Friday, June 24, 2016

I want to be a photographer

All I have is my eye and a lens.  I want to start a new life as a photographer.  I only have a few months of sobriety.  I know that drinking will only leave potholes in my life.  Clients don't understand about potholes.  I need to kick this addiction.  You tell me, do I have the skills to start my own photography business?

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Done with 4th Step Workshop

It's been a while.  I'm almost 3 months sober; my sobriety date is 4/4/2016.  I just completed the 4th Step Workshop and being convinced it's completely based on the belief in a god that doesn't exist, found it useless.  So, I'm onto other solutions.  I'll keep you updated.

Sunday, February 08, 2015

I'm Back!

I'm one month and 23 days sober, or 54 days, or 1296 hours, or 77,760 minutes, and I'm not even going to give you the seconds, because who's really counting?  I have a sponsor (two, actually), going to meetings (about two per day), reading literature daily, and am working on my Fourth Step.  I'm attending a Fourth Step workshop. I will complete my Fifth Step in three weeks.
I'm living alone in my own apartment in The Twin Cities.  I could not handle yet another sober house. It's a fully furnished one-bedroom with a balcony and a view.  My daily routine consists of making coffee, reading literature on the balcony, chores, then breakfast.  I plan out my morning meetings before I do anything.  I find it easier that way; plan sobriety before life.  Well, I guess that's not completely true; I put coffee before sobriety. :) That's why I own a drip coffee maker and an espresso machine, which I'm going to use to make a cafĂ© lattĂ© right now...Ah, much better.
I got my driver's license back three years ago from a DUI almost a decade earlier and haven't driven drunk since.  I've owned a car for over a year; my first since.  It's an older car, so I've been putting a lot of work into it.  Just installed new tires.  I like working on my car.  My life has changed tremendously since owning a car.  I originally bought it as an accessory to my camera bag, but it's been so much more since.  For one thing, it's no excuse not to make a meeting.
All the photographs on this website, with the exception of I think a few when I was without camera, are my own photos.  However, since this is an anonymous blog, I can't put my name to them.  And, in fact, I cannot share my photography portfolio with this blog, nor these blog photos with my portfolio. When I take a photo for this blog, it's meant exclusively for this blog alone.  I love photography even more now.  I now own a DSLR camera and have been putting it to good use, as you will see here.
I do have a lot of drunk history to catch up on, but not on my first post in years.  A little of what's been going on lately.  I have neighbors who drink heavily here.  An old drinking buddy drunk dialed me two days ago, called me a fat bastard, laughed, then hung up.  This came as somewhat of a surprise, since he was last in rehab.  His treatment girlfriend messaged me on Facebook and told me he was kicked out of treatment.  I'm not too surprised.
I make a little money driving people around and doing store runs.  Speaking of which, my downstairs neighbor Larry just called.  He fell off the wagon and needs me to make a Hudson run for a case of beer.  I don't mind, since it keeps me in gas money.
I will be updating this blog often from now on.  I already have tomorrow's blog post draft in my head. Comments are greatly appreciated.


-- Without Wax

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Mama!

Mama!…Siana screams. She’s always attached to her mother, when she’s at home. They’re more like sisters, with one difference: Mama D. is the older one. The way she’s attached to her mother is special…to me.
I can tell her mother is a special person, and yet I’ve never met her…and am afraid to. She loves her daughter like a possession; a property not to be tinkered with. Yet, Siana has a mind of her own, and she does what she will; Yes, she has her own will.‘Mama, I’m on the phone!’, like that really matters. If Mama D. really wants something, daughter Siana will get off the phone soon, no matter what it is. They share everything. We went out last week to bingo at a local tavern and I’d rung up a tab I couldn’t cover. Thankfully, Siana covered what I could not. Mama D. knew about it the very next day. They share the same check register evidentially.
Being close to her mother is one of the endearing qualities I find in Siana. In fact, most of my other lovers have had mothers that have died. They’ve been close to them, yet they’ve died, mostly early in life; Much like my parents had. Come to think of it, Siana is the first girlfriend I’ve had since high school that has a living mother. The fact that they are close says something; I’m not quite sure what that is or if I should even think on it.
Mama and Siana were instrumental in getting me out of ‘that house’ that I’d lived in for one month and a year. This was the house I chose to live in because of Mark J.; Yes Father Mark. He went schizoid embolismic once he learned I’d been drinking. I caused me to find other housing. Mark has confronted me each time I try to retrieve property from the house. It amazes me how someone with six years of sobriety working all twelve steps can skip some. Or is that just one of the limitations in the twelve step program?
How can a man who has been imprisoned and on parole, like Father Mark, with a felony conviction for violent phone threats be in the AA system and still threaten people? He’s still violent. The person I chose to live with, Father Mark, was the person of change I wanted to learn from. If anyone could change from his past to five years of sobriety, that would be my model of change. Yet, one year later, he’s not changed at all; He’s just become sober…longer; Terrible model for sobriety.
My sponsor doesn’t want to hear about the past; just what I will do to change. He won’t be happy with my choice to drink every chance I can get. Neither will Siana; I owe her money. After moving to my own place, called from now on as HillPlace, I am in debt up to my eyeballs. I will crawl out of this debt eventually, slowly; but it will be at the grace of very many friends; I had to borrow money for butter yesterday.
Mama D. and Siana D. had given me life saving stuff for a new move-in. Tons of stuff. I felt Mama D. was there giving me a hand with her daughter’s boyfriend’s move-in. Either she cared that much for me or her care for her daughter’s new love carried over. Either way, it produce pots and pans, glasses and plates, toaster, coffee maker, and other move-in stuff. These were all of the things that one would need to move it to a new place. All were thought out…by who? I didn’t ask.
I think, and I rarely get this right, Siana somehow will let Mama know how deeply in love with me she is…with me. {baring the obvious trailing participle.}
My new place is of my own. It’s just North of the Twin Cities and in walking distance of work. I’m working and keeping a job. I’m not staying sober. I cannot say what my plan to stay sober will be.
Siana is the most wonderful woman that I’ve ever met. We will see if she puts up with me.



-- Without Wax

Monday, January 16, 2012

New Girlfriend

Just a quick post to introduce Siana D. as my new 25 year old girlfriend. She's in the recovery community, a co-worker, and very Facebook proficient. I challenged her to find this blog, so I thought I'd post a little of what's been going on lately.
I have been drinking lately; as late as last Friday The 13th of January. That did not preclude me from getting my one year medallion. I have to lie to my roommates and the community if I'm going to stay living here. More on that later.
I plan to post more often and try to stay sober.

-- Without Wax

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Blessed, not Dead

I have never been more sober in my life, yet I’ve only just received my three month medallion. One year ago, I stopped drinking for one month while I moved into Hunting Hotel. Before that, I was homeless in the dead of Winter in Minneapolis, Minnesota, jumping from treatment to homeless shelter to detox and back. Here is my story of what it was like, what happened, and what it’s like now.

Having failed three treatment facilities in one year, I’d stayed drunk on money from plasma donation. It seemed like a good idea at the time; nothin’ better to do. I had a case of the pore me, pore me, pour me another drink. I drank to near blackout and stayed at the Indian detox facility in South Minneapolis for two to three days at a time, just long enough to dry out to supply my blood for plasma…a never ending cycle. On one of those occasions, I left there as a guest for the very last time. That was April 2nd, 2010.

On that day, a councilor convinced me to try the Hunting Hotel. He gave me the address and the name of the manager, Matthew. It took a half a day of waiting, but I got in. That night I slept on my own bed for the first time in years. Contrary to common understanding of sleeping in a novel place, I slept like a rock and woke refreshed. That’s odd too, because I had another stranger in my room; we shared a single room. From that day and for the next month, I abstained from alcohol.

Long story short; after that month, my roommate moved to Northern California, which gave me license to drink in my room, now that I was alone. I drank until September 13th, 2010.

On that day, I had decided to stay sober. It was not for any Earth shattering epiphany. It was simply due to me being tired of being tired all the time. It was not because of some revelation I’d read in the Big Book, a spiritual experience, or hitting bottom. This time I was simply tired of being tired…physically.

Then things started happening. My mind cleared and I started pursing things; things that would improve my quality of life. You have to understand; being at the Hunting Hotel allowed me to not think in survival mode all the time. It also allowed me to drink, albeit covertly. But, because I knew how not to get caught there, I had a choice whether to drink or not. There suddenly was no pressure either way. So, prospective employers started returning e-mails and calls. I had some interviews. One of which landed me a job I interviewed for back in April.

Before starting the CallCenter job, I had a brief seasonal job ringing bells for the Salvation Army. That gave me enough money to buy a decent wardrobe for my CallCenter job. I’ve held it ever since.

I had a one-day relapse on Christmas Eve after three and a half months of sobriety. But, I now have those three and a half months of sobriety back now. I’ll describe in detail that relapse in another post. I attend up to three AA meetings a month. I live in a house with an old sober friend. I feel serene.

Please post comments and I’ll update this blog more often, okay?


-- Without Wax

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Father Mark


The purest heart hangs by a thread.
Originally uploaded by Haribo's Photos


Familiar places reminding me of drink, like the back of the light rail car I’m currently riding in, sharing the odor of ganja. Police asking for my rail ticket, this time I have it to show. Its funny how this clean shaven white guy doesn’t even get a close examination of my ticket; it could’ve been invalid. Or maybe the cop is lazy, since he did nothing about the pot smelling punk. Minneapolis cops are like that.

Just last night I was waiting at the bus stop and had to walk away from the bench because two drunk black men were arguing loudly while their woman puked all over the bench; fairly standard for 11 o’clock at night at the corner of Franklyn and Nicollet. In the twenty minutes it took for the bus to arrive there passed no less than four of Minneapolis’s finest patrol cars without as much as a single glance at the disorder on display. Minneapolis cops are useless.

I’m drafting this on my Palm Tungsten e2 on the train as I return from my piss test, for a job instead of a PO. The thought of drinking in this trigger ridden place has, thankfully, not overcome me with tremendous desire to use. In two days, I’ll have as many months sober…but who’s counting? I wont mention it at my next AA meeting. Hell, I’ve already got so many one and two month medallions, I don’t need another, nor another acknowledgement. I’ll hold off until my third month sober. For the record, my sobriety date is September 13th, 2010.

Yes, I said job…finally; Two, actually. I start as a seasonal bell ringer for The Salvation Army this morning. Then, starting the first full week in December, I start full-time at The CallCenter (sorry I couldn’t come up with a more creative alias). I asked a lot of souls for their prayers, and God was listening.

I really shouldn’t have started this blog post so early in the morning. I’m pooping out. Speaking of which, I’m wondering why my poop was green and runny when I went to give my piss test? I couldn’t hold #2 in while filling the urine cup, so I let both fly and found green stool. I don’t feel sick, yet for some reason I’ve got the green runs. Maybe my bodies become eco-friendly.

The smell has vacated as the black dude stopped hitting on those two chicks and left. No wonder his eyes where so puffy and red.

I have called him Father Mark for the last five years; he finds it funny. I think Mark J. should be canonized, but instead received his five-year medallion a few days ago. He’s a good friend, not just an AA one, and has helped every new comer he’s encountered in one way or another. He’s helping me. We’re starting over from the beginning in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. He’s moved to Roseville and, coincidentally, that is where my new job at The CallCenter is located. There’s an extra room available in his house and we’ve discussed me possibly moving in when and if this new job pans out.

He's back with his ganja smell. These young black girls he’s hitting on think it’s cool.

I’m listening to music for first time in a while instead of news. I’m doing a lot of things anew now that I’ve decided not to drink. I’m following God's will.

Darla V. called. I plan to see her Saturday night after work. Although I haven’t seen her since we lost the apartment in Saint Paul, I don’t believe she’s in a relationship. When I see her, I want to kiss her long and hard. We’ll probably meet at a bar, but I don’t think I’ll drink. I’ll keep you informed.

Teresa J. called too. She actually found me on Facebook. She’s an old college fling from back in early ‘80s. She still lives in Anaheim, CA, 1500 miles away. She’s a total nymphomaniac. More about her later.

If you keep up with my blog, you know my history with starting a new job. After settling in, I get comfortable, then drink. Eventually, I loose the job and home and property and mind. I’ll have to do thing differently this time.

I must satisfy my penurious need for job starting material (i.e. bus pass, work cloths, lunch money, etc.). This bell ringer job should put me in the black enough for business dress cloths.

I really must get to sleep now. I just want to conclude by saying I’ve been practicing YALO and FOG: Yet Another Learning Opportunity and to keep an eye out for Fucking Opportunities for Growth. Let the FOG roll in!

P.S. I need to update the look of this blog. And the photo has no connection what so ever to this blog…I just thought of heart when searching for an image.

Update: The Salvation Army had no work for rookie bell ringers on this first day. With nearly 140 candidates and only 24 available positions, only the veteran ringers were chosen. This left my roommate, Wayne R., and me without work. We were the only residents of the Hunting Hotel looking for this type of work. I believe the vast majority of candidates were residents of Sally, which means, since they already live there, will most likely not be dissuaded from showing up tomorrow. My only hope is that some discouraged candidates left early without signing in or turning in their badges; they’ll be picked last tomorrow. But it wasn’t a total loss.

In all honesty, I did start to feel resentments. These initiated from simply walking back into this building and seeing some of the old faces again. Sally did me wrong when I went to treatment there and some of the people I’ve run into still believe it’s my fault. But, I figure this is part of God’s plan for me; to take this resentment and deal with it in a health, more constructive way. I’ll let you know how that works out after I climb back down from the clock tower.

Besides a nutritious (second) breakfast, I had a few unexpected YALO moments. I ran into Rick D. from the Sober Barn and he asked me to call him later about an opportunity. This definitely smells of God’s will, so I’ll follow up on that. Rick is one of the drivers for Sally this morning. Although I’ve mentioned the Sober Barn before, I’ve never explained Rick’s part in it. Rick is an automotive repair man who dabbles in computers, but when I met him needed an extreme update on the latest improvements to computer technology. He’d been out of the loop for a while; serving time for check fraud in prison can do that. I taught him as much as I could about the computer network I’d established, pro bono, for the Sober Barn. Given that, he still disparaged me in the eyes of their management when I was kicked out. I was warned about his thieving, and experienced it first hand when picking up my computer. He’d already taken my monitor, keyboard and WiFi card. I’d gotten them back, but at the point of him questioning whether I actually owned them. Even though he’s got several years of sobriety, he’s not to be fully trusted. Rick will always make sure he’s on the winning side of any financial deal he’s involved it. But, I will call him nonetheless.

Wayne (roommate) turned me onto the fact that the pawn shop across from Sally doesn’t charge tax on pre-paid cell phone cards. Since I buy at least $50 cards at a time, this is a savings of $3.75; which is nothing to sneeze at, let me tell you.

Actually, by arriving on the first day, we already have an advantage over anyone who didn’t show up and stay for breakfast. Those who haven’t will be chosen last tomorrow, which should have 92 positions to fill and even more on Saturday.

But, by far the most wonderful thing that came of this trip to Sally was meeting the Bus Girl. I don’t even know her name, but as I sat behind her, she noticed me. Bus Girl has a petite figure, just under five feet tall, a size two with B-cup breasts, curly shoulder plus length dark brown hair, milk chocolate brown eyes, punctual dimples, and pouty lips. I watched as she pushed those lips around with her lip balm and found myself aroused; she knew I was watching. Perfect in every way, with the exception of a few facial blemishes that was more than made up for by the occasional beauty marks punctuated with perfect grammar.

She smiled at me several times, but said nothing. I tried desperately to think of some conversation starter, but was deterred by her age. She could’ve been any age, but her small ears told me she must be in her mid-twenties, far too young for me.

She got up at my stop, which surprised me. Still, I had nothing to say. All I could do was gawk at her tight spandex splattered buttocks and knee-high black boots. She’s so fine. I was polite, she smiled, we got off together…then went separate ways. I hope to see her again. When I was sufficiently distant from her, I turned and took in one more glance; pure beauty.



-- Without Wax