Sept 12 Saturday
Intake: Ø day 4, diazepan 30 mg
Sept. 13, sunday
Today was a great day indeed!! My ride home to _____ ended up being with Kelly. I smoked with her and it just opened by eyes up to how beautiful everything around me was. We listened to Morphine and had a really pleasant ride. On August 9 I wrote a pretty scathing judgement about Kelly, and her grandson and his father. I take a lot of that back now. I misjudged the situation totally. I didn’t appreciate just how complex our relationships with each other can be.
It’s great to see my mother and ____ again. I’m convinced that he is having a battle with alcohol now. This make me really sad, to see my mother, the stone-willed, rock-solid woman I remember, having to deal with this guy. She always told me to marry well; she didn’t and is so shattered by that fact. I still and always will love her, regardless of her losing a hold on this life at some point. I still respect and love her. It’s just great to be home, an awesome feeling.
Intake: Ø day 5, diazepam 20 mg
(Okay, so here starts the me part: I married this man I met at church. However, he ended up being a fake. I was truly devastated. Never being really took hard in my life, I got took. He was a non-drinker for the two years I knew him, for the 6 months we dated, and for the 2 months we courted. It was a lie. After a year with this, I was a crumbled mess. Matt saw this clearly as I cried and confessed my dilemma. He may have explained me as rock-solid, but I now see that this front was a mistake. What I should have done was be naked, be real, be me–human. I was always such a stupid symbol of the rock; I needed to show him more gravel. Damn! What the heck was I afraid of? I know, the truth–I wasn’t perfect. Well, not just that–I was just like him, a wonderful loser. Losing is great as it lets one sit back and ponder without the continuation of the game. Score on the board, we can all relax and consider the moves, the plays, the blocks, and the reality. No need to keep playing. Just be there eating pizza in the cafeteria with the team. I wish I did that more.
He was home then! He seemed so Matt, so calm and matt. I had no idea of the storm raging. Instead, I was concerned with getting firewood– my constant beloved chore. Finding escape in work, I lost myself in the scream of the chain, the crash of the branches, the ping of the sticks hitting my aluminum trailer– lost in Maslov’s 2nd level; Matt was at the higher one. Unfortunately, my voice echoed the scream of the chain telling him to buck-up– so unfortunate, so immature of me. But, somehow Matt relished this return to the homestead. Maybe this mundane has value. He, for once, welcomed it all. He, like I, was lost in the repetitive mundaness of survival. He was home!