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Monday, November 17, 2008

I reinvent myself and I am unrecognized.

The dull monotony of my life was as suffocating as the bottom of a dumpster on an August day at high noon. Her parents and mine were quite content with the 'nothing' I had achieved by way of career, so not much was expected of me, other than staying sober and paying bills. (The first kiss of a deadly make out session)

I began to withdraw into literature again as the ever increasing girth of my bride was causing me more discomfort than it should. I read Lawrence Block and a lot of Joseph Wambaugh, and as it seemed, the more I read, the more my life dovetailed into that experience. It is a phenomena that has happened on more than one occasion.

I was at work one winter evening, watching sleet pelt the window, wondering if the spirit of the guy in the bathtub wandered the building, hoping he did, while not really wanting to see it.

Four guys in jeans and heavy jackets entered the building and slid up to the desk. One flashed a badge. Undercover? Cool. This would be new. They wanted information on a tenant, and I was so bored I happily obliged.

He wasn't in and they left a card. Call when I see him. Sure, why not.

He was a young middle eastern dude who would slip in very late, usually with hookers , slide me some cash to look the other way, eyes dim pinpricks over the occasional nosebleed. Very animated, very loud, and about as stable as Gary Busey.

Sure. Why not.

It was a phone call. Sure I saw him. I made the call and let them in the building. I called his condo and told him I had a package he needed to sign for. He sounded congested. Go figure.

The cops slid up the stairwells, silently, and came down on the elevator. A bundle in tow. Knot over one eye, towel stuffed in his mouth.

Worked for me.

The one who gave me a card said they could always use somebody who was observant and could keep his mouth shut.

Me? A cop? He didn't know me or my background so he could be forgiven. A cop? I doubted it.

But the thought lingered, so one day, I made a call. It was a matter of paperwork and a couple of interviews. Oh, hell, why not. Just go through the process, see how far you can take it.

I had lived halfway around the world, drinking and drugging my way through far away bedrooms. Before I could romanticize it, I remembered I had shit my pants in three foreign countries. This shouldn't take long.

But I got passed from interview to interview. Letters of recommendation coming from people who had only known me sober.

The next thing you know, I was to report to the Regional Police Academy in Arlington. Night academy, six months.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Another example that God drinks.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

"Another example that God drinks."

You'll smoke a turd in purgatory for that one me boy.


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...