The Crucible, Part III -- Reality Check

Once I had decided to ask someone for help, I got a temporary burst of focus and organization. In a shocking turn of events, I decided it would not be a good idea to smoke meth before heading over to talk to my former boss. I opted for coffee instead.

Cup in hand, I walked over and asked to see her. When she came out to the lobby to meet me, she said something that I thought was odd then, but find really hilarious now. She told me I looked the same as I had six years ago -- that I hadn't aged. Oh honey, I've aged. Trust me, I've aged.

Happier Holidays!!

Christmas is my favorite time of the year (especially now that I don't have to wear five layers of clothes just to take the trash out). But there's no denying it's not quite what it used to be. Granted, part of that is simply growing up. There's virtually no way to continue to see things with the wonder and joy of a child year after year after year.

Still, some of it is operator error -- and therefore correctable to a certain degree. Here are my suggestions for making the holiday season better. Some of them are simple; some are more complicated; others are simply fantasy.

A Message From the Universe

Could it be any clearer?

The Crucible, Part II

Note: If you're looking for The Crucible, Part I, don't. I actually wrote it two years ago and read it at a meeting the night before my one-year anniversary, but I'm not ready to share it here yet. It was the 24 hours immediately preceding where this story picks up and there are just some parts of my story I'm not ready to let go of yet. I suppose you can just figure out from what I have been willing to share just how mortifying, terrifying and crazy it must be. Maybe one day.

[As always, sentences in italics are the voices in my head.]


I spent the very early hours of the morning (before sunrise) wandering around the seediest part of Avenue D hoping I'd get jumped and beaten to death. In retrospect, I really must have been out of my mind because I've only ever been punched in the face once and I thoroughly did not enjoy it.

I had left where I was staying because I was acutely aware of just how much I was scaring my friend and his boyfriend with my psychotic behavior. I should say that while I was aware of how much I was scaring them, I wasn't sure if they were scared for me or of me. It makes me sad just to write that. This friend (I guess eventually I'll have to give him a pseudonym) had been unconditionally supportive for months and my behavior had become so increasingly erratic that I thought it would have been valid for him to feel either way. Hell, even I wasn't sure what I was capable of at that point so I couldn't really assure him that he needn't be afraid of me.