What Else Can He Throw at Me?

Our sober house got bought out by one of the largest non-profits in the Twin Cities, which shall remain un-named (unless of course an inquisitive reader requests it via e-mail), and has decided to make some changes for the better. I’m guessing better profit quota, but who am I to say? I’m a mere alcoholic; what do I know? I mean, for a non-profit, they’ve got quite an impressive Web site. Nothing like efficiency when cashing in on the disadvantaged.

Okay, enough of the slamming. Let’s get down to brass tacks. After our new manager’s second meeting with me he’s asked me to leave. His intention was immediately, but after some cajoling, I was able to swing staying until the end of the month, given that rent is paid in full in two days. As illegal as that sounds, without access to a lawyer, I’m not sure what legal ground I stand on in regards to sober housing. The contract I signed was too simple to be of any legal help to me; I need a specialist.

With his extensive experience as an armature psychologist (amateur, armature, either works) he’s diagnosed me as ADHD. This coming from a man that can claim the highest achievement in his professional career as cook, Barry H. M. is a chronic relapsers who’s barely achieved two years of sobriety. Most sponsors have more time than that. Even asking the proper questions, such as are you on medication, have you gone to a psychologist, etc., he somehow dismissed these facts in his diagnosis, which leads me to believe there are other motives involved.

This leaves me two days to decide whether to pay this month’s rent and stay for just one month, or cut and run with rent to another sober house. I would be leaving on good terms both financially and otherwise, and I’d get back my $200.00 deposit.

The fact remains though, that because of an obscure rule in the Sober Contract, I’ve been voted off the island. All agreements must be democratically decided by house members. However, since two members have already left because of the take-over by The Escape, leaving two other than myself, I don’t see how that’s technically possible. I know how one of the members would’ve voted. I am left at taking Barry’s word. The Cuilinn House is prime real-estate, set in the Victorian district of Saint Paul. All she needs is a little love. I’m sure The Escape wants to start on a clean slate, although this is clearly contrary to their advertised policy. After I and the other guy who’s looking for an apartment leaves, there’ll be only one man (and I use the term loosely) left.

I’ve never relapsed, attend four A.A. meetings a week, and am the cleanest resident by far. I don’t know where this is coming from, but the reality is that I’ve been uprooted again. This is pissing me off. I’m in walking distance of everything in my world right now: Gym, Café, numerous meetings, shopping, etc. Not to mention I just changed all my addresses over. This is the second time I’ve changed addresses for rebate checks. Each time I do there’s another several week delay. I’m never going to see that money.

My best female friend in the program turned me onto her house and I’m considering it. Close by, the rules are much more lax, and rent is cheaper. Plus there’s the added distraction that you can have a friend of the opposite sex spend the night; clearly not in my plan, but a man has needs.

So, Higher Power, if you have Internet access, enough with the tests please. I will do your bidding, be of service, send up the useful prayer morning and night. But please, I beg of you, one break; just one break on this one please? I’m at my wit’s end.

Without Wax,