I need...

I'm barely making it...but I'm making it.

My Wildcat

She crawls all over me. She's sweet and doesn't judge. She's knows my weaknesses and still supports me. She's not perfect, but neither am I.

And she snores. But, she is beautiful, in every sense of the word. She has these crystal blue eyes, these pouty lips, cute dimples, legs that are so shapely, and curves all over her body. I love spending time with her.

I gave her a key to my apartment, against my better judgment. She hasn't abused it. In fact, she's been helping me clean up this place. She's become a little homemaker. It's kinda weird, but sweet.

Sincerely Yours,

-- Without Wax

Darla

Darla's back in my life and my space. I let her move into my little apartment: I gave her keys. She took over chores, like she folded my neighbour's socks. That was cute...he liked it.

I like her because she'd beautiful and smart. I can't do this drunk, and she knows that. She gets annoyed when I don't make drunk sense. She knows me and she knows that I'm better sober than drunk. She tells me, and she knows that if I sober up...

Whatever...We leave little notes about how we can clean up this place and store some of our massive amounts of stuff into a place that is actually livable. It's weird, because she's working towards living together.

She's beautiful. I mean, she doesn't have a killer body, but she has this face and eyes that are hypnotic. Everything that she wears makes her look like a model. Her legs are stunning, her eyes are crystal blue, cute dimples, plump (you know). She's fine.

I'll fill you in more later.


-- Without Wax

Disulfiram

I knew there was a reason I didn't want to have my property brought back to me from June's storage. I found Antabuse. It's an old prescription that was forced on me in Los Angeles after my DUI.

I have more boxes to go through in this closet. Can't wait to find all the other skeletons.


-- Without Wax

She is

When I think about June, I can only think of fun.

I'm going to try to make this my last drink.

Without Wax,

I'm a fool

I see so many things when I’m inebriated. The clarity of sobriety allows me to explain things. What needs to be explained is no longer irrelevant. I no longer have no need to stay sober.

Or, I have to find a new reason to stay sober…I guess.

I can’t drink forever.


Without Wax,

New Sponser

I’ve made a choice that I will share work related stuff with this blog. I thought that by making a clear distension between AA and work I would be able to help AA people who read this blog, but I was wrong. Work is related to sobriety.

Yaco, my new sponsor understands me so much. In just one phone call he told me he drinks Jack Daniels, a drink that I’ve avoided because of how crazy it gets me. I called him out of total desperation. He called me out!

I’m at an impasse. I want to drink and I want to get sober. I need to get sober because of the work I need to do to open the new store, and what I need to do at the transition store. However, I need to drink because my muscles don’t work properly without alcohol. They do if I sober up after a few days, but… it takes a few days.

So, I’m going to try this. I have no reason to do this. June W. doesn’t love me any more, I’ve lost my crew at both stores, and I have no real boss. Yah, I want to drink about it.

But, I have Yaco. Today. If my muscles fail, I’ll let you know.


Without Wax,

Memory is your Enemy

For someone who have made many mistakes in life, memory is your enemy. I just got off the phone with my ex-wife June W., who I still love and am glad to still have relationships with, but she doesn’t understand out history.

My memory of our relationship is in question. Her interpretations of my actions are in question. She is a master at manipulation: she will always turn any issue into her own favor.

I always thought that if I became sober that I could see through this. I did for a time, but it didn’t help out relationship. All it did was tell me that she could manipulate the facts of a situation to fit her needs faster than I could.

So, I became sober. I thought that the most wonderful woman in the world would respect that. In that respect, I thought maybe we could still have, you know, a relationship. Well, yah, I got laid, and I still talk to her over the phone. But no, she’s gone and I’ve lost her. Our time to be together has past. This is the way she feels and I don’t blame her.

But I was once married to a woman ten years my senior ten years ago.


Without Wax,

Detoxing at Home is a Lonely Job

You have no one to play with. Ex-wives don't return calls. Current, so called, girlfriends don't want to listen. Delivery doesn't understand your hours. Cable TV sucks. Must I go on?

Does it sound like I'm bitching? Umm...Yah!

I am. Wait, let me look down first; yes I still have a penis.

BTW, I sat through all of CBS's Sea Change by author Jesse Stone. I see (no pun intended) a lot of him in me. It was hard to watch, but a sat through it. It's a good story.

Without Wax,

P.S. I'll let you know when I've started my sober run.

-=-

First of all, drunks need to crawl on the floor with a flashlight to find software to re-install. Why? I don't know.

My Brother

I wish he knew what it really meant to be sober, and honest. He's been calling me and saying that he loves me. It's only recently that he's been saying these things. It' also the first time that he's fallen in love with a woman.

I just listened to him dis me for 30 minutes as he accidentally clicked on his cell phone. It's strange to hear him change my mind about how he manipuliates people, how he changed his new girlfriend's mind. Listening to how he did this over the phone made me convinced that he hasn't changed in his method of changing people's minds.

He's a distaster.

Without Wax,

The Hardest Part of Staying Sober!

Moving on from June W. is the hardest thing to accept. So what if the damage has been admitted, it still doesn’t repair everything. And I still love her; I still have passion for her. 17 years of desire does not disappear easily. I used to sing to her, sometimes over the phone from 1500 miles away, sometimes in person (in Spanish). Neither of us understood the words, but the motions and emotions were obvious. It was sweet.

Sitting in a chair, June sat there like a prisoner accepting the punishment of my voice and body on top of her. She just sat there with a willing smile on her face while I sang to her in broken Spanish…she just loved it. It showed in her smile and smell of her inner juices. I don’t know how or when to brake the prisoner/pleasure barrier, but it really felt right that night. She’s fine, there was no reason to stop. I don’t remember what happened afterwards.

She asked me later to do it again. I couldn’t, because I couldn’t duplicate the same emotional explosion…it was simply a spur of a moment type of thing.

June and I once challenged each other to quit an addiction: hers was smoking, mine alcohol. We wrote little books chronicling our bi-polar failed attempt to become better. She succeeded; I did not. I hold onto these books. I really felt that I could be the sober man for her that she met, not just married, but became the partner in life.

Without Wax,

Fiction It Is!

Since I cannot find a decent reason to stay sober, have almost lost all faith, and felt that truth has not served my quest, I feel that fiction is my only savior. I shall write a story. From now on, I will blog a fictional story; not in this blog, but in the next.

This blog is still a true story.

I’ll link to this blog with a new blog.

Without Wax,

NCIS Explains Women

She fell for his plumbing skills. If you’ve seen this latest episode, you’ll notice she suspected his intentions weren’t true, until he revealed the real damage that he repaired; it was extensive. She melted in his arms.

I felt this way about June W. and her house when I moved in. I did everything I could do to repair it, including learning plumbing skills on my own. Unlike the fiction of NCIS, it wasn’t enough for her to understand how deeply I cared for her.

I remember a time in South Padre Island, where we first vacationed, when she bought me a T-Shirt together with a similar plumber imprint as the one above.

The point is that she asked me to do things I was not qualified for; but I did them because I thought it would show how much I loved her. I was only qualified as a Software Engineer. Yet after all I learned to maintain her house, it still was never enough. So, she divorced me.

Oh, and that I was a total alcoholic.

Some regrets can never be forgotten, neither hers nor mine.


Without Wax,

I don't know what she found in me

I don't know what any woman can find attractive in me. All my relationships have started with alcohol. Alcohol kills. June used to love me. She doesn't now and I don't know if or when I'll ever be attractive ever again.


Without Wax,

New Store Transition

I chose to drink after finding my own place. I don’t know why I chose to drink. It’s solved and caused problems. Memory problems are the best: you get to avoid them. This, in turn, causes other problems, like managerial responsibilities. Booze does that. You can avoid serious review incidents, but eventually it will catch up to you.

I have a man that needs to be fired and I don’t know how to do it. I can’t do it hung over or drunk, so I must do it sober. The fact that I can’t easily fire him as a manager frustrates me; and I have to admit that I drink about it.

You know what would be a better solution: one without alcohol.

Doing it alone has been the way that I’ve survived for the last six months. I think it’s time to walk over to an AA meeting and ask for help. But I’m afraid I’ll run into zelots that preach the Big Book way. I’ve been down that path; real honest communication is the only way it works.

Don’t get me wrong; the Big Book has true honest experiences that came out good. We can all learn from them. All the stories in the Big Book are written by people that have come to the conclusion that their horror stories of using can help others. I’ve got them too; I’m just not ready yet to put them down on paper. June knows most of these horrible stories probably better that myself and I’d really like to partner with her before putting this all down in words. This is one of the promises that the Big Book describes: although I didn’t get to patch things up completely, she’s still a friend.

My New Place

...Is my old place.

I moved back into my old efficiency apartment. The rent was cheap and the drunks from the so-called sober house are gone. I’m on my own now and employed.

However, I’m drinking again.

I have to stop. I’m on my own and feel unaccountable. It’s the worst thing for a responsible alcoholic.

I came to the realization that I can’t actually perform my job without being able to pay attention to needs and tendencies of my team members. You can’t do that hung over.

So, I’m using this weekend to sober up.


Without Wax,

Valentine’s Heart Break

It’s Valentine’s Day and I was hoping to sign a card for June W. before she got here to drop off some financials, but she came early. I was in the middle of training a new co-worker when she arrived and I think the confusion was mutual.

Alison M. is an eager student of photo lab who has taken advantage of the opportunity of missing team member to fill in and cross-train. Why she wants to learn this complex work-center is beyond my grasp, nor question. She, like many other young students of photography, has showed an interest in learning the working technique. They want to know how it actually works.

June showed up unexpectedly. Since I don’t have a checking account, nor deserve one, June has been cashing my paychecks. She has decided to make out a cashier’s check to my old/new landlord so I can move back in to the efficiency apartment that I was evicted from; you know, the one I love with the BLT. This solves a lot of happiness problems: expecting coffee, creamer, clean sink, lost food, ice cream, to be there normally, not to mention broken cups, people falsely accusing you of steeling, etc. Am I bitching?

However, today this eager student has mistaken my interest in June as a training lesson in customer service. Little does she know how much I really would love to service June on this Valentine’s Day, both horizontally and vertically, landscape and portrait. Alison stays close as I’m talking to June until she realizes its personal, then she gives us a little distance, as much as she can in this little lab.

June has this look about her this afternoon that sort of reminds me of the first time we fell into wicked love back in El Toro, CA, when I glanced at her passion after a wonderful Japanese meal. It invokes a feeling deep inside me that will never be forgotten and, I’m afraid, can never be buried.

The ‘Magic’ I used to spell over June is long gone. I’ve decided to move out of the sober house I’m living in. June has unwittingly decided to help once again in my, what will become fifth or so homeless move, in one year. None of these times has she invited me to simply move back in with her, share the rent, forgive all, do the smart thing, yada, yada, yada, etc. I guess my blue eyes have faded. I can’t put on the charm I used to.

I fear that June’s key to happiness is simply financial security. After the tech bubble burst in 1999, she felt Wax was waning. Although I have a technological advantage over most people to understand machines, she’s not sure how it translates to dollars. So, after fifteen years of love making, two short years of marriage, a tech bubble burst, an embedded alcoholic addiction, and her inherent need to fix everything that’s broken, she’s given up on this piece of shit hopeless romantic. She fell deeply in love with me once, and I fear she will never fall in love with anyone as deeply, me or anyone else, ever again. I’ve cursed her for life.

The added benefit of anyone else ever falling in love with her is merely selfish. After the massive damage I’ve done to her, I wouldn’t blame her for falling in love with the right man.

But she hasn’t...yet.

It is hard. Like many steps in recovery, there are chips in the pavement along the way. I became strong enough to develop the two-dozen rolls of film taken when...I don’t remember. There were a lot of memories; a lot were fun, a lot were drinking, a lot were wild. There is an infamous photo of me passed out on the floor. June had decided that she had to capture this moment in time. She does that. She’s more journalistic than artistic in her photography.

So, I’m torn. She needs financial help, yet she doesn’t want me to move back in. I guess she doesn’t love me that much any more. I need to move out. This place – this sober house – is dysfunctional. She’s short on money and I could pay her rent while we patch things up (a dream state). I think her pride is stopping her from entertaining the idea.

It sucks! I can’t feel anything for anyone else. I don’t want to. Girls and ladies are asking and I just don’t feel like it’s the right time, nor right thing, to do anything about it. However, June doesn’t want me back. She’d rather me find some other woman.

What she doesn’t understand – and what I don’t understand – is why we can’t fall back in love. When someone falls deeply in love with you, and they’re a good guy, don’t blow them off. I am deeply in love with June. I guess I’m not a good guy.

I wish I was younger so I could convince a younger June of our future together. Just like the view of this photo, everything is a little esker.

So, Happy Valentine’s Day on that thought!


Without Wax,

Why Doesn't God Help?

"Why does this have to be so difficult?"

Working in the lab, a co-worker who’s going through recovery asked me this question. Normally, I stay anonymous at the work place, but I’d been discovered by one who recognized my medallion photo on a sample CD I created. I’d totally forgotten to remove those images when I created it.

“I mean, I work hard, I stay abstinent, yet people still treat me like shit.” I guess she’s thinking she’ll find a sympathetic ear. Darla scares me because I want to stay anonymous in the work place. However, she did find me out through the anonymous medallion. I mean, really, nobody knows about that unless they’ve been exposed to it.
“I do what I’m supposed to. I show up on time. I cover shifts. Why can’t I get the hours?”

My answer, “Sobriety is difficult. You’re exposed to life as if it’s the first time. If you want to participate in life, you must re-learn the rules that you were taught young and chose to ignore. And sometimes, you have to do it without a teacher.”

“Will you be my teacher?”

God, “I don’t know.” I gave her no promises.

Without Wax,

Taking Work Home

I’m trying not to bring my work home with me, but I am guilty. I blame my addictive personality. I’m getting into being this Photo Lab Manager, and it’s creeping me out, a bit. I didn’t become a manager because I wanted to manage. I did it because the lab was in shambles and it was frustrating to work with failing equipment and people who didn’t care about the end product. What I’ve learned since taking over the position is that it’s a lot easier to fix the former than the latter.

I’ve also learned something from the name of the work-center, One Hour Photo. It really is all about service. Come, drop off film or digital photos, do some shopping, pick up quality photos and leave. It should be like dropping off a prescription. They’ll be done by the time you’re ready to go. Like I said, it’s easier to deal with the apparatus than it is with the co-workers. I have to be careful though. It’s a lot easier to deal with machines drunk or hung-over than it is with people.

What I’m learning though, is that it’s easier to deal with co-workers I’ve trained, and it’s so easy. It’s tempting to just chuck all those subordinates that don’t listen. What I’ve been systematically doing is reducing their hours in the lab. Some respond to this, others are so complacent that it doesn’t matter where they work. Still, it doesn’t solve the problem, and I’m all about solving problems.

Enough on that, for now.

I have to put together an agenda for my first meeting that I’m holding this week. For the first time, I’m working on something without taking a drink. That used to be my MO: have a drink before you start any project. I started getting sober a little over a year ago, and after one relapse, I feel completely different about alcohol. There were so many reasons to drink, so many triggers. Now, thank God, there are very few. But it took this last year to get to this stage.

I’ve built a small life from my former being. It’s enough right now. But work has a lot to do with it. So, I take it home for now. I have to; It’s the first time for me being a titled manager. I’m not a born leader. I’m a teacher, and that’s how I’ll lead. As for taking work home with me, I’ll live with that, for now.

Waking up this morning, I couldn’t sleep, so I left June W. in bed and ventured out into the living room with my latest novel: Michael Connelly’s Lincoln Lawyer. Thinking of the coincidental parallels between the main characters life and my own is entertaining. I’m at a part in the book where he’s at his home with his ex-wife, who he called from a bar drunk asking for a ride home. They’re talking about how their marriage failed, something June would really like to avoid. But then, I never thought a year ago I’d ever see June again, much less spending the night. We’ve seen each other for Christmas and her birthday. If you stay sober, some promises keep coming.

Relaxing with my book on the sofa in the living room, I look over at the window and start to laugh out loud. I see her kitchen pair of scissors hanging from the window crank, Photo Lab style. It’s a habit I learned from work and must’ve unconsciously done last time I was here. I wonder how long she’ll notice they’re missing from the kitchen?


Without Wax,

Not Too Bored

Exhausted from working late, coming from donating at City Plasma, I’m approached by a panhandler at the Saint Paul downtown bus stop. He is a black man wearing, what appears to be, everything he owns. His direct advance causes me to mentally locating my pocketknife (outside backpack pocket). “Excuse me sir, could you spare a few dollars for a bed down at The Mission?”

Having panhandled for Mission money in the past, I sympathize with the man. However, if he simply was honest about his need for money, like say for booze or crack, I’d me more inclined to donate. 4:00pm is the cut off time for buying a bed a The Mission, wanted to say. “I’m sorry, I just got done paying rent,” I replied. A white man carrying a grocery bag is a prime target for panhandlers I guess.

... and I’ve run out of time, must leave for work...

When I started this blog over a year ago, a goal of mine was to show how a man like me stayed sober. By not posting to this blog, I haven’t really done that lately. I would also not recommend the method I’m currently using, which is not going to meetings, not seeking a sponsor, and working my ass off at work. However, tomorrow will be five months sober, so I’m not doing too badly.


Without Wax,

I'm Still Here

I was a little concerned about going out for New Years, so I stayed home alone and watched rented movies. I felt like writing tonight, but then got tired. I should sit down this weekend and update this journal.

I pray everyone had a safe and sober New Years!


Without Wax,