I Am My Job

In response to my blog from 2011, I Am Not My Job.

Hey, John from 2011, you're still washing dishes. But you are comfortable with that.

Yes, I still find dishwashing to be Zen. However, my current job a little more interactive in the high-stress environment of a very busy kitchen. You have to be on the ball the entire shift. Full throttle.

After being at that job for almost 2 months now, I have to say: Sorry, Mr. Durden,  I am my job. From the moment I walk in the back door until I clock out, I am a dishwasher. My problems, my relationships, my history...I turn it all off when I turn off my phone. And then I dive right in.

I don't know if I would recommend a low paying physical manual labor job that leaves you with little cuts and burns to anyone...but I have absolutely zero stress at the end of the night. I leave, and I'm no longer my job. The kitchen is clean, my head is clear. No bullshit to take home. See you tomorrow.

My counselor in treatment was concerned when I stated I was going back to washing dishes. "Don't you want to aim higher?"

My first reaction was to say, "Well, I suppose I could try for a desk job somewhere, assuming I can explain to them why there's a 6-month gap in my employment. Good call, SMART Program. Rip us away from our jobs and residences for half a year and then say, 'get a job and a place to stay'."

I said, "We'll see where life takes me." Stupid level-headed sober me.

To my counselor and some concerned family members and friends: I'm aware that I'm very intelligent, and that I could probably obtain a higher level job, even with a felony DWI on my record. But, look...I'm not fucking Good Will Hunting, here. I'm not 17 and a math genius. I am almost 40 with addiction issues, a genuine distaste for cloth-covered boxes with fluorescent lighting in a micromanagement atmosphere and a renewed passion for the art of stand-up comedy. I am appreciative of this simple life, and I'm in no itching hurry to find a corporate ladder to climb.

I'd love to update my resume, but I think I'd rather go sit outside and watch the neighborhood squirrels and drink a cup of hot tea. Sounds more my speed at this stage of life.

Oh, and tonight I performed at the Velveeta Room for the first time in 3 years. When I'm on the stage, I am my job once again...I am a stand-up comedian. THE comedian.

...well, unless I'm bombing. Then I am THE comedian who SUCKS.

(I had a good set.)

I Take The Time To Properly Answer the "Religious Views" Field in My Facebook "About" Page

I attempt to adhere to the principles in Buddhism, such as the Four Noble Truths, Eightfold Path and the Precepts, and I guess my meditation practice resembles that of a Zen Buddhist.

However, I don't really dig the sangha aspect of that practice...the community...so I suppose I don't necessarily embrace the group practice of meditation. Sometimes I feel like it can be too much of showmanship or one's image. "Can I pretend to meditate longer than the bald guy next to me?" "Ooh, look at me, I'm going 'om'." That's not really the reason I have to calm my freakshow of a brain or why I do it.

And then there's certain Asian traditions I just don't go for, so I guess I'm part of the Western Reform movement? Sure, why not.

And shit, man, then there's Taoism...the wu wei, or effortless action. Yin and yang...natural dualities in and around us, two sides bound together to make a whole. How does that fit in to how I believe or who I am?

I can tell you that I will, more than likely until I die, flourish in nontheistic "religion", as I have yet to be completely comfortable with anyone's view of a god. I will leave myself open to new views, and I will at least pretend to be receptive to these new concepts. Deep down, I probably will just continue to not give a shit.

In summation, I would have to list my "religion" as: Agnostic Western Reform Zen Buddhist with Taoist Influence.

Happy, Facebook? And fuck off, I'm leaving "Political Views" blank.

Maybe. I still have 26 more blogs to go.

"No Fear?" "Fear?" "FEAR."

I was having a cigarette outside a few moments ago, contemplating what to write about...and debating on when I was going to attempt quitting smoking. Again. The guys here at the sober house told me that the same raccoon comes by every night, checks the outside trash can, occasionally the ash tray, then leaves. They said he was a very large raccoon.

We just met. That was a big fucking raccoon.

What was truly unnerving was not that he did just what the fellas said he would: strolled into the yard, went up on the porch, sniffed around, strolled off. It was that I was about 10 feet away, and he didn't give a shit. No fear. In disbelief, I actually asked him, "Seriously? I'm right here, man." He glanced at me and went about his business. Impressive.

What did you fear in the past that you've overcome or outgrown? What scares you today?

I used to be afraid of bees. At the rehab in San Antonio, there were a ton of them buzzing around the smoking area because the trash cans were always filled with soda cans. You had to either deal with them or not smoke. After 90 days, a bee could land on me and not generate a reaction. Now I find the sound of them fairly soothing.

Due to my control issues, I've always been a horrible passenger. If you've ever given me a ride somewhere in the past, I probably made you aware that while I was thankful for the lift, I thought you drove horribly and I was afraid for my life as I gripped your oh-shit handle.

I had to ask myself many times while I was in Travis County treatment, why do I have to be in control? Do I fear death or just the unexpected in general?

When you take a little trip to the edge and come back, you have to pause, I believe, and really try to grasp how you should be dead but you're not. Maybe that makes you thankful for your life. Or maybe it makes you less scared of dying. Or both. Or maybe you just go right back to doing whatever it is that sent you to the edge in the first place. C'est la vie.

There's some irony for you: I've had a borderline unhealthy obsession with Fight Club and yet the two things I needed to do were the biggest principles in the movie and book. Why yes, Tyler, I do need to quit trying to control everything and just let go. And I do need to let what does not matter truly slide.

I dislike feeling fear...as we all do. My immediate reaction now is to confront it when it hits me and challenge my own thinking and beliefs. Sometimes it works, sometimes...the fear resurfaces.

Maybe I over think my feelings at times, but I believe it's currently working for me. I think I'll continue.

My main fears a couple of months ago was being in Austin around familiar areas that would trigger memories and feelings, and disappointing my family. Thanks to Travis County Probation for being unoriginal and lazy...I was forced to confront past history, and I've been very successful with support from many of you. This also helps with that fear of disappointment as well...I'm not afraid of failing my family as long as I continue to do my best.

I don't know what I'm scared of today. I guess I'll discover in time. I do know, however, that I am intimidated by that freakshow raccoon. I'll get a picture next time. He'll probably not care.

Ghosts of Breathalyzers Past

On September 12, 2012, I turned myself in to Travis County, thinking I would be held in county jail for a couple of weeks and then put on an ankle monitor or given a portable breathalyzer. As we know, I left Del Valle six months later. My assumptions weren't completely off base, however. I did, in fact, have to obtain the Smart Start IN HOM device. Awesome.

I have three time windows to blow into the device every day: 5pm-8pm, 10pm-12am and the kicker, 5am-8am. There is a removable plastic nozzle that I put on the device, and blow into in during each of these time frames. When I do, there is a camera that takes a picture of me doing so. Take that, clever alcoholics! Science, bitch.

Once a month, I go to the company outsourced to deal with the likes of me and have them upload 30 days worth of recorded BAC levels (blood alcohol content) and pictures, and then they send all of that to my probation officer. That means, if he's up for it, he can browse through 90 pictures that look like this:

Disturbing, I know. Not as unsettling as the first picture I took where I actually was blowing into it. Now, I want everyone to see how long you can restrain your brain from making an off-color joke at my expense. Yeah, not long. I don't blame you. At least I only have to fellate the robot vacuum cleaner for 2 seconds at a time.

I had a breathalyzer on my car in the past 10 years twice...once for two years (late 2002 to 2004), and again from 2008 to the end of 2009, when I sold my car. The first breathalyzer had me blow into it for 3 seconds and then for 2 seconds I had to hum. It had a digital readout that let me know if the procedure was not followed properly. I saw it display everything from "blow harder" to "blow then hum". Once I thought it flashed "tickle the balls", but it was just my imagination. I think.

When I had the second one put on, I asked the guy at the shop, "Hey man, does this one have me hum when I blow and shit?"
"Oh no. It's much better than those old models. You just blow into it, then suck back real quick."
"Ah. Wait, what?"

This is not an improvement, sir. I don't think I like the evolution of this device. What's the next model going to have people do? "On this one, you need to blow into it and then reach around and put your finger in the hole in the back..."

My mother had a concern about me washing dishes and my latest alcohol monitor. She wondered if I handled glasses that had alcohol in them, and if it was possible for me to absorb some of the alcohol in my hands... No. I don't handle bar glasses, and even if I did, not a problem, I assure you. I told her that sounded like a flimsy excuse given to a probation officer as to why someone came up positive on their report.

Seriously, if anyone you know has a breathalyzer and they say they locked up their car because of mouthwash...they're full of shit. Hand sanitizer? Only if you were drinking it, freakshow. One guy in my group in treatment was a pathological liar...and he said he set off his breathalyzer because of taking Sudafed.
"Sudafed doesn't have alcohol in it, bro."
"Yeah, well, that's what happened, okay? You don't have to believe me!"
"Lighten up, Francis."

Three times a day, I am visited by these ghosts of breathalyzers past. My mind becomes flooded with bits and flashes of memories and past actions.

For a short time at the beginning, I would park my vehicle at friends' places so I could go downtown, drink, do comedy and whatever. I would then crash on the couch of these friends, and then leave the next day when I was sober enough to start my truck.

I would call in late to work occasionally because my BAC was too high in the morning, and I failed. Turns out you can do this repeatedly on misdemeanor probation as long as you're up-to-date on payments.

Felony probation is a different matter. The one year anniversary of my best friend's death had me car bombing my way into hot water with Travis County in 2009. I still couldn't start the car at 3pm the next day. I had to do an outpatient treatment program due to that. Ironically, I was a full-blown heroin addict at the time, so I rarely drank. But there I was in alcohol classes.

I think about these moments...and I am relieved at how easy probation is when you're not trying to get away with shit. If you're not a junkie, drug tests are cake. If you're not trying to drink just after 10pm so you can be sober again at 7:55am to blow into the fucking thing, it's barely a hassle. Hell, I'm a night owl. I get home at 1 or 2 in the morning after work, and after winding down and eating, it's 3am. The IN HOM gives me a reason to stay up until 5am, and because of it, 3-5 is my time to write/blog. So...thanks, Smart Start?

Fuck that.

I will, however, say thank you, Smart Start for advancing your technology to using a camera instead of making me jump through innuendo-laden hoops as I exhale into your equipment. Let me know when you have an android app and an attachment for my phone.

It's Not Always About Me...I hear.

There will come a day when I will wake up, go about my entire day...maybe work, maybe run errands...and I'll go to bed...and I will have gone the whole day without hearing someone bitching about how badly they've been screwed over and how tough their life is.

The problem is that I'm around ex-cons and addicts every day, whether it's at a meeting, at a class, at probation or at my sober house. I am around people who are trying to get better or pretending to get better to appease probation...either way, their old way of thinking is still there. I still have it...I fight it every day. We love playing the victim in order to elicit sympathy and to convince ourselves we're in the right.

What it is, really, is a lack of gratitude. We forget what we have and focus on what we used to have or don't have at all. That's no way to live. It is a way to live, actually...a really, really, shitty miserable way. Something you'll rarely hear in lockup or rehab, "How are YOU doing, man?" They don't care. It's all about "me".

I should point out the glaring irony here: I'm annoyed by something I've been guilty of for years. I have been an extremely self-centered asshole. Ask any of my close friends. I would hang out with them, gloss right over  their lives and get right into the Let's Talk About Me portion of the conversation. I hope to make this up to the people I care about in time. I can imagine a few of them thinking, "Aww...you have to listen to another asshole ramble on and on about their life and problems? Karma, bitch." I really should begin every day by looking into the mirror and saying, "It's not always about me".

There is a difference between sharing the ups and downs of your day with friends and family, and just full-blown victim stance. I encourage you to be mindful of this and to listen as much as you speak in your interactions with others. I'm also not referring to serious issues, tragedies and struggles you are facing. I hope I'm clarifying that. Please don't avoid sharing your problems with me based on this...I think going a full day with empty conversation would be just as bothersome.

As for those who are still cluelessly vying for sympathy and trying to manipulate others with their skewed vision of their lives, I think I have the perfect response:

Next time I have to listen to a certain individual in my probation class complain about how hard it is to find a job because of his record even though he hasn't utilized any resources offered to him, and how nobody wants him to succeed, he's going to get the response, "Lighten up, Francis."

30 in 30

In the 12-step world, they recommend newcomers go to 30 meetings in 30 days. Some say 90 in 90. I think some just like to top other people in everything they do. Regardless, the idea is to get that newly sober person into rooms with other recovering addicts/alcoholics every day...get them around sobriety and the program on a daily basis.

Well, I'm going to steal that idea. Starting tonight/this morning, I will post 30 blogs in 30 days. I need to write on a daily basis, and if I scribble in a journal that no one will look at, I'm going to half-ass it. If I publicly say, "Hey, I'm gonna blah blah", then I will be more motivated to blah blah.

I find myself saying regularly, I need to write more. I then respond to this by not writing. Sometimes it's because I don't feel inspired, but I think I miss opportunities to put ideas to words frequently because I do not write habitually. Fuck...that...noise.

I'm in the process of a major life change, so let's work on shit.

Oh, and this post doesn't count. I think announcing that I'm going to do "something" shouldn't really be included in said "something".


(#1 is here - http://johnrabon.blogspot.com/2013/04/its-not-always-about-mei-hear.html )

No, I Don't Know What You're Saying.

In addition to alcoholics and drug addicts at the Travis County treatment program, there were also these "kids" (17-20 years old) who were avoiding doing time. One of them was in my group. Despite using the phrase "know what I'm sayin'" as a comma and thinking he was a hardcore gangster, he was an okay kid. Decent person for a half-assed dealer and a horrible criminal.
When introducing ourselves to new members in the group, we had to state our name, what got us here and our DOC (drug of choice). This guy would say the same thing every time, and the following is a fictional exchange...what would have happened if the state of my probation was not at stake at the time.

Him: My name is XXXX...I'm here for 2 possessions of a controlled substance and then I pissed dirty, you know what I'm sayin'? My DOC is promethazine...with codeine.

Me: Um...I think you mean your DOC is codeine. Promethazine is an antihistamine and an antiemetic.

Him: Huh?

Me: It keeps you from puking so that you can consume the codeine. The codeine is what fucks you up.

Him: ...

Me: Just say "Drank", you cough-syrup chugging pussy.