Dog Shit in the Kitchen

Posted on October 16, 2012


Sometimes I am selfish and go to sleep without letting Saucy out for a final pee or poo. Last night’s selfishness manifest itself into a giant dog shit in the kitchen, which inevitably leads back to me, to my failure to let her out and my selfishness in choosing to go to bed over choosing to let her out for five or ten minutes, and then go to bed.

I used to get so pissed at her when she would go potty inside the house. Now, it’s difficult to be angry when I realized it’s my own damn fault.

There are these two girls that drive me bananas. Because of the nature of things, they are both inescapable. One is young and loves to get blackout drunk and talk about how awesome it is to get black out drunk. The other is a little bit older than me and likes to talk about money and financial insecurity and her contemplations on stripping to make extra cash and how it’s an entirely healthy way to live, “as long as you stick with the plan.” When I speak with them, I feel judgement flowing from the ventricles of my heart, out my aorta and straight down my backbone where it fills every single artery of my body. Sometimes it leaks out, the judgement, and sometimes, I can send it back through the veins along with the deoxygenated blood. In either case, the judgement exists and I need to find a more positive way to deal with it because none of what either of these girls talks about has anything to do with me.

Yes, they are saying things that I’ve thought, said, wanted, believed. Not recently, but yes, there was a time when I was twenty and thought stripping for cash would be a manageable career and getting blackout drunk would be the best way to “party.” Those days, by the grace of God, are gone. And those days will continue to be gone as long as I work a solid program, keep my eyes on sobriety and recovery, and risk being open and vulnerable to the beautiful challenges (i.e. making $10/hr) that life has to offer. The thing is, neither of these girls will ever understand why I am able to say, “by the grace of God,” unless they experience all the world has to offer, which means when they talk about this shit, it has nothing to do with me. They must experience it for themselves. I cannot say, do, stop of create positive or negative events in either of their lives. It’s a big job anyway, running another woman’s life. Much too big for me.

Why do I do this? Get my judge on like I’m being paid? Why am I such an experience thief? At what point in my life will I let go of the imaginary reigns, reigns that I neither hold nor control? Awareness is good, serenity prayer, yes, yes, but goddamnit, WHEN WILL I BE PERFECT?



Being sober is like doing yoga. It’s a practice. I practice sobriety. I practice emotional sobriety. I practice the moves. There is no game day. There is no finish line. There is only practice. This is both comforting and infuriating, but it is because of this practice that I realize I have a choice in which emotion to hold. I can create more space in those judgement-filled ventricles if I hold the comfort of imperfection and focus the blessing that is another day of practice.

“Today, I will practice kindness, both to others and myself.”

“I can do today what I did not do yesterday.”

“Time is never lost, I can practice letting go of judgement of those who remind me of the self I once was.”

“I can practice forgiveness.”