look at these madwomen!

Recovery

To recover means to learn who we are, independent of friends, children, parents, or intimate partners. It means knowing how we want to spend our time, what books we like to read, what hobbies interest us, what our favorite foods are. It means understanding self-direction. It means charting a daily personal course and staying on it. It means defining our responsibilities and carrying them out.

Having an independent identity does not preclude depending on others for certain needs. We choose where and when to be dependent. Healthy dependency complements healthy independence. Recovery is giving me options. Each day gives me new opportunities.

Basta

***

coming back from work,

i tend to crave some pork

sizzling breadcrumbs and butter

  my heart in serious aflutter

I whip out my trusty fork

it's a new day after all

Doing well so far. it is not a competition at all mind you, this is life-long. Going to meetings every day.
Focusing on what I believe is important, and that would be HIM.

Almighty.

And I will not get furious over the most trivial matters. If I can't handle it, I shall just send it upwards, looking for answers. No, I'm not becoming a Jesus freak. Let's leave Jesus out of it. I'm simply answering to a higher authority, God. However I see Him, however you see Him, it doesn't have to be the same image.

A clarification

I've been half assing my blog. I've been pouring my whining and moaning onto these virtual journal pages, emotions that, as I thought, I could only cure with a real stiff drink.
The 'phase' i referred to earlier in this blog, is the time I had to wait to tell myself it's okay to drink again. Last weekend I finally seriously relapsed.
For the few that may know me, or look at this blog from time to time, the 'theme' is now going to be of healing and gaining perspective on e v e r y t h i n g. I lied to myself very carefully, I picked what kind of victim I will be that day and premeditated many seemingly impulsive situations. It is now my time to really face who I am, and I hope that at some random point what I write will be actually helpful to someone.

Cheers

Polish or Any neighborhood

City at night is it?

Those innocent hard little summer nipples of the red haired virgin who decided it is only classy to smoke opium in the den of her summer house, drink expensive red wine and occasionally puff on a joint or a well known cock.

They are all good friends, all of those fucking people. Sunbathing is not fashionable, neither is proper clothing.

Then on the other hand you've got the liquor store/bar that reeks of cheap cologne (painfully reminding me of how handsome I once considered my father to be) and fried chicken. Men (and women) after work. Tight jeans, perms, too much hairspray. Yes my dear there are different flavors in this world, so let us stop judging.