Not entirely dead yet

https://wellthatwassobering.blogspot.com/

Would you like your very own sword of Damocles?

What if it was 94% occupied? WHAT WOULD THAT EVEN MEAN?

Work is work. I've calmed down about it. It is what it is. I have a necklace that says this so it must be true.
Part of recovery is getting your head out of your own ass. Easier said than done. Me me me me me. If it's not about me I could care less and if it is about me then let me tell you all about it. Such an attitude certainly isn't an indicator of a contemplative, open-minded person but it is indicative of one of the heinous traits alcoholics exhibit: egotism.
My sponsor (OH MY GOD ALL THE WORDS I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD TYPE) gave me homework for my step 3. I am to translate the following Third Step prayer into my own, agnostic words: "God, I offer myself to Thee - To build with me and to do with me as Thou wilt. Relieve me of the bondage of self, that I may better do Thy will. to those I would help of Thy Power, Thy Love, and Thy Way of life".
I think it roughly boils down to "the Universe is bigger than me; I can't control most things; living in my head gets me nowhere; and try and do nice things for others". 
But anyways, back to me. The current issue at hand is as follows:

• what scope of explanation does an alcoholic owe a potential life mate regarding their disease? Is it enough to say "I am an alcoholic in recovery", or does an alcoholic have to explain neural plasticity, share some war stories and then discuss recidivism rates?
• if you were entering into a relationship with - or contemplating continuing an existing relationship with - an alcoholic knowing that relapse is a very real possibility, would you want that sword hanging over your head?
• what logical reason would an alcoholic have to admit they had relapsed if their admission meant their partner would end the relationship?

Anyways, I'll take another 24 and pass it on.

On making big decisions while not even four months sober

Personally, I think I look PDG for a 41 year old drunk with bronchitis.

They told us a lot of things in rehab. Make your bed. Always be with at least two other people (lest you succumb to temptation and have a wild, passionate affair... while tapering off your drug of choice and trying to stay clean). Don't make any big decisions for a year. Don't get over confident. Eat more timbits. It works if you work it, and you're worth it. Yoga is mandatory for the first 28 days. Pee in this cup.
Anyways, on the making big decisions while not even four months sober thing? Mayyyyyybe I shouldn't have quit my job. I mean, I hated the woman I worked with and my boss had issues, but at least I knew what was expected of me, I could walk to work and I made more money. The new job is a shit show. You know how there are always one or two questions you fail to ask in a job interview? Well the question I failed to ask was "has the job been haphazardly managed and is it woefully behind and is the data I will have to work with very inaccurate?". Just didn't tick that particular one off my list. I'm trying not to futurize. I'm three weeks into it. I can leave whenever I want and I have promised myself I won't stay past the probationary period so as not to upset people if I'm not happy, which is how I ended up at my last job for three years. But dude: they have 60 day terms with their vendors, and then they pay most of them by credit card to get another 30 days. Have you ever paid a vendor over 400k on AMEX? I now have.
It really has been a banner past three weeks though, I gotta say. My mom had a hysterectomy and was discharged too soon from the hospital, resulting in my call to 911 (and my first ambulance ride!), subsequent complications and re-admittance to ER. Michael rolled his ankle and had a colonoscopy (they are not related). My aforementioned job change. Instability in my marriage (let's just gloss over that one for now). And oh yeah, I picked up bronchitis while hanging out at VGH with my mom, for the win.
The uptick is that I surprised myself by staying sober. Even a couple of other people in recovery pointed that out to me, so here's to you, kid. Way to not fuck up for once. The last time any modicum of responsibility was placed on me was when I sold my condo. On moving day I literally got pass-out drunk and... passed out. Neat! Hard to move shit when you're, um, not moving.
To sum up, I got a haircut today, so let's just focus on that for now.
Happy weekend!

Onward and upward. And other stupid platitudes.

This should have been me, after week one.

Today is my last day at the job I have been at for the past three years. I should have actually handed in my notice shortly after starting, but to be fair ("Letterkenny")... to be fair, I had never encountered such absolutely stunning behaviour in humans before and so the thought processes I subsequently had alternated between total shock and sheer disbelief. Coupled with my lack of self esteem and the inability to erect sensible boundaries for myself, I continued on with this job the way a woman whose husband gaslights and verbally derides her continues on with her marriage.
Ultimately the decision rested with me to stay, and stay I did. I take responsibility for it. Like the husband that buys jewelry and pretty flowers to compensate for his bad behaviour, this job paid well, I could walk to work, and it was four days a week.
I will sum up my three year existence here with something that happened shortly after I was hired, however: it adequately and succinctly covers all the feels.
I interviewed here, in the offices, a couple of times before I was hired. Both times the office manager - let's call her "V" - was so disdainful and unwelcoming that I felt intensely uncomfortable. Obviously I got the job. At no point did anyone tell me that this was a scent free environment. Even to this day, one of the principals of the organization, as well as our driver both wear cologne. So, not "knowing" any better, I applied (hilariously) Clinique's Happy before coming to work. For at least the first week, whenever I would go to ask V a question, or whenever she would deign to come by and toss something on my desk (she did this for ages until I politely pointed out the in tray on my desk that had always been there) she would literally and actually hold her nose.
To more fully paint a picture, this is a woman nearing retirement age who resembles an unattractive and aged version of Brienne of Tarth from "Game of Thrones".
Given that other people in the office wore cologne, I could not figure out her behaviour around me, and it actually reduced me to tears (shed out of sight in the bathroom of course). She never exhibited this behaviour in front of our boss, so I when I relayed this particular story to her when giving my notice my boss was quite shocked.
And that, dear reader, extrapolated out for three further years, is the essence of my time here.
It is fitting, on my last day, that I should be reconciling my boss's credit card statement that shows that she and V went out for a $257 meal on V's birthday - after the champagne toast, naturally. And it is just equally fitting that today my boss is not here, so my farewell lunch will consist of myself, my coworker N, and of course V.
Happy Friday. Happy trails.
But most importantly, Happy perfume.

Seems I have rage issues

Been drinking a lot of coffee lately. Know what's good? A medium coffee from Tim Horton's with two milks and a shot of caramel but you bring your own travel mug so you know you're actually getting more than a medium and yeah, there's calories in the syrup but I walk two miles a day just to and from work and on my lunch break so sometimes I get a Timbit too. Cause I can.
You know what they tell you in rehab that ends up being true? That addicts who have successfully managed to stuff all their pesky emotions down for a good long time will have to experience said emotions without the salving balm of their drug of choice. Seems, in addition to being smart and sensitive, I have a rage issue. Unsurprising, really.
The other thing that happens once you start to clean up the shit show that was the last near ten years of your life (my coworker just farted and it is the second time this week) is that you expect people to treat you with the respect that you deserve, but they don't feel that you deserve it because you were a fucking asshole and did incredibly shitty things for so long.
Betcha didn't know that, did ya.
Also, I found a new job and my last day here is next Friday, so fart away coworker.

Running and eating

I used to be a runner with a drinking problem. Then I became a drinker with a running problem. Then I just became a drinker.
SO POETIC DUDER, JESUS.
Anyways, I failed to mention that on Sunday, February 18th I competed in a 10k race. I won my age category, and was one of the top ten females overall. Not bad for 18 days post rehab.
I also failed to mention that I am eating a lot of waffles.

Sobering

Yesterday I took my two month sobriety chip. It had been a crazy day. Though my work knew that my six week absence was due to a stint in rehab, they still thought it would be alright to foist a champagne toast to the office manager on me with little warning. I would have liked to have been excused.
This was the first time I had been in direct contact with alcohol in 60 days. My boss said there would be sparkling water for me. We gave the toast. A glass of actual champagne was put into my hand.
I was livid and disappointed. I did not drink. I spent the rest of the afternoon indulging in resentment and self-pity. I went to a meeting, collected a chip and lost track of how many hugs I got.
Today is today. And today I am starting to honestly look for a new job.