Skip to main content

Well, well, well....

This isn't easy. Neither starting a new blog nor blogging about what I want to blog about today. Naturally, the two are linked, obnoxiously, so I might as well be up front. About 6 months ago I entered Alcoholics Anonymous (o0o0o0o!!). It's a long and strange and somewhat odd story of how I got there and why I've stayed with it, but those who know me well will probably understand & agree, and that's all that matters for the moment. As you can imagine, I'm not too upset about breaking my own anonymity; I hope to provide reflections and musings and ramblings on these and many, many other themes & topics (just you wait--one day I'll start on Doctor Who and not be able to stop!) primarily for my own benefit as well as any family, friends, and acquaintances interested.

(That was a very long sentence; let's hope we can keep this post short >.<)

I've started this new blog for a couple of reasons. One, the strongly alcoholic themes of both of my old blogs--both the hideously neglected (but flagrantly alcoholic) and the more subtly questionable (hint: look at the header; I made that pic myself). In the case of the latter, it's also all the ancient, painful, shameful, hurtful history I'd hope to outgrow and move past as I venture deeper into sobriety. Ex boyfriends; late, frenetically melancholic nights; viciously self-sabotaging thoughts & behavior; moping, whining, ranting, cursing, spiteful posts; deeply, nauseatingly victimizing talk; and so on. None of it terribly healthy or sober when it was bad; when it was good, I think it was better in those regards and mostly biographically relevant & amusing (I maintained that blog off and on for 6 years or so), but even still.... It's all stuff I'd like to move on from that era of my life, to part with and cherish it for what it was--my inglorious and priceless past. I think it's time.
(remind me sometime to dork out on how this blog's name is relevant to all this; for that matter remind me to dork out on the blog's name, period.)

Today is also a very special day, for a good many reasons. It's fast approaching on the "anniversary" of when I realized I dig dudes not girls. That was a biggie. Memorial Day Weekend became a yearly time for mediation and reflection and self-insight, largely by coincidence though still partly by my own efforts, too, I'll admit. For example, it was when I realized I needed to just let go of a bitterly, heartbreakingly fruitless crush that had been tormenting me for the second half of my high school career; and simple as that, I began to let it go bit by bit. And now, this 7th Memorial Day Weekend period is my new sobriety date.

It's a long, foolish story that involves using legitimately prescribed medication against prescription to, ultimately, illegitimate ends. I'll probably discuss it in more depth another time as it was actually a major milestone in my recovery, but for now I'll leave that inadequate summary suffice. Meanwhile, I went back and forth for a month or so on whether to reset my date or what to do instead if I didn't..... (Really, just majorly one way, then majorly the opposite, then finally back to the original plan.) It was on my 6 month exactly that it occurred to me how woefully, desperately dishonest I was being with myself, my sponsor, and everyone else in keeping my old date and drumming up some saccharine rationalization for it. Further, I realized how dishonest my program, as a whole, had been. I knew what I had to do, but it took talking to my friend Kevin D. to get me sorted & committed about it.

I realize Memorial Day Weekend is this coming weekend, and also that its exact dates change every year. The former is somewhat unusual apparently; usually one's sobriety date is black & white--"when was my first day without a drink?"--and naturally in the past as a result, not the future usually.... However, as I've already explained, it's a special time for me, my serious, purposeful "me-time" when, whether I plan to or like it or not, I end up meditating seriously and finding some new epiphany regarding my troubles & worries, some new insight--however subtle--into myself and my values. This all seems delightfully compatible with one's sobriety date to me.

Somehow, I got it locked into my mind that this special anniversary of mine fell on May 25; not sure why or wherefore (nevermind wherefrom), and I might someday bother with looking up the exact date of that first one (the gay one, lawlz), but ah well.... For now this--the 25th--serves me well enough. And so it's my new sobriety date.

And so, this long, dreadfully dull post is concluded XD


Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Sarracenia 'Palmerpink.'

So I posted the other day about my rekindled carnivorous plant obsession—I mean, hobby. I mentioned, in passing, that I had "discovered" a possible cultivar, so here's the lowdown on what that means and what I meant.

The term "cultivar" is short for "cultivated variety," and signifies that a particular plant is so desirable and interesting that people want exact copies of it rather than simply seed from it. Some famous American pitcher plant (Sarracenia) cultivars include the legendary Adrian Slack, the massive Leah Wilkerson, and the classic Judith Hindle.

Part of how these come about is that, unlike horses x donkeys = mules and certain other hybrids, Sarracenia hybrids aren't sterile and can be crossed and recrossed without limit. Further, random chance can create crazy combinations of genes such that even hybrids between the same species—heck, even the same parents—can demonstrate quite the variety. More on that elsewhere.

Depending on how easy…