Simple exercise is a natural anti-depressant I’ve been told. Though I haven’t been able to make that scientific connection yet, I walk. If nothing else, it’s good for the legs. Pants are looser. The elevator is/was/is broken and I was slightly relieved I had to take the stairs. Forced to burn calories. Because, face it: if it’s working, I’m taking it. Upstairs, even downstairs. I am that lazy. Or passive.

Big Saturday (apparently Sunday as well) Market going on under the bridge today--the place Keith and I said we would use to decorate our place if we ever moved here. We’re still mulling over Paint Colors. (Since we signed a one-yr lease, we get to paint.) So far we have pretty much narrowed down the kitchen to That Fiesta Ware Blue Color. But there’s other ideas including large stencils/drawings, Rasterbator art. Maybe we can incorporate all of them. Better not wait too long or it won’t dry until next May. I have to say, right now, I am looking forward to the rain.

Time to read. Reading: The Cameraman by Bill Gaston. Very good.

Oregonians We Are

Sunday morning we were all set to move in to our new apartment in NW Portland. I found a pretty great apartment in a great location near public transportation and near a dog park for a decent price and they allow dogs. Check check check check and check. Here’s a shot of the living room on Our First Day:

After staying in hotels for a week and hearing the sound of our bank account slowly being drained competing with the sound of hi-cool A/C, we had a place to live. Portland was in the middle of a heat wave, temperatures over 100° during the day and not dropping much below 80° at night. Lazlo didn’t understand why we were watching a lot of TV in the hotel room and not outside chasing tree-kitties (a new code word for squirrels).

Sunday morning we repacked the Jeep for the last time, tied the painting and the ironing board on top and headed to the dog park near our new apartment to wait until noon to meet the apt. manager.

At 11:30 she called and said they were in Seaside and could we meet them at 5:00 instead. Oh sure, heat wave and all, we’d love to spend 5 more hours outside with our dog waiting for you. (Luckily our friend Amber was home and gracious enough to let us come visit her for a few hours.)

Sunday evening we moved in. The heat was indescribable, but I will attempt: I felt like I was on a tropical vacation. Only with the sound of traffic. We’d brought a tiny incompetent oscillating fan with us and the heat was mocking it. Keith and I both easily lost 5 lbs that night sweating. And poor Lazlo was panting all night, giving us the illusion of a Magic Fingers^® bed. All over the radio they were saying every store was completely sold out of fans and air conditioners, don't even try. Here we were on a Sunday night/Monday morning, coming a little late to the heat wave preparation game, but hoping against all odds to find something to make it bearable to sleep without resorting to sleeping in a bathtub filled with ice cubes.

Monday morning, pre-6a.m. I woke up to the sound of:

The hazards of living near a construction site. Ugh. Oh well, it’s pleasantly cool at that time of day and I wasn’t sleeping for more than 30 minutes at a time anyway. Time to get up.

After some research on the laptop courtesy of our local coffee shop on the bottom floor of our building, we were lucky enough to buy one of three air conditioners left in the city. We spent a couple of hours putting it in the bedroom window, put up curtains and pulled the shades and waited for sweet cool air. It didn’t take long for Lazlo to get the idea. Last night was a great night of sleep. Keith even chastised me for covering up with a blanket.

We justified the cost, and the idea that we were going against our new motto of Live Simply, by saying that there is no way we could leave Lazlo alone in our apartment on the 4^th floor during any kind of heat once I go to work in a couple weeks. The poor little guy was experiencing heat exhaustion from one night and didn’t eat and barely drank the whole next day. So we are good pet parents, and I admit I love sleeping without constantly turning over to expose new sweat to the breeze of the fan. Nature’s cooling mechanism works OK, but A/C works great.

We made a trip to the library, which was like Mecca to me. Three giant floors of so many books. I checked out six and helped Keith find a couple. Also, learned how to operate the self-checkout! City living!

Today Keith went back to work and I walked to the DMV to get an Oregon registration and a driver’s license. After a few tense moments, I passed the “written”/computerized exam and had my very own appallingly bad driver’s license photo on file with the state of Oregon. “Register to vote?” Yes. “Be listed as an organ donor?” Yes. Then I walked to get a parking permit for the Jeep, ate lunch, took Lazlo for a walk, walked to Goodwill for a lamp and a trashcan, came back to the apartment and read, took a nap, and now I’m downstairs using wifi. I have no idea what I will do for the next few weeks until my job starts. Read a lot, take a lot of walks with Lazlo. But I am so glad to live somewhere where most things I need to do are within walking distance. Even the DMV, a good 20 or 30 blocks from here, was not a bad walk. And I got to know Portland a little better. My legs and feet are sore and that’s, as Martha Stewart would say because you know how I love to quote Martha, a Good Thing.

We have arrived.

Rolled into Portland this afternoon. Uneventful trip. Almost got cried on this morning leaving mom and dad's. It's going to be lonely without them. Spending time with them was a great gift for us. Although we're looking forward to being just a family of 3 again, it was hard to leave this morning.

Columbia River

Took Lazlo to a dog park this afternoon and he played with a cute little girl cow dog for a bit. It was warm and sunny but cooler than it has been in ID. We've decided that living within walking distance of a dog park is our #1 criteria for a dwelling unit. Let's hope we find one quick.

Keith's meeting his potential employer at 11 tomorrow. I don't know what I'll do....walk Lazlo and take photos, I guess. Call on some apts. Etc. Internets. Etc.

Okay, nite nite. More updates as they develop.

Clean up in storage unit #220

We spent today paring down items to Must-Haves for the big move to Portland. Uncharacteristically (of me anyway), we are keeping it realisitc, space-wise. We have it narrowed down to a dozen or so boxes, our box painting, and our clothes and bedding.

Who Paints Boxes? by Country Neal
(premier archetype of the Blankenships)

Finding an apartment is nerve-wracking. I can look all I want to from here, but until we get there and can go look at places, we're in Apt Limbo. I've been scouring craigslist and getting crushes on studios with hardwood floors. Apartments downtown are preferable to any "wooded complex with a pool" (ugh, could it be less desirable to live in a 45-unit apt complex off the interstate?), so we have to stay close to the MAX, or any form of the Tri-Met.

Now if I could only find a job. Craigslist is a great idea, in theory. But the jobs section has been dry lately. There's tons of postings for Keith's line of work, but I'm coming up largely empty handed. I did apply for an Americorps position I'd love to get, but they aren't hiring until the end of the month and I don't know if I want to wait for it. I may not have a choice!

Also, let's just say, on the topic of housing again, that any person answering the phone on the other end of my apartment query who starts to say, "But we do have breed restrictions," gets a "Well, we refuse to rent anywhere that has breed restrictions," and the dial tone in their ear. I mean, if you were a responsible landlord/agency you would interview all pets and weed them out that way. Assuming that a dog is a risk just because of its breed is ignorant. I've met plenty of nasty dogs that are not pit bulls, rotties, pinschers, or chows. So stop your doggy racial profiling, okay.

Return-ed.

Venting frustration in dealing with people and situations that are beyond my control has become an urge I can no longer repress under certain circumstances, like a lot. I seem to have lost (or at least reduced) my ability to pretend away some of my feelings and they rise to the surface too quickly for me to stomp them down and before I know it they are released into the atmosphere. The resulting impact (what goes up must come down) on other people and objects around me is largely inconsequential.

Scene 1: Standing in line at the Boise Greyhound bus depot at 6:30am, hoping to be allowed to grace the steps of the bus we want to ride on for the next 22+ hours after having missed the first one the night before due to no fault of our own and all fault of Greyhound's inability to follow a fucking schedule. Random scrawny gakked out teenager with no baggage, nothing but a striped rugby shirt size 42 shorts and giant puffy white shoes, turns to me as if I have the capacity to take on any more suffering than my own at this point, and starts a conversation about his troubles, "driving from Texas..." He leaves the ending open and this is where I am supposed to show interest or at least acknowledgment and therefore he feels sufficiently provoked to unravel the rest of the mystery of How He Became a Greyhound Passenger. Dashing his dreams of having a conversation with an irritated stranger, I look to my left, at the bank of empty pay phones and pretend to have not heard him. He starts and sputters again, and I continue to pretend I am in the Cone of Silence. He gives up and turns away. Victory is mine, small but sweet. However, not 10 minutes later a crazy bag lady type comes up to me and starts the same schtick. People, where has my compassion gone? I think the ticket agent who said he hoped he could find room for us on the bus the morning after we spent $50 we don't have on a dank motel room in downtown Boise shat it out after his morning coffee.

nasty Boise Greyhound bus depot restroom

Scene 2: After being sardined on a bus for 22+ hours and listening to asnine How To Grow Dope stories from 17 year old punks, trying to sleep in that Tilt Back Head way that gives you knots in your neck and a splitting migraine, being forced to breathe air that's been sneeze attacked by the crotchety old hag who insists on having the Other Front Seat even though my husband's legs are obviously cramping in atrophy for having been confined like a veal calf in a crate for the past day and all he wants is a seat to himself to stretch out said legs, being forced to huff B.O. from an ethnic variety of fellow Greyhounders (lemons and trash combo, I think Keith said about one woman), we finally arrive at our destination hotel at a little after midnight. Reservations have been secured more than a week ago by our very thoughtful uncle and aunt (who are also giving us a Jeep which we are picking up on this trip and which is the reason for riding the bus since we don't want to drive back home in separate cars). Roly poly front desk girl, "Elizabeth" claims there is no credit card authorization on file and therefore we are suspect, and retarded to boot. After shuffling papers for a while, she determines she can let us stay the night if only we call my aunt in the morning and have the requesite information faxed over blah blah blah. I say, in my best I'm Restraining Myself From Murder Right Now Only Because It Would Be A Hassle voice, that No, it is her job, the front desk person's job to secure billing information to which she replies that I am full of shit. I concede the fact that I am too weary for battle and I will willingly follow her every command, no matter how condescendingly delivered. She appears satisfied with this power gain and gives us our room keys. All this transpires while the "manager," a small Indian (dot) looking fellow in a t-shirt, mesh shorts, and flip flops observes his incompetent cow of an employee giving us the Shaft of Rude. I see. After being assured by my aunt the next day that front desk personnel have been read the Riot Act regarding their lack of service and overflowing ineptitude, we return the following night just as Elizabeth is beginning her shift. Our keys need to be activiated for tonight, since she was holding the next night ransom to ensure we called to get the credit card authorization. I tell her it has been taken care of, she shuffles papers, I call her incompetent, say the whole place is a joke, etc etc. She gives us newly authorized keys, at which point Keith reminds me to ask for towels because housekeeping failed to visit our room even though the nice shiny plastic door tag was begging them to do so. She says she will notify the head housekeeper; I say, "I bet." She shuffles off to get towels and says, "I'm trying my best, ma'am." Oh seriously, Condi Sending? You should be ashamed. You should be scooping poop at the local kennel if this is your Best. (The worst part of the whole thing was the shower----we've had better showers in Mexican dive hotels. My only regret is that the scalding water [alternating with freezing] didn't do any lasting damage for which I could have been monetarily compensated.)

gracious BBQ hosts and givers of Jeep

So, leaving out all of the other hiccups that happened on the way home, we arrive back in Kamiah this afternoon to see a very lonesome doggy and my seemingly lonesome parents, too. Mail is now being forwarded here (another anger story involving me, yelling, and the mail lady) and I find among bills and misc. catalogs my newest issue of Sun Magazine. It's routinely filled with bits of humanity and enlightenment that I tuck away into my soul and I found several in this month's issue. Here are two---

BoH&E1: ...the attention we pay to particular outcomes in life, be they good or bad, should be mininal. Fortune will change like the weather: Now you have fallen ill. Now your illness has been cured. Now you have gone broke. Now you have inherited a stash of money...Relinquish attachment to outcomes, Krishna advises; be equally indifferent to success and failure. The real value of what happens "out there" in the ever-changing world (and, from Krishna's perspective, "out there" includes your own body) lies in the opportunity to see anew from "in here"--from the perspective of the eternal soul. (Jim Ralston)

BoH&E2: (regarding forgiveness and the Christian prayer for forgiving those who trespass against us---although I am not a Christian or any religion for that matter) ...Nowhere do I see the notion that forgiveness is a good idea only if the offenders understand the gravity of their harm; if they acknowledge their role; if they promise to act differently in the future; if they are sorry enough. (Beth Mayer)

These snipets of my life and the gleanings of Sun Magazine are converging near a conversation I've been having with my therapistcounselor (of which I will spare you the details) but it all boils down to not apologizing for how I feel regardless of others' reactions to said feelings, owning up to what I want for myself, but at the same time realizing that my interpretation of a situation is not necessarily the interpretation or even intention of other actors involved, and that I need to Stop Living in the Past. This last item is hardest to accomplish, especially when your brain seems to have been equipped with a super 8 that records meaningless and traumatizing events alike and then runs them on loop incessantly until replaced by newer data. But, Be Here Now is a good motto and a good starting point and I will try to practice it more effectively. Amen.

Easy like Sunday morning.

Ok, so it's afternoon. I got a late start waking up.

Keith and I had a nice quiet low-stress visit with a friend yesterday and walked around a tiny rural Idaho town in the heat of the day. July 8th is their town celebration, complete with bathtub races, a ping-pong tourney, and lawn mower races. Unfortunately we have already planned to go camping up at Florence, or I would so be there.

We found this crazy blue fiberglass horse yesterday.

Triptastic

Next week Keith and I are headed to Medford, OR to visit family and take ownership of a '92 (or '93?) Jeep...good for camping and dogtivities. On the way back we are going to the Oregon Vortex (this will be our 2nd one together; I've been to OR's before). Should get some trippy photos and, if I'm brave, video (it's against the rules for some reason). Then over to Crater Lake National Park (gotta get our money's worth outta that Parks Pass).

My yoga DVDs arrived today and I plan to try one out tomorrow a.m. I've extended an open invitation for Keith to join me, but I won't hold my breath.

Also, today I sent some photos to the art department of Sun Magazine, for laughs, you know. Like Keith said, One of these days someone will bite. It's the law of averages.

We may try to fit a short camping trip in this weekend before leaving for Oregon. I've been wanting to go up to Winchester Lake and rent a canoe. Also, try to get Lazlo in one. Well, getting him in may not be hard, but keeping him in may be another story.

5th anniversary is wood.

(This is my favorite photo of Keith, taken in Tenacatita, Mexico.)

Yesterday Keith and I made the Big 5.
5 recorded with the State of Idaho, although we are approaching 10 years together.

I'm still learning about him. And appreciating him more and more. And hoping we have each other for maybe 75 more years, even if one of us has to been cryogenically frozen like Fry on Futurama.

He makes me laugh and think; and he's encouraging me and supporting me even when I don't feel like being encouraged or supported.

We were camping on our anniversary and we didn't exchange gifts, but we sat around a campfire, so let's count that as wood. If I had some money to spare, I'd buy him a Pirolette from this site. 'Cause I'm cheesy like that and game for anything handmade.

I feel so lucky right now. It's been a good 5, but I think they're only going to get better.
xoxoxoxoxoxox KB. Love, Ape.

Pay attention, this is where is gets weird.

"I guess a part of a man's root system has to be nourished by contacts with family & old friends."...Richard "Dick" Proenneke,
One Man's Wilderness

Last weekend I decided to write down my rehab experience. I did this for more than one reason, the least important of is to never forget how I was and what can happen to you if you don't keep your head out of your ass. I tried to keep it chronologically precise so if it sounds like you're reading a Lewis&Clark journal...too bad. Be good boys and girls and read it all the way through.

Mon. 5/29 Memorial Day
Golf tourney. The forecast called for bad craziness so I decided to help it out. I had my usual breakfast at about 7:30. Gin and MountainDew. I hated the entire day and finally had my last drink somewhere around 4:00. This was after a Liter of gin and a 6 pack of beer. I don't remember the exact time but my last drink was Pendleton Canadian. Look out Crown, there's a new sheriff in town.

Tue. 5/30
Serious withdrawals. All the guys showed up. Sweats, shakes, delerium, dehydration, blurred vision, headache, body aches, nausea. The mental part was even worse. Thoughts of impending doom, failure, shame. On the 1-10 hangover scale, this was a 9. I have had worse physical pain but never accompanied with the depression. I want to thank Darby & T for calling that day. Sorry I couldn't talk but I was a little off. Love me some s1.

Wed. 5/31
Horrible thoughts, sweating & nausea. I guess these things are here for a while. I'm just waiting for the real shit to set in. Ape set up detox at Port of Hope in Coeur d'Alene. Check in by 2p. 10A I have a quart of Bud for the road. I still can't believe that the last beer I drank was Budweiser. I'm glad they don't make IPA in 40's. By noon I had me some serious depression & irritability. I got to POH right at 2p. Serious trepidation (both def's). Thought it was just me. I wasn't my normal cheery self. The place was seriously unorganized. There was lots of sighing. Not the sad kind but the annoyed kind. There were bad attitudes, stress and I had yet to meet another patient. These were the employees. I felt like I was putting them out. It was really sad when Ape left. I didn't want to cry anymore so I was curt. No sense in dragging it out. Be a man god damn it! I wasn't allowed visitors or phone calls for 5 days. She could call and check my status but she had to have the codeword...Blackmore. I was waiting for the bad detox to begin. My back was sore as hell. My kidneys were trying to dump all the toxic sludge into the river.
2:30. CIWA rehab speak for vitals and a series of questions designed (if you're honest) to help the staff deal with your symptoms in a medical fashion. My bp is 186/111; pr was 84. They start freaking a little, it feels normal to me. That's how I roll. Jesus what a depressing place. I see a sign on a door that reads "BOP lounge & phone". What the fuck is BOP? These people are so unprofessional. They are discussing other employees and patients in front of me. Hello! How about you give your sewing circle a break and pay me some god damn attention. I'm the guest. I paid for 5 days and I would like a little ego stroking now. They aren't getting my sense of humor. I'm sorry you're a little jaded. I'm sure it's been a long day. AmandaK gives me my first CIWA interview. Jesus you're in the wrong line of work. No, no, no. Chrystal doesn't have an "H" in it. Anyway. Why do I have to introduce myself to everyone, employees I mean. I'm not a new employee. I could be though. I have more compassion for this than you do. This is just a bad environment for anything let alone rehab.
3:00. Just wheel me into the corner. They leave me alone in the "meeting" room. There are posters everywhere to remind me what I'm missing. Family, friends, drugs, alcohol, sex. Why is everyone staring at me? Where is the rehab, where is the counseling. I'm having serious thoughts of regret. How could I have let it get to this point? How, why? Shame, rage. I would like to see my server now please. I need to be here. Why are there only employees?
4:00. Dinner. No thanks, I'm not hungry. Why give excuses. Get a grip. Help myself. So I go to dinner. Meatballs, mashed pots, green beans, salad, jello & rolls. OK meal. Probably from some hospital. The large Cambros lead me to believe they don't have a nutritionist on staff. There are 5 other people around the table. Each one equally concerned with my state of being. Not. What do I expect though. They wouldn't be here if they didn't have problems too. They ask me the usual questions. What's my name? Where am I from? What am I in for?...What! What am I in for...oh, oh yeah. I'm an alcoholic I say proudly. proudly? They're not rude, just indifferent. I should cut them some slack. I am after all the newbie. I'm so emotional. I'm so alone. I wish s1 was here to help me make fun of them. It's hard to hold back the tears. One of these folks, Ron, is my room mate. This guy is a fucking lunatic. He needs serious professional help. I grew under the tutlidge of The Amazing Kent, but this guy is a god damn freak. I hope he doesn't talk all night or try to cut himself or toss off into a cup. He scares me.
4:30. CIWA. 174/106. pr81. Do I know the date? Does my skin feel like it's crawling? Do I know what 5-3 is? Do I have a headache? Does the light bother me? Does noise bother me? I answer these questions honestly but correctly. I flash back to Barney Miller and the boys from Bellevue. I do not desire accomodations at Hotel Goofy. I'm still waiting for the cure to start. Are those things what I have to look forward too? I have slight tremors, no more than usual. What next?
4:40. Just wheel me outside so I can die. There still hasn't been any contact with me by employees, counselors, social workers. Maybe there is a schedule. I am over uncharted waters. I can feel my bp climbing. There is a light outside the back door. A street light only on a pole about 12' off the ground. It is on 24-7. The buzzing is making me annoyed. Is this what they mean by noise...by light? If this is a test or a form of crazy marketing I don't like it. Why and how did I get like this? I need this. I don't want to drink anymore. BOP? Bureau of prisons. People are arriving out back. All kinds of guys. Carpenters, painters, regular guys. One guy introduces himself to me. Skip. He says they're not supposed to have any contact with me. It dawns on me that I'm surrounded by ex-cons. This is some kind of half-way house for felons who are in recovery as part of their sentence. I am outside the office window when I hear myself referred to as a 'detoxing inmate'. Me? Inmate? I'm not here by request of the state. I'm not a criminal. I'm an alcoholic. I realize that I can't stop wringing my hands. Shit it's hot out here. I'm light headed. Nauseaus. Is it dt's, nerves or just the weather. Most of the people here won't even look at me let alone speak. Including the employees. I have counted 5 people, employees I met not 3 hours ago. They are walking by me without making eye contact. Without saying hello, goodbye, how are you doing? What gives? I meet a bank robber/opiate addict. Not what I pictured either to be. This guy looks more yuppie than junkie. He tells me that he's been through a couple of rehabs and he thinks this place is a shithole. He says how he would hate to detox here. I wring my hands harder and harder. I drink some gatorade. $1.60 for 20z. Shit. Just bend me over. I meet a guy who's been there for 12 days. Also an alcoholic. He tells me how he dried out for 4 days prior to admission. Treatment or prison. Fuck. Am I the only one here by free will? He tells me that he's glad he truly wanted to stop drinking 'cause you can drink about anytime you want. I guess we are only a half block from a convenience store.
6:30. CIWA. ?/74. pr 79. A little improvement. I think alot of it is all the second hand smoke. Does every addict chain smoke? What's next? Therapy? Meetings? When? More chit chat with the cons, nothing else is happening. My next CIWA is at 8:30. I can see the patient I mean inmate board in the office through the window. There is a guy named Lemuel here. This makes me think of Josey Wales. I'm starting to feel a little better. Food, Gatorade, Copenhagen. A well balanced diet. Right now there are only 3 employees. 2 f's and a m. I'm older than all of them. The girls are more than likely students. Earning some kind of credit working in a treatment center. I wonder if this is what all places are like? Just shut up and dry out.
8:15. I am having what alcoholics refer to as a moment of clarity. I am coming to the realization that this fucking place is only interested in my money. I have given them the last of it. I'm wide open. Take a good look deep into my guts. It's all there. Fuck this. This isn't what I want/need. I need support. I need someone to talk to. I need some counseling. I need my Ape. Shit I gotta get outta here. I know I need something but I don't need this. How can I escape. When can I go over the wall. What wall? I'm 50 yards from I90. There are no walls, no concertina, no spotlights, no armed bulls, no dead man's alley. Brother you need to stand up, help yourself and get the fuck out of here. Wait. I have another CIWA in 5 minutes. My pr must be above 90. I don't even want to think about my bp. Whatever it is it's climbing. Not with trepidation but with excitement. I need to get to Ape. Before she leaves. She's at Nanners. Where is that from here. Stop Breathe. Put you're fucking hands in your lap, close your eyes and breathe. If your vitals too high you'll arouse suspicion. Think happy thoughts. Whheeewww. Exhale. Exhale. Exhale. You're the victim. Sorry for the Prodigy reference there.
8:30. CIWA. ?/?. pr ?. Not paying attention. In my mind I'm running down a foreign street. Looking for something I might not find. I ask the girl what's next? She tells me that I have to have CIWA's every 2 hours. I think to myself, fuck you. You're not going to wake me up every 2 hours. You want to see agitated? You want to see unruly. I need sleep for shits sake. Then I say no, I mean when does therapy start? When do I get to see a counselor? She tells me that I'm going through detox. That's pretty much it. I can join meetings if I feel like it. But mainly they are going to leave me alone except for the CIWA's. In my mind I punch her in the face. Blood and teeth and spit spewing from the hole where her uncaring words just came out. Thank you Chucky P. I ask how long I can stay outside. She looks at me all weird like and says unsurely...11...11:30...as long as you want. Inside I am running again. Inside I am choking her. It's not her it's what she represents which is nothing. In my mind I say I'm paying you $134.00 a day for nothing. I could go to the fucking Super8 for more and for less. I am instantly pissed. I've been here 6 and a half hours and you charged me $134.00 god damn dollars. Outside, my mouth says thank you. I get up and walk out of the office. My room is across the hall. I go inside, put on my jacket, stuff my pockets with glasses, saline, contact case, whatever fits. I don't care about my clothes. Pawn 'em for all I give a shit. I take one last look at my $100.00 Chacos under my bunk, turn and walk outside. I look around. No one. This place is fucking crazy. No supervision. No therapy. No nothing. It's almost dark. I have no idea how far I am from Nanners. So what. I'll walk all the way to Kamiah if I have to. I turn right, around the building, down the alley. My heart is at redline. I walk calmly across the street. Don't need attention now. When I think it's safe I bolt. As hard as I can I'm running. Half block. 1 block. 1 and a half blocks. Shit I better stop. I didn't get this far to have a fucking heart attack. It's humid. I start to sweat hard. I need to stay off the streets. I need to not attract attention. I need Ape. I'm scared shitless. I don't turn around. No suspicion. No cause for alarm. Just a guy walking home. Where am I? Okay. Sherman. Head South toward the Lake. I'm super fuckin' pissed. I'm the guns of Navarone. Find the lake and you're home free. 45 minutes later I get to Nanners. She almost drops the phone when she sees me. Ape looks worried. I ask her if we could take a walk. It's hard to talk. My heart is pounding. I'm super nervous. I tell I know I need help but listen to this. I recant the whole thing to her. Now we're both pissed. We get in the car and go to get my stuff. I've been gone an hour. A new admit who's going through alcohol detox and nobody even knows I'm gone. Ape even came by and dropped some toiletries after I had gone. They never even checked to see if I was alright. I get my shit and leave. Tomorrow I'm going to get my money back. $670.00.

Thur. 6/1
We walk in the front door. I'm nervous as hell. The guy at the front desk is the clinical supervisor. I saw him last night 5 or 6 times. He never made eye contact with me. He never introduced himself to me. I am wearing the exact same clothes. He's in charge of the medical portion of the treatment center. He looks at me and with a straight face asks me if how he can help me. In my mind I'm kick him in the face. I tell him no that were here to see Wendy. He is confused for a second and asks me my name. I tell him. He can't quite place where he's heard it before. He looks like it's driving him crazy. Why can't he place me? Maybe if you'd done your fucking job I wouldn't be where I am. Maybe if you had an ounce of compassion you'd know. I was 6" away from you at least a half dozen times not 13 hours ago. Go fuck yourself. I start thinking of how many people this place has 'not' helped. Fucking amateurs. You should be flogged. And you're in charge. My dog is a better counselor. We get into Wendy's office. The very first thing out of her mouth is do we have the receipt from yesterday. You greedy bitch. I have a serious complaint to file. I want to talk to the warden. I want to bring a shit storm on you and I have the ability to do it. And all you care about is money. I was right. Fuck yeah. We trade $134 cash for our $670 money order. She starts to count it. In my mind I am cutting off her fingers and gouging out her eyes with them. I say please stop counting the money. It's all there. I'm not a criminal like everyone else in the damn place. She finishes counting. I tell her she has a serious problem with her facility and I am here to make sure she knows it. She asks me if I want to speak to the clinical supervisor and maybe I'll get a full refund. Why would I want to talk to that fuck? I picture him trying to hold his balls in after I've cut his bag open. I'm a little mad now. I tell her that the $134, even though they should give it back on principal alone, is not important to me. It was well worth what I learned last night. They have a bill of patient rights at POH. 13 of them to be exact. What you are entitled too. What you can expect from them. I tell her how they violated more than half of them. I tell her, as fast as I can 'cause I don't know what's outside the door, how there are serious flaws in their system. I'm so tired of being a part of flawed systems. She looks at me, seriously depressed and tells me how she doesn't really know what goes on in the back. I tell her that this is just the beginning. She is the first step up the ladder. I tell her she should shitcan the whole lot and close the place down. I tell her that they should divulge the fact that if you come here you'll be around ex-cons, felons, whatever. I tell her it's painfully obvious that she has no idea whats' going on. She looks like she could cry. I wonder how much money she makes. I picture her being stoned in a public market. Jehovah! Jehovah! Jehovah! She never even says sorry. Fuck her. I learned a very important lesson. We get in the car and head for Kamiah.
Fri. 6/2
I'm headed camping with my inlaws. They have been more supportive than I could have possible imagined. This is what I need. A support system. I'll do my part. I won't drink. Campfires and chorizo. I'm having some pretty serious cravings though. I'm nauseas, my back aches, I ashamed. Time for bed. Rain. It's cool outside the tent.
Sat. 6/3
Cool and sunny. 1000th issue of Rolling Stone. My mp3 player. Fresh air. My back hurts. My insides are in knots. I slept like shit. Time for coffee and Copenhagen and Tylenol. I'm extremely emotional but the forecast doesn't dall for craziness today. No sir. I've never had a better bowl of cheerios. I've never smelled a better campfire.

I'm counting this as day 1.

Wed. 6/7. Day 5
I didn't go to sleep until almost 4am. I was up at 7:30. My body is still trying to adjust. The cravings are becoming less severe and frequent. One day at a time. I am surrounded by family. People that care. It's not easy but becoming easier every day. I have kept a journal everyday and will continue to do so. Maybe I'll post some of them here. Maybe I'll start a new blog. Naah. I hope I have opened some eyes with this. I hope that if you or anyone you know ever needs help you won't send them to
Port of Hope Centers Inc
Region I
218 North 23rd Street
Coeur d Alene ID 83814
Phone: (208) 664-3300.
Give that person the smallest of chances toward a new life by just listening to them.

I feel very lucky to have the family and friends that I do. I thank each and every one of you for your thoughts and encouragement.
Tell everyone you can to read this blog. Hopefully it will save someone.

Am I subject to liable by writing what I have? I don't know. I don't care.
Hellaluya brother. We'll talk about liable after I'm done shouting it from the mountain tops. After I'm done writing e-mails up the ladder until Roy D. Mercer (the D stands for detox) gets himself some satisfaction.

I'm heading back into the mountains tomorrow. I'll be gone 'til Monday. I'm going to cultivate a new life. Stay tuned for updates.

lates
kb

Day 1

I dropped off Keith this afternoon. We sat in an office and he answered questions and he signed forms and we paid a fee. Then we sat and waited for someone to come get the new Detoxer (that's what they called him). He asked me if I was doing OK. I held his hand.

It was hard to leave him. He didn't want to "make a scene" in the waiting area, and I couldn't get enough kisses and hugs and touches. I think mostly he just didn't want to get all upset (again). It was almost like I'll never see him again. Well, I guess the next time I see him he will be New. Or at least Refurbished. We've rarely spent time apart since we've been together, and I can't remember a time when we've been apart for 5 days. I feel unwhole.

I can't imagine what he's doing right now. I wonder what he's eating, if he's "keeping busy," if he's alone in his room, if people are nice there, if he's feeling frustrated, if he's crying, if he misses me, if he's hurting, if he has a decent pillow, if he thinks it was all a mistake, if he's having symptoms. I wish I could see him or talk to him, but I have to wait at least 5 days (an eternity). I feel like I need to be able to encourage him and let him know that I am thinking about him and that I'm not just going on with my life. I walked down by the lake this afternoon and I couldn't believe all the people that were having a normal Wednesday afternoon. And my husband is in detox and no one knows the pain. And people ask me, "How are you?" in normal transactions, like giving me change, and I am compelled to say, "Not so good" and my eyes fill with tears. And it really sucks. And I'm really tired.

But this has to be harder for him than for me and I try to remember that and not feel so sorry for myself. But it hurts. I just want to be with him, to see him, to feel him, to laugh with him. I just want my Keith.

A new day, a new way

Well, in the morning Keith and I are headed north to Coeur d'Alene.
Detox mansion's about to get serious.

Today was the hardest day of my life.

And I can only assume it was even harder for Keith. He said he's been waiting for this for a long long time. But that doesn't make it any easier. Maybe it even makes it harder.

I don't know what to do with all of these emotions I have right now. So I type. And I definitely don't sleep. What's up with knowing that you need sleep and still not being able to quiet your mind to the point where you forget and eventually fall asleep. Yoga has taught me breathing techniques to quiet the mind. But my nose is plugged from crying. I'm a Mouth Breather typing away on a computer in the middle of the night.

Tomorrow: I don't know what tomorrow will be. I expect it to be hard. But I expect to gain some distance on all of this some time in the future and maybe then I can say it wasn't so bad.

But for now, it's Bad.

But we have love and I have the hope that it's enough to sustain us through whatever lies ahead. I don't know what else to think.

RIP, indeed

Driving to Kamiah recently, I noticed that the Idaho County Farmer was MIA. This week, we saw this:There was a short article in the local paper about his demise. It seems some people (rednecks and/or punks) just can't appreciate the little things in life. In an area where people think art is an animal head hanging on a wall with it's mouth agape, this was a nice and friendly reminder about what Idaho can be. Sad, sad, sad.

In other news, I have started going to yoga again. There's only a couple weeks of classes left (2x/week), but if there is enough interest, she may do workshops or semi-private sessions, which I would totally be into. Keeping my fingers crossed.

And I've pretty much decided that I'm not going back to my counseling job. It was a good job, but I didn't have passion for it, and I feel like that's what I need in my life--something to feel passionate about. And don't tell me that jobs are jobs and everyone has to have one, passion aside. Because I don't want to settle for that. So I am working for Keith out at the golf club, going to yoga 2x week (for now), reading, and hoping to find something that I can really get into. What that is yet, I don't know.

One of the books I bought with my B&N gift card (thanks, Amanda!) was The Pig Who Sang to the Moon. I haven't even read it and I already buy the message....animals have feelings, too. So maybe that's an area I can get into. I was telling Keith that I could start working towards a Master's with online classes (none of that University of Phoenix stuff) and that at UM, a person could actually design their own Master's program. Now, that sounds like something for me. He said, "Let me introduce you to my wife, April. She's a professional student." There are worse things to be. Although I would have to start honing my grant-writing skills as to avoid the Department of Education loan system. Seasonal work is not conducive to paying off heaps of student loans, this I know. Plans, plans, plans. Always planning and then revising as necessary.

Or there's this.

(Just kidding.)

I got mp3'd

Well, I finally joined the technorevolution and got myself an mp3 player. iPod schmiPod. I bought a Creative Zen Nano for $50 and I love it. (So, yes, I hate WalMart, but I had a gift card to spend, so I thought, Oh well....technically, I didn't spend money at WalMart, someone else did.) Anyway, I have spent the past few days compiling a playlist and downloading music from epitonic. And now I have tunes to walk, walk the dog, pick the range, etc. It's great. It holds about 240 songs (not anywhere near full yet) and I can rotate in and out, because, really, who wants to listen to the same stuff over and over...isn't this the point of not having to listen to local radio?

Our heat wave was broken by a massive thunderstorm last night. I looked over at the taxidermy shop's gutters and water was shoooooting out. Water running down the street in full force. Now the sky is clouded over again and I'm hoping Keith will come home early. The rain and recent heat has also helped our lilac tree bloom out....I love me some lilacs. Right by the bathroom, too, that is so nice.

It's a heat wave.

It's HOT. Like 84°. That's hot for central Idaho in mid-May. I hope a thunderstorm is on its way.

Yesterday was Keith's day off so we drove up toward Elk City and we actually made it all the way to Red River Hot Springs, though we didn't go swimming. The last time we had been up there was almost 5 years ago for our honeymoon. It was a little drier, but otherwise nice. Nice to get out of the house and out of town.

Today I mowed the lawn and cleaned house. And rode my bike for the first time in months. It was nice, I should do it more. I will do it more.

We're done.

Amanda's graduation from the UofI was this weekend. Family from all over and a good celebration. She didn't trip on the stage and we all hollered when her name was called to get her (stand-in) diploma.

We also went with my grandpa to visit his old frat house, which he hadn't been in since 1951! He had some great stories for us, including the time he was tied to the flag pole and drenched with a fire house after "pinning" my grandma. She was supposed to come rescue him, but they had a hard time finding her. It was January---19° outside. He said he was surprised he didn't die on pneumonia on the spot.

My graduation ceremony was this weekend, too, at UM. Obviously, I wasn't there. But that was the plan all along. I'm not so big on the ceremony part; I know I graduated. Maybe I'll make it to my Master's ceremony.

I knew you'd save me.

Me: I'm stuck in the tar pits.

Keith: I'll rinse you with gasoline.

Nanner > teacher

My sister was offered a job today! She graduates from the Univ. of Idaho this weekend and so she can now proudly tell all inquirers that she is gainfully employed as a 2nd grade teacher. How bizarre is that?! Actually not all that bizarre, but pretty cool. I am so proud of her. Good job Nanner!

The weekend was filled with agnst and lawn-mowing (what a pair) and we went to Lewiston yesterday and loaded up at Costco. I bought some hot pink shiny tiny heels that are so Not Me that it's hilarious. But they match the skirt and shirt I bought and they are all man-made, so yeah. (All of this is for my sister's graduation this weekend).

I talked to an old friend today and made plans to do something this summer.

And I scrubbed my yoga mat. It had an alternate life as a doormat/dog rug while we were in Mexico, but I decided to give it a scrub up so I can rejoin yoga lessons as soon as I find out when they are. I know the Where part, now I just need the When. The Where, I'm serious, is in the basement of the Elks' Lodge.

Now if that doesn't inspire you to breathe deeply and stretch your sacrum, you're a lost cause. Namaste.

Unpaid vacation, it's the 2nd best kind.

I quit my job today. Until further notice. Unpaid vacation, technically. I hope to go back to it. But I need to take care of my own mental health before I can pretend to help someone else. So I start seeing a therapist ("The Rapist" Keith always says in his best Sean Connery voice--a reference to the SNL Jeopardy skit) next week and we'll see what happens. I felt a short-lived sense of relief after going in and talking to the partners at work. But also this sense of apprehensiveness about having to tell a stranger why it seems I can't keep my shit together. This is life, though, you know. So I just go with it. What I've been doing obviously hasn't been working, so time to try something new.



















And we'll go from there.

Another year down

I had imagined I would be spending my birthday in Mexico. As I walked Lazlo this morning I tried to conjure up visions of walking through Mexico villages in the mornings and all the associated sounds. Mini-mediation, like.

Spending the day with Keith was my number one priority, so I helped him out at the golf course, prepping for Ladies' Night (must be said like Leon Phelps for full effect). And I took Lazlo swimming at Tolo Lake, afterwhich we took an emergency ride to the vet because I sent him chasing a ball over a downed barb-wire fence.
Doc said no stitches necessary.

Then I got pulled over by a trooper for going 53 in a 45. Great. Just great. Got away without a ticket, lucky as that was. Maybe he noticed it was my birthday.