It's Complicated

Let's say you and your partner "Kris" are going through a divorce. It is important to finalize the paperwork quickly because your kids are involved, not to mention the costs associated with litigation and the entire process. And of course, the mental and emotional stress associated with this ordeal weighs heavily on you both.

It's a complicated situation. There are many assets to divide up...there's a visitation schedule to work out...numerous factors. Unfortunately, you're deadlocked on all of it because both sides feel they're in the right.

What should happen is both parties finding compromise through effective communication in order to achieve a resolution. Instead, you and Kris avoid starting a dialogue, and you jump on social media. You post on Facebook, publicly admonishing Kris for their behavior and actions. You detail all the times Kris has wronged you and your children. Kris starts tweeting your indiscretions, painting you as a one-dimensional Bond villain.

Friends and neighbors get involved. Some take your side, while others side with Kris. Some are concerned about your children. "What about the children," they say repeatedly. A couple of them worry your pets are being neglected. All have strong opinions, regardless of how much this divorce directly affects them. All feel the need to emotionally express themselves and their points of view online.

Memes are created so that Captain Picard and Willy Wonka can weigh in on the subject. YouTube videos are recorded showing pasty-faced talking heads ranting in untidy bedrooms with bad lighting. GoFundMe pages are created for both sides so that you can continue the good fight.

Hashtags are created and start trending:
#standswithkris
#standswithyou
#savethechildren
#fuckkris
#eatshitanddieyou

Think pieces are written. Some for you...some against you...many say the issue is bigger than you. It's about justice. No, it's about the sanctity of marriage. No, it's about ALL THE CHILDREN! And they're all written with the right amount of smugness and snark to create a personal sense of rightness for the author and to elicit validation from like-minded readers.

And still, you and Kris continue to talk on social media and not to each other.

Why? Why won't you start a real conversation...one that involves truly listening and that utilizes empathy for that other human being, free of ego?

Because it's hard. Because it is easier to just shout an opinion on a virtual soapbox. Because you'd rather be right than reach an understanding or agreement that might cost you something. Because you're selfish and stupid.

We are all very, very stupid.

Fuck Leaf Blowers

I apologize for the tactless and uncouth title, but I mean it. Fuck leaf blowers. Nothing can completely alter my mood and behavior as quickly as a noisy, destructive, pointless leaf blower droning on at a painful volume in my vicinity.

I don't know how annoying you find them, but let me try to give you an idea of the level of hate I have in my heart for leaf blowers. It's like a coworker telling you a "joke" joke and then repeating the punchline over and over for 20 minutes. It's akin to a random yahoo in a car laying on his horn in one long honk as he follows you while you walk down the street. When I hear a leaf blower, it's as painful to me as being a judge in a Gilbert Gottfried impression competition in which the contestants were Andy Dick, Nancy Grace and Adnan Syed's attorney.

"You know, I think screaming babies are worse than leaf blowers." I think you should maybe look into that child hate issue you have, but all right. A crying toddler can certainly shit on your mood. Ahem. However, no mother puts their screaming baby right up against my window to torture me at home like leaf blowers do. They invade privacy and drive me mad wherever I am. There is no hiding from the madness.

My hatred of leaf blowers is so intense that I actually did research on them...not "let me inform myself" research, but more like "what asshole unleashed this scourge upon the earth" kind of research. His name was Dom Quinto. I say "was" because if there is any karma in this world, he's very dead now. Okay, actually, he introduced them in the '50's, so...pretty good chance he's not around. There is very little about who he is online, which is really odd considering the amount of information available to us online. Could it be that the real inventor is hiding his identity to protect his family from being harassed and verbally attacked due to his infernal device that constantly plagues our world? Makes sense to me, because I have the incredible urge to call the house of his relative and just go, "AAAAAAHHHH" into the phone for half an hour. I'm not alone either. Somebody has already submitted "How can I find information on Dom Quinto the person who invented the leaf blower" to Yahoo Answers years ago. I'm guessing not because they want to tell him, "Hey, great job, guy."

Leaf blowers were originally presented as chemical sprayers, but then the manufacturers found out that people were using them with the chemicals removed rather than use a broom or rake. The manufacturers went with supply and demand. So, if you've been wondering, "Hey, why does the noise of a leaf blower anger me more than say any other loud annoying motor", it's because the sound comes from the worst invention of all mankind...a byproduct of poison, laziness and capitalism, invading your life and ear drums at 102 decibels.

"Hang on...worst invention ever? What about nuclear weapons?" You would have a point except that Joe Dipshit next door doesn't own an atom bomb. But he certainly wields a goddamn leaf blower as he blows all his lawn clippings out into the street and sidewalk on a regular basis. Why? Because he's a selfish lazy douchebag who's willing to annoy and destroy just so he can have a few more minutes of PornHub time in his life.

If you're looking for a balanced, informative article/editorial on this topic, obviously this is not it. I would recommend this article by Cliff Weathers, who is certainly more level-headed about the topic of leaf blowers than I am. He presents other arguments against them regarding health and environmental issues, in case you want to legitimize the hate: more emissions than multiple automobiles, allergy inflammation, topsoil erosion, lung and ear damage, and so on. Plenty of stuff there to loathe. Hey! It's harmful to children, if that does it for you. Sure.

Cliff's article also touches on neighborhood and community bans of leaf blowers and how they're difficult to get into place and ultimately to enforce. All of that is a discussion for rational adults. After dealing with leaf blowers on a daily basis at home, work and just being outside in general, I am no longer rational. I am not calling for a ban on leaf blowers in my neighborhood, city, county, state or country. I am calling for a motherfucking witch hunt. I want an angry mob with pitchforks. I want leaf blowers drug from people's homes and off of landscaping trucks and brought to town square where we guillotine them, French Revolution-style.

Give me vigilantes and anti-leaf blower rebel forces. Every time the sound of a leaf blower interrupts our serenity, I want it ripped out of the hands of the person using it and slammed to the pavement repeatedly until it makes no more noise. Then that person is handed a broom and told, "Suck it up, you lazy shit." Unless it's a person working with a landscaping company...then they're told, "Lo siento."

How happy would you be to see a leaf blower getting curb stomped? I would totally Instagram that shit.

If you can get angry enough, we can do something about this once and for all. The nightmare can end today.

Fuck them.

Online Dating and the Sensory Deprivation Tank

I spent a considerable amount of time alone last year. Most of that time was healthy, I think. I was in my head for a significant portion of my solitude...introspection, self-reflection and ridiculous day-dreaming. At some point, I identified that I was beginning to over-think my feelings and behavior. I felt it necessary to figure out why I was irritated or upset for no apparent reason, and sometimes the answer should just be left at "because you are a human being."

Around that time when I decided to quit analyzing everything, a thought occurred to me: you might need to interact with a female in a quasi-dating capacity. Huh. Shit. Is that really necessary? I mean, my current situation is just fine, isn't it? I already have someone in my life that is my partner in crime and fills any void, isn't that right, Sid?

She said nothing.

A good friend of mine recommended online dating, specifically OkCupid. He had met his wife on there, which surprised me because A) I didn't think that actually ever happened and B) he is an admitted asshole that I just assumed was not date-able. (I presided over their wedding, so keep them in your thoughts and prayers.)

I've been wary of online dating, but not because I was afraid I would meet someone crazy. Truth be told, crazy is pretty fun...destructive, but never a dull moment. No, I was afraid that the dating site would deliver what it promises. "We're going to find the perfect match for you!"

Yikes.

Yeah...I don't want the perfect match for me. I'm a retired alcoholic/drug-addict stand-up comedian dishwasher with a felony who skateboards everywhere in his 40's. Who do you have that matches up perfectly with that? A one-legged kleptomaniac who dips and works at Arby's? If I'm going to date, I want to meet someone way better than me...who has really poor judgment. I think that is what dating is all about, actually: finding that special someone who makes the poor decision to give you a chance.

A real dating site sounded like an investment, so I looked at Tinder first. I had been avoiding it for a while as it's just a "hot or not" hook-up app, which is fine if you're 20-something, but seems ridiculous for me. However, you can't just say, "I'm too old and mature for Tinder," and then ride off on your skateboard exclaiming, "Wheeeee!"

I uninstalled it after a week. Turns out develop empathy and feel guilt for swiping left on a person while watching their photo drift off to oblivion with "NOPE" on their forehead. Also, I prefer long profiles to read and not an "About Me" section full of nothing but emojis.
"I...um, does the picture of the plane mean you like flying planes?"
"No, silly! Travel!"
"Ah. Is there an emoji for 'fuck your idiot hieroglyphs'?"

Side Note: I set the search parameters on Tinder for women ages 24-44. I thought that was reasonable. And Tinder, which is 100% superficial has no moral core whatsoever, looked at my settings and said, "24. Really, John? Hey, how about we try a woman in her 30's, what do you say, you creepy old man?"

So, it was on to OkCupid. This site and others like it have been around a while, and there are plenty of pieces written about them and many stories shared online. It's well-worn territory, so I'll just go into how much I suck at communicating on them. I read numerous complaints in profiles about how guys just message "hi", "hey" or "sup" and expect that to be an acceptable initial message. I decided to go the exact opposite route and send manifesto-style messages. Why? Because I'm a chatty idiot with no apparent filter or concept of restraint.

"Hey there. So, I'm not sure why we're a 93% match but 14% enemies. It's really vague, you know? Shouldn't OkCupid's algorithm be helpful and say, 'you guys would have a great time just don't have a conversation about cats vs dogs or whether 14 sexual partners is a small or average number.' Weird...'OkCupid' is considered misspelled on their own website...now I don't trust them to have their shit together. Anyway, you said you're interested in personal growth and balance. One thing that I found helpful was complete self-destruction, which gives you a place to start from after everything is gone. This one time..."

I've been told this is not a very effective way of initial communication with someone who doesn't know who you are. So I've been trying to find a middle ground between too brief and manifesto. Things like:

"Sup. Do you find daily joy in life to be fleeting?"

"Say Girl...you ever read Nietzsche?"

The other thing I've noticed is that as soon as I was aware of how many awful, pervy and psychotic men are on OkCupid, I started trying to take that into consideration in my interactions with women on the site. Yeah, don't do that, because overcompensating for creepy is creepy itself. Nothing makes you sound more like a serial killer than trying to come off like you're not a serial killer.

"Would you like to get coffee...during the day...in a crowded public place...where you'll be safe?"

It's a work in progress. Right, kitty?

Still nothing.

**********

Fellow comedian Lashonda Lester recommended Zen Blend to me when she shared her experience in a flotation tank. A sensory deprivation tank is a soundproof, light-less tank of salt water that is heated to skin temperature. You lie on your back in it and float weightlessly, and it frees up your mind to do...whatever. It allows your alpha/beta brainwaves to convert to theta brainwaves in longer sessions. I don't know what that means, but I wanted to demonstrate that I still know how to use Wikipedia.

Lashonda said she did it to work on her writer's block, and that appealed to me as I hadn't felt very inspired recently. Also, I've passed the point where psychedelics are an option for mind expansion. I figured the isolation tank would be like taking meditation to another level. And it was.

I picked an unfavorable time to go, because it was 40 outside and high winds. Zen Blend is over a mile south of Slaughter Lane and Manchaca, so to get there from east Austin requires two buses and a healthy skate from the most southern bus stop in Austin. It was like a pilgrimage. They had everything ready for me when I arrived, though. All I had to do was put ear plugs in, shower ahead of time and then get into the tank for 90 minutes. 90. That sounds like a long time if it sucks, I thought.

When I first got in and started to float, there was about 10 to 20 seconds of panic, because I was holding on to nothing. My control issues went absolutely ape shit. Despite beginning to freak out, I "remembered to breathe", and the panic went away. The first 20 minutes had soothing music, and then there was silence for the remaining time. That first half hour was all about allowing my breathing to deepen and my mind to quiet down. You can't make yourself stop thinking about shit, you just have to let it happen. Alan Watts said it's like trying to "smooth rough water with a flat iron - you are just going to disturb it all the more." So, I let it happen.

It was over before I knew it. The last 45 minutes felt like maybe one or two. I emerged from the flotation tank completely relaxed and a bit spaced out...and I remained in that state for the rest of the day. When I left Zen Blend and walked outside, the sun had finally come out, and I didn't even skate back to the bus stop. I just strolled, not even bothered by the wind.

How effective was it on my mood? I had a smile on my face on the bus ride. On the bus. I'm pretty sure I creeped everyone out. Even the chatty homeless man didn't say a word to me.

Now, here's the deal about experiencing insight and epiphanies: they are usually very obvious points that have been in your blind spot. They mean the world to you, but when you try to tell someone about them, they look at you like, "Uh, yeah...everyone knows that if you eat better you feel better." Regardless, here are a couple of things I experienced:

I couldn't help but be reminded of growing up in an old house with a clawfoot tub, and there was always a sweet spot while taking a bath when I would just float in the tub, without a care in the world. I realize now that it was when the water was skin temperature...that was that short window of bliss before it became cold. That was a very comforting memory that I thought was gone but was unlocked in that tank.

About 4 or 5 times during the session, my foot or hand touched the side of the tank due to slowly drifting in the water. When that happened, it would be a subtle reminder that the only thing that was real was the tank. Everything else I was experiencing was all in my head. And boy, did that make for a great metaphor for my life. I can spend so much time focusing on things that have no real substance and that are made up. Occasionally, I need to touch the side of the tank and be reminded what is actually real to me...what in my life has meaning. Everything else is just details and fluff.

And that brought me back to OkCupid, oddly enough. Why am I trying to alter my behavior to make myself seem like more of a charmer? Do I really want to go out on dates with people who like a modified me? I mean, sure, sometimes I need to work on my filter...or do I? Be yourself and see what happens. I'd rather have little to know response being completely me than greater success on my "best" behavior. "Hooray! I won you over! I'm completely uncomfortable, I dislike you immensely but at least I'm not alone!!"

A friend told me that some people are successful with online dating by treating it like a job interview, which could not be less appealing to me. The idea of establishing any kind of relationship based on a resume, how well you dress and how you answer ridiculous questions is as unnatural and miserable to me as trying to get a job you hate just because you want more money. No thanks. Sometimes you have to take a job you hate...you don't have to participate in relationships you hate.

I'll be going back to Zen Blend next month.

The Daily Struggle

I was cut early at work tonight, so I went to the Velveeta Room on 6th Street to see friends do stand-up. At 11pm, I started walking back to the bus stop to go home. That's when it hit me. 


I really want a couple shots of whiskey and a beer. No, for real...feel your body, John. That's a serious desire for booze, isn't it? 

Jesus, it is. Thankfully, there isn't a bar I'm walking by that I would stop in. Can you imagine having to live with the fact that you relapsed in a place called the Dizzy Rooster? Douchebag joint, no thank you. I'm going to just keep walking…

I could stop in to a tolerable bar close to home, just before last call. It's what I want. 

Why, man? Shitty bars on 6th don't trigger me normally. Where does this overwhelming urge come from? I don't need to be reminded that I'm still a drug addict and alcoholic...I get that I'm not cured, so knock it off. 

It's Friday night and only 11pm. I'm going home alone, and while I normally am perfectly happy with solidarity, this is what I want. 

Need I remind you, John, how much drunk people now annoy you? Look at these club jackasses in front of you. There's a frat idiot trying to carry his wingman through the street to the left of you. Check out those girls pretending not to be cold in those outfits while walking poorly in high heels. Hey look! Intoxicated tourists that are in your age bracket! Yikes. I have to get out of here.

There are decent drinking establishments on the east side. No one will know. 

I'll know. I'll know that I everything I've done for 2 years meant so little to me that I traded it all away due to no self-control. Yeah, that sounds great. I wake up tomorrow with a hangover from three drinks and a crippling guilt trip. I've been pretty guilt-free for some time and a minimal level of stress or worry.

It's pretty cold, though. Whiskey… 

Hahaha, weather as an excuse. That's pretty weak.

Who am I now, really? I'm playing by the rules now? Fine upstanding citizen who is a productive member of a society that I know is all made up and meaningless in the long run. Ooh, let me please everyone and do the "right" thing...like I give a shit what they think. When do I get what I deserve, huh? Why can't I do what I want right now? Fuck it, right? 

You know what? I don't want a shot anymore. What's more conventional than an addict relapsing? That's what we do. We fuck up and give in and the success rate of sobriety continues to plummet. We prove our friends and family right who still have doubts about us no matter how supportive they are...It is realistic to have those doubts because we could blow it at any time. Our brains are rewired and there is no completely fixing that.
But maybe I like being broken. Maybe I like still having issues with narcissism and an inflated ego, but I use it to my advantage? Maybe I'm so damn stubborn that I don't give into that urge. Why? Because FUCK YOU, that's why. I am unconventional, I love who I am now, and YOU DON'T GET TO WIN!

Okay, okay, easy...who are you talking about? 

I don't know..."Them". "They". They don't get to win. I...well, it doesn't matter. I'm getting on the bus now. No booze. That was a stupid fucking idea.

Yeah, I don't really want that anymore. That was a pretty crazy 10 to 15 minutes. Weird. What about ice cream? 

Ooh, cookies 'n cream maybe. Good call.

Two Years, or, Giving Up

Last year I dedicated 1 year of sobriety to my mother, and today I wanted to focus on where I am now with 2 years alcohol and drug free. More recently, being clean and sober defines me less than it used to. It's been nice to write a few comedy bits that aren't related to being a retired drunk and junkie. It is who I am, of course. I am certainly not cured by any means. I'm just thankful I have lengthy spans of normalcy now and that every thought I have isn't "I'm going to the store sober", "I'm taking a sober shower", "This is me feeding the cat drug free", or "I am not high while I am skateboarding."

Where I'm at physically: I still enjoy my job washing dishes, and I live in an apartment with my name on the lease. Considering the bulldozing job I've done on my credit, I am very happy to officially be living somewhere on paper. Apparently, doing nothing negative for 4 years is considered a positive thing to the credit score people. "Hey, you didn't skip out on a bank in a long time! Let's up that score to higher than your IQ!"

Where I'm at emotionally: Not being a fan of my feelings hasn't changed much. I did, however, tear up at the end of the "Bones Brigade" skateboarding documentary… so I'm not a monster.

As for where I am spiritually? That one requires a lengthy, rambling answer.

A favorite answer of mine when people ask how I've been is "Zen as fuck." I like the phrase because I feel that way at least once during each day where I have the sensation that I'm on the wavelength of my world and I'm coasting right along with it. Skating, dishwashing, reading, writing and performing comedy all bring this feeling out of me.

I also enjoy the phrase as it has the f-word in it. I'm unabashedly immature.

I have spent a significant amount of time over the past two years being introspective and searching for "the meaning of it all." I've been looking for a purpose or an answer.

There is a guy I know who has posted "Want To Be Enlightened?" online a few times followed by an example of self-improvement he thought was worth sharing. And while his suggestions have been positive, my initial reaction to his use of "enlightened" is, "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means." Philosopher Alan Watts once said that a person who says they can teach you something is like a man who steals your watch and tries to sell it back to you. A good spiritual leader or guru should provide you guidance to find what is already inside you. They don't have anything to teach or give you. There have been a few times over the past year where I have felt enlightened, and they weren't really positive moments. In fact, they were a little depressing. Opening your eyes to a more realistic way the world works versus your distorted view can be a huge downer.

I think when people are looking for enlightenment, they really are just looking for happiness and a sense of purpose. That's what it seems to me, at least. I have spent a significant amount of time over the past two years being introspective and searching for "the meaning of it all." I've also been looking for a path or a sign to head in a certain direction.

The answer I've found for me is two words: Give up. It came from three different sources, which made it all the more an "oh shit" moment for me and helped me find my center.

In the essay collection Become What You Are, Alan Watts states that we suffer because we desire things. Desire can never be quenched so we always want more...and we're never satisfied. I can't be happy just because I try to be and want to be so badly. I can't find spirituality by desiring it and looking for it. Nothing I attempt to attain in life really matters because I'm going to die. Birth is falling off a cliff, and eventually we're going to hit bottom. Striving for some kind of spiritual fulfillment is basically clinging to rocks that are falling with us. It doesn't matter. Life is not going anywhere as it happens and ends regardless.

Great. So what do I do with this shiny, happy realization? Nothing. I don't pursue a Way to Enlightenment. There is no Way. I just stop trying, and I do nothing but watch. Watching without purpose. The first step is to give up. Essentially, I am treating my spirituality like breathing. I don't try to make myself breathe, I let it just happen. For me, it is a matter of accepting inevitability and appreciating the present without some lofty unattainable spiritual goal.

This idea gets an almost immediate confirmation from my favorite book/movie combo, Fight Club. "You have to give up. You have to know, not fear, that someday you're gonna die." I usually ignored that particular tidbit and focused more on letting go and not trying to control everything, so it was interesting to have that line flash back at me in my head.

And then there is my favorite street artist that I've been a fan of for almost a decade. Give Up is truly authentic: no Photoshop, all original content. He essentially is telling people who are miserable but feigning happiness in their fake jobs, families and lives to just...well, you know. I own several of his shirts that I wear all the time, and it was funny to me to have one on when having my little awakening moment.

The answer was on my shirt this whole time? Huh.

And it's working for me...or should I say, it is not working just fine. After soul searching and trying to "find myself" since becoming sober, it's been a hell of a relief to let go and just observe. I don't mean that I am doing nothing with life as a whole, just the part where I try to find the meaning of it. Everything I am working on now - quitting smoking, eating better, pursuing community service, writing, meditating, developing empathy - they're all things that will help me better myself and enjoy the life I have left.

I don't have any answers, obviously. I have no idea if any of that makes sense, and I'm not trying to win you over on this idea. If I was, it would be a hard sell to a cynic. "Hey, I found spiritual peace from a dead British guy, a vandal and a Brad Pitt movie."

Watts even said at the beginning of some of his lectures, "I want to make one thing absolutely clear. I am not a Zen Buddhist, I am not advocating Zen Buddhism, I am not trying to convert anyone to it. I have nothing to sell. I'm an entertainer. That is to say, in the same sense, that when you go to a concert and you listen to someone play Mozart, he has nothing to sell except the sound of the music. He doesn't want to convert you to anything. He doesn't want you to join an organization in favor of Mozart's music as opposed to, say, Beethoven's. And I approach you in the same spirit as a musician with his piano or a violinist with his violin. I just want you to enjoy a point of view that I enjoy."

Life is good, and I'm doing well. Let's have coffee some time.

"It Gets Better"

Sometimes Facebook is a good thing. By being on the damn thing, it allows people I know who I normally don't talk to on my phone to be able to contact me...although I would normally say that's a deterrent for using social networking. Interacting with others? Gross.

Recently, a friend messaged me because they were having a crisis. It was a bad situation, and they were at that edge of complete despair. They needed to be "talked down" from that edge, and I did the best I could, which was apparently enough. They're doing better and they thanked me for listening and talking them through it.

Why did they contact me? I'll be the first one to tell you I am not a great resource for solid advice. I am a prime example of how not to do many things, so yeah, if you want to know the worst way to handle something, I suppose you could ask, "Hey, John, what would you do?" and then do the opposite.
"Hey Rabon, I'm having this horrible dispute with a finance company. They may ruin my credit if I don't comply."
"Well, fuck them, man. What do you really need credit for, huh? Expensive possessions that will make you a slave? It's a burden. Don't play their stupid credit game, it's all made up anyway. Go out and live."
"Ah. Set up a payment plan. Gotcha."

No, my friend contacted me because they were at maybe the lowest point in their life, or at least it felt that way...and they knew I had been there. I know what it's like to be devoid of hope and ready to just submit to the abyss. They didn't want encouragement or a pep talk. They wanted someone who could relate and who wouldn't bullshit them.

I don't believe in fate, but I like to entertain the notion that I have made it to this point in my life to help others in just this way. I find it comforting to think that my purpose is to occasionally help someone up who needs it. That might be a bunch of crap, but hey, everyone is entitled to their own delusion. Besides...whether I help someone because of a mystical destiny or just because I owe the universe for over a decade of hedonism, the end result is the same. I'm stubborn and hard to kill...might as well put that to good use.

I don't bullshit someone in pain. I may not be able to recollect much of the past 10 or 15 years, but I remember what "rock bottom" feels like, and I remember what I did not want to hear. There is nothing like positive affirmations from the misguided to really send you into a rage when you're down. Forced optimism is more depressing than actual depression.

"Hang in there!" - As much as I love ridiculous pictures of cats, if you show me one of those with the kitten hanging for dear life and those three words on it, it tends to make me reconsider my opposition to violence.

Bitch, put down the camera and help me.

"Smile!" - If you're an individual who likes to walk by a coworker's cubicle and tell them to smile first thing in morning (or at any point in the day), I don't think you're aware how close you have come to enduring a stapler bludgeoning. Oh, and guys: "You look prettier when you smile"? Just go ahead and say, "Hey, it's harder to sexually harass you when you're all down and stuff. It's kind of a buzz kill." Asshats.

I think the worst one to hear is the most common one people say: "It gets better." Hearing this sucks because it comes from someone who (you think) isn't going through what you are and hasn't been where you are. How would you know? Don't blow smoke up my ass! And then, when it inevitably does get better, you still feel like telling them, "Oh fuck off, you didn't know." I think we just don't like some people to be right, because we don't want advice. Don't try to fix me, just recognize I'm broken.

The truth is, it will get better. Eventually. And then it will get worse at some point. I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, but our brains can completely forget this when we're down in a hole. Your fears and thoughts can cripple you and send you into a spiral that you don't think you'll recover from or even survive. And this all sucks because it's in our heads not real, and we hurt ourselves way more than the actual thing we fear will. We put ourselves through hell based on the perceived possibility of purgatory.

Four years ago, I was a junkie and lost my job, my apartment and the woman I loved. I was staying on a friend's couch, and I was sure that was it for me. If I had a gun, I would have killed myself. Okay, actually, I would have sold it and bought heroin. But if I had TWO guns...it was bad. At the time, I considered it the worst moment of my life. I was wrong.

It got better. Then, 6 months later, I overdosed while living at my father's house after being sober for a month. Dad happened to come home from work and saved my life. When I woke up in the emergency room, I had a brand new "rock bottom".

(The only real rock bottom is death. Things can always get worse.)

Things improved. Because of that I went to rehab...started over in a new city. I made good decisions and poor decisions. Life went on. Due to getting arrested for public intoxication in 2012 while still on felony DWI probation, I had to come back to Austin and go to jail. While in county lockup, I was told I would have to do a 5 month alcohol and drug treatment program and remain incarcerated and that I wasn't going back to my established life in San Antonio. I had lost everything again. And being sober in jail allowed me to really feel this low moment making it way worse than when I was strung out all the time.

About a month later, while still in the custody of Travis County, I had a high point. I had begun to rebuild my thought process without being heavily medicated by booze or drugs, and I was reading Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, laughing hysterically. Even though I was in the middle of an awful place with questionable people and dressed in reject nurse scrubs, I was happy at that moment. Another moment was being able to host the open mic again at the Velveeta Room a couple of weeks ago. It was a very "everything in its right place" moment for me. In fact, I have a brief feeling of euphoria every time I skate to or from work. The highlight of my day is usually when I'm on a skateboard.

And that is how it will go for whatever amount of life I have left. I'm going to enjoy those ups and fight through those downs. A low point is coming, and I can't stop that. While I do wish sometimes I had an option again to escape feeling shitty, I am completely comfortable with feeling now. That's the problem with heavy alcohol and drug consumption/abuse...and for some, with prescriptions you probably don't need. You stay even keel and numb so you can avoid pain and sadness...and you also avoid pleasure and happiness. It took me a long time to figure that out. Everyone is different, so I don't want tell you what you need. For me, being able to enjoy those beautiful moments in my life fully is worth the ordeal of completely feeling those times of despair. I just have to remember to keep fighting when everything just sucks.

I think I just wrote a big long positive affirmation that would probably make me roll my eyes if it came from someone else. I don't know if anyone will get something from this or not, and I probably would have been fine with instead posting the lyrics to R.E.M.'s "Everybody Hurts". Truthfully, the main reason I wrote this tonight was for me to read in the future when life takes a turn. So, John, when you read this, take it from someone you'll listen to (you, dummy): It gets better. Hang in there.

You don't have to smile, though. Fuck that.

Nice Try, Kid.

I mentioned in a previous entry that I work with a new dishwasher that is young and energetic. He doesn't know this, but I call him Kid Dynamite when he is not around. He is a go-getter, that one.

On our first shift together last week, I think he was a little nervous, because he was super chatty, and some of what he said was obviously bullshit. Kid Dynamite and I had the following exchange:


Kid: "Sometimes when my buddy and I are at a party, we like to mess with people and make them really uncomfortable..."

Okay, right there I know whatever you are about to say is not true. Unless you are at a party full of real assholes do you immediately play the "make it awkward" card, especially when there is still available booze on hand. Maybe if you were about to bail and you were bored, I can see that. But hey, go ahead.

Kid: "...so, what we do is go up and ask people, 'hey, do you have any aluminum foil' or 'can you spare a needle' and start scoping the bathroom. It really freaks people out."

Me: "Yes, I imagine it would."

Kid: "It's really funny, man."

Me:  "Sure. Hey you know..." (pause)

Kid: "What's up?"

Me: "Well, here's the thing. I don't really know of many junkies that use foil. I mean, even if you're not carrying a spoon when you normally do you can find a bottle cap to use, especially in this town. Also, heroin people don't just use any random needle from a stranger, assuming they have them. We're pretty particular of our syringes in regards to gauge and whether they're short or long needles. So much, in fact, that we're willing to risk getting an infection due to not completely sterilizing our syringes. See?"

I showed him this.

Kid: "..."

Me: "Yeah, that was a close call for me. Spent two weeks in a hospital and almost lost my arm. Anyway, what you should do is ask people randomly in the middle of a conversation if they have any Q-tips."

Kid: "Q-tips?"

Me: "Sure. You pull off some of the Q-tip, ball it up and drop it in your spoon to act as a filter when you're cooking up. Of course, that's not common non-junkie knowledge, so they might not get it...but it would be more accurate."

Kid: "..."


We washed dishes in silence for about 15 minutes after that. I hope he was taking mental notes, because THAT is how you make somebody "really uncomfortable."