of urine from tweed, just in case anyone was curious.)

While tending bar I failed to alienate everyone except for a group of Vietnam Vets who ran a counseling center in town. I was three years past Vietnam, but a veteran nonetheless, and I became an unofficial project.

One of the Vets, a massive trapper everyone called Bear, lived on a boat in the harbor with his huge black, Newfoundland. He thought a roommate situation would be better than the box, so after throwing me into the harbor to get clean, he invited me on board. (His people skills were what I admired.)

I always have had a fascination with Boats and the water so I thought things were looking up. And they were, except that the bow of the vessel was permanently underwater and the harbor master had condemned the boat. But no matter. We lived in the dry part, albeit at an odd angle to the rest of the world, but what was new.

Bear trapped for a living, and the animals kept him in beer and bacon and massive amounts of dog food. I ponied up my food stamps into the kitty and at least we ate. The chubby girl at the grocery in town felt sorry for me, so she would allow me to buy a couple of cents worth of candy with the stamps, then get the change back for beer. I recall looking at a .39 cent comb and thinking, money. I combed my hair with a plastic fork for a month.

Bear drank the way I did, and suffered horribly from PTSD, but felt that I might have a problem with drugs and alcohol.

The nerve.

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My new disclaimer...yeah I know.

Okay, the old disclaimer was tired. The ideas were outdated and keeping me stuck in a place I don't want to be now for something more refreshing.

I have recently changed my views regarding women. Seems I had some issues with the fairer sex due to past pain and self- centered fear. (Yes...duh applies.)

I'm done with that.

Being in recovery has helped me change my entire life, perceptions and attitudes. I cannot change my history but I can change my today and my future.

I recently realized that the women I know in recovery are some of the strongest, bravest, most gentle and kind teachers I have ever had. You exemplify integrity and spiritual growth, and I hope you know who you are.

Some may know of my past marital and relationship history and been a participant in them as well. It's past and that's where it the past.

I own my part in those failures but claim no more responsibility in any misery you may be experiencing. I am sorry, but it's time to get off the cross. We need the wood.

Thank you all...