Back to the Grind…

Posted on August 17, 2009

Home again, home again, jiggity jig. After a long day of layovers and flight changes, of letting go of the city in eternal motion and sleepless abandon, I am grateful to be back with Ms. Saucerton Dogsworth and Kittypie, back to lala land where helicopters swoop around my home ever mindful of the streets happenings, back among friends and coffee shops filled with faces I know and love. Back to the familiar corners with familiar bums, and star studded sidewalks. Back to Hollyweird and normalcy and insanity. I’m glad to be home.

Every time I leave I get the urge to stay where ever it is I travel. Whether it’s Paris, Tokyo or Spain, New York, San Fran or San Diego, there is always an overwhelming urge to say goodbye to everything I know and jump headfirst into the unknown. Perhaps this is the lunatic in me, the crazy woman that always wants to start fresh, unknown, and unattached. Perhaps this is my inner monster urging me to run run run away, far away from everything that I’ve committed to, from everything that is happening. Away from the constant vernacular that is recovery, away from my therapist and psychiatrist, away away away. Away from the idea of alcoholism, sex addiction, drug addiction and “life” as I now know it. Strange how I can convince myself that flight is the best answer, that running away will not only fix my problems, but make them disappear entirely. Funny the things we convince ourselves.

Like how I convinced myself that if I had some drinks Saturday night that I would have a better time, make more friends and be more comfortable in my own skin. How I convinced myself that a behavior contract is equivalent to impending doom, that if I am to take the time to write up such a contract that I would most certainly fail at upholding it, when in fact the complete opposite was true. How I tired to convince my psychiatrist that I am in fact cured and that his therapy was just the bees knees and cats pajamas. Amazing how I tried to convince myself that if I were to kiss the boy in New York, it would have stopped there, or that I wouldn’t have thought about him on my way home. In fact, I’d like to discuss this inner dialogue further. Lets see where my logic can take me.

Dialogue between myself and my addict:

J: so….I don’t think it would count as a relapse if you were to just kiss him.

A: No, not at all, in fact, you could totally just kiss him and have it stop there. You are totally in control of your addiction now. Trust me. I know stuff.

J: I don’t know about that, but I kinda feel like I could stop it. Like maybe if we kissed for under 3 minutes it would totally end there.

A: Shit, you could even push it to 5. You could probably even kiss him in bed and be fine.

J: You think? I don’t know about that, I kinda feel like being anywhere near a bed is dangerous territory.

A: No, beds are fine, think about it, you were a pornstar, they never let you have sex on a bed, you should be totally safe anywhere near a bed. You never have sex in bed.

J: Right? Right, beds are for sleeping. And maybe 4.5 minute kisses.

A: So you are going to kiss him?

J: I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it.

A: You are fucking lying, you have totally thought about it, look at this conversation we just had!

J: That doesn’t mean I’ve really thought about it…it just means I’m thinking about it right now.

A: So as long as we plan this out, you will be fine. 5 minutes in bed won’t hurt anybody.

J: hmm….yes…..5 minutes in bed won’t hurt anybody….

So after I had this discussion with my little inner monster, which kind of looks like a balled up fist with an accordion neck and a pineapple head, I had the same discussion with E-Deezy.

J: So….I’m thinking kissing is fine. under 5 minutes.

E: are you joking me?

J: What’s wrong with that? I was a pornstar! we never kiss!

E: um, just seems a little um…well, ya know….dangerous. I don’t think kissing is a good idea.

J: No? hmmm…but…I….hmmmm….

E: yeah, I just think it’s dangerous territory.

J: hmm… can i make this work? okay, 3 minutes if I am nowhere near a bed.

E: um…..okay, whatever you say but I don’t think its a good idea.

So after the conversation with E, after I wriggled my way around all the possibilities that would allow me to makeout with this guy, after all this retarded prepping and planning on how I would make it not count as a relapse, I went to therapy and had Karim put the squash on my entire kissing plan.

K: Uh, no, I’d have to say kissing is not okay. You are already planning on doing it. That says something.

J: fuck.

I could run circles around myself all day, explain my way in and out of everything, and make things work to my like or dislike, but at the end of the day, the whole idea of becoming jennie is following the direction of the people around me who love and care about me because when I do what I want and what I think is right, things usually just don’t work out. In fact, they have a tendency of becoming very fucked up, which is not what I’d like to be. So for today, and perhaps just for today, I will follow the direction of those a bit wiser than me. And this includes not trying to convince myself of anything that requires convincing, like moving away or justifying things that haven’t and probably won’t even happen, or that doing something asked of me such as writing a behavioral contract is needless and tedious.

And as a side note, I’m going to attempt to start moving away from all this recovery talk, at least the hardcore jargon that seems to course through my veins and out my fingers. I need to start speaking and writing in a way that is more intelligible and approachable, in a way that doesn’t limit the scope of my confessions to that of an addict. I need to start talking like a person again, one word at a time.

Posted in: Beautiful Days