Seven Ridiculous Things I'm Worried About Today

Tonight is the presentation for our final projects for the master's program at USC. I never wanted a master's degree before last year. Now I don't think I've ever wanted to accomplish anything more than I want this.

I've practiced for this presentation. I'm totally prepared. We've been working on it all semester. All evidence points to it going fine. But my stupid brain likes to concoct all sorts of scenarios where I self-destruct. And none of the scenarios is really likely (except maybe the last two). Since my degree is in digital strategy and social media, I'll give you a Buzzfeed-style post about what's going through my head today. Here are all the ridiculous things I'm worried will happen tonight:

50 in 50

Improbably, considering the way I lived for several years in my 30s and early 40s, I'm going to be 50 in 50 days. Even though I've been sober for more than six years now – therefore less likely to do something that would lead to an early demise – I'm a little surprised that I've gotten so close. I never expected to live to be 50. Well, at least not from the time I was about 23.

Ask just about anyone who was gay and in his 20s in 1987 and you won't find a ton of us who expected to live this long. And you will find a lot of us who didn't. More than 25,000 people died of AIDS in the US in the 80s. I couldn't find stats on how many of them were gay, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say it was a lot. The original name for the disease was GRID (Gay-Related Immune Deficiency). I remember reading an article in the paper about it in 1982 or 1983. I wasn't even 20 years old and hadn't even acknowledged to myself that I was gay, and already I was terrified of dying.

Faith

Today is my sixth anniversary of getting sober. According to my app, that means I've gone 2,193 consecutive days without drinking or using drugs (unless prescribed by a doctor). At this point, it's been quite a while since I've been surprised at waking up sober in the morning. I also pretty much expect that I'm going to make it through the day and go to bed sober again. However, when these milestones come up and I get a chance to step back and look at the big picture I'm a little overwhelmed by it.

Voices

I've written about the drug-induced psychosis and the voices in my head a lot on this blog, but I've written about them from the perspective of remembering them a couple years after they stopped. I found something I wrote about the voices when I was still hearing them. It was really interesting for me to see what it was like in the middle of it. I'm going to share it here tonight. I hope y'all find it interesting too. I didn't put dates on anything I was writing at the time, but I think I wrote it just before I went to rehab. I'm not sure it is totally coherent and of course as was usual back then, it just sort of ends. Enjoy.

METHodology

I stumbled across a journal tonight with a story in it that I wrote five or six years ago. I will probably tell that story here in the next day or so, but tonight I want to write about the journals I kept back then. First off, that story I came across ends in the middle of a sentence. I'm not kidding. There are five and a half pages and then it just stops mid-thought. I have no idea why I stopped writing the story. I don't even know exactly when I wrote it because it's not dated. It's handwritten in a book that I was using in the last months of my addiction and first several months of sobriety.

Lisbon

The other day when I was writing about Disneyland I mentioned my trip to Portugal in 2001 and said I should tell that story. Today seems like as good a day as any for that. Originally, the trip was my friend's idea. It was when I was living in Philadelphia and smoking pot with the Duchess of Broad St. (not his real name) every day. When I say we smoked every day, I'm exaggerating of course. It couldn't have been more than six nights a week at most. I know that because I remember smoking pot with other people when the Duchess wasn't around.

Stuff

We moved in to our new apartment in Los Angeles last month. My boyfriend drove all of his belongings across the country and we moved many of my belongings from the house downstairs where I was staying to the apartment about 200 yards away. Not everything was here though. We then had to drive down to San Diego to get the stuff that I had left in the attic in the house I lived in there. This is the first time since I left Brooklyn in March of 2010 that none of my stuff is in storage. I lived in one (pretty large) room in San Diego. My friend already had a fully equipped house when I got there so a lot my stuff wasn't necessary. Then I moved to LA to go to school and from January to July, it was pretty much the same deal only I had room for even less stuff.

SBS*

If you don't count one semester at the University of Tampa when I was 17 and two months in Monterrey when I was 21, I've lived in four cities in my life – two of them two separate times. I was in Philadelphia the first 23 years of my life, San Diego for the next nine, Philadelphia for five more, New York for seven and a half (two years in Manhattan, two in Astoria, one in Manhattan and two and a half in Brooklyn), back to San Diego for almost three and now in Los Angeles since January. If nothing else, I am good at moving. You'd have an easier time keeping track of someone in witness protection than of knowing my whereabouts from one year to the next.

Disneyland

I went to Disneyland by myself today. I had never been there alone before and since I have an annual pass, I decided to see how different it would be solo. I knew it wouldn't be weird or uncomfortable. I go places by myself all the time – the beach, the movies, Portugal. Hmm. Maybe later in the month I'll blog about that trip. It's a pretty good story. I wholeheartedly recommend going to a European country alone. One of the two or three best vacations of my life. But I digress (there's a shocker).

Miracle

There is something that people “in recovery” say to other people in recovery on the anniversary of their sobriety date. Yes, congratulations and happy birthday. Not those. I haven't heard it quite as much recently, but as my life has gotten bigger and more busy I suppose I spend less time around people in recovery as I used to. I say it as well. “You're a miracle.”

Doubt

When I started writing this blog in November of 2009, I had a couple of goals. One was just to start writing again. I had this notion that I couldn't write unless I was high, so for the first two years of sobriety I barely even tried to write. Every once in a while I would post something on my old blog, but in two years I think I put up five posts. Then Friendster, where my old blog was hosted (god that sounds ridiculous now – I had a blog on Friendster), changed its server or something and my entire blog got erased because I hadn't paid the $2.95 a month to keep it active. Just about everything was gone.

Remarkable

For as many times as I tried to smoke meth under a blanket to avoid detection by “them”, it's actually a miracle I never set anything (or anyone) on fire. Of course there was the last time I did it, which was the last time I used almost six years ago. But that was not even close to the only time. In fact, by the time that happened I was getting pretty good at it. I'd figured out that two chairs was better for draping the blanket over rather than one chair and my head. Actually, I might have just realized that now. I'm fairly certain that never occurred to me when it would have been a useful thing to know.

Crazy

There are two (at least) reasons I like to write every day in August. One reason is that I tend to get a little crazy at this time every year. Not only is my sobriety date in August, but my father's birthday is this month as well. The combination seems to knock me off kilter just a bit. The good news is that now I know it's coming. As I approached my first sober anniversary in 2008, I was a madman and I had no idea what the hell was going on (I suppose for those of you that insist it is wrong to end a sentence with a preposition I had no idea on what the hell was going).I was just filled with anxiety and had a knot in my stomach almost constantly.

Imperfect

Well, I guess all the pressure is off this year. Regular readers of the blog might know that I have a tradition in August (the month I got sober) of trying to post something on the blog every day of the month. In 2011 I did it – 33 posts in 31 days. Last year, I only actually got something up on the blog 28 of the days. Since I completely spaced on yesterday being August 1, I blew it right from the get-go. But one of the biggest differences in me today from six years ago is that I no longer am willing to let the inability to be perfect stop me from making an effort. So, I’m going to give it a go and see if I can do better than last year and hit 30 of the 31 days this month.

Please Do My Homework for Me

Just a quick post today to ask for your help. As part of my master's program in digital strategies and social media at USC, I have to field an online survey. The survey looks at the correlation between physical time capsule* participation and the use of online photo-sharing websites and mobile apps. Obtaining responses from a large and diverse group of people is essential to ensure the results are representative. The survey should take approximately five minutes to complete. No, really. The average completion time is under five minutes.

If you could take the survey and share the link with any friends or family you think would be willing to take it, that would be awesome. I'll post the findings here in case you're interested to see them.

Time Capsules and Photo-Sharing Websites and Mobile Apps

*For the purposes of this survey, a time capsule is described as a collection of objects and information contributed by a group of people as a means of communication with a group of people (either that same group or a different group) in the future. Time capsules are often created as part of a ceremony or celebration (high school graduation, the bicentennial anniversary of a city, etc.). A time capsule is sealed and buried (or otherwise stored) with the intention of having it opened at a later date.

p²'s Favorite Songs of 2012: Time Travel Edition, Part Two

Previously on p² to the nth: p² traveled back in time to post part one of his favorite songs of 2012. If you missed it, you can read it here: Part One

Without any further fanfare, here are the top 11 songs on the list.

p²'s Favorite Songs of 2012: Time Travel Edition, Part One

We're getting in my time machine today. When I should have been writing this blog post I was applying to grad school, running around like a crazy person trying to get admitted to grad school, irresponsibly driving to San Francisco for NYE and running around like a crazy person trying to get moved to LA in time to start grad school. So we're just going to pretend I posted this in December and you're just getting around to reading it now.

Something else I was doing in the months since I last wrote anything for this blog (I posted my grad school application essay but I didn't write that for my blog) was falling in love. I mention that because you'll probably notice a proliferation of love songs and “I'm super happy and bouncy because I'm in love” songs.

In fact, even though this song is from 2006 it's probably been the most-played song on my iPhone since October. As if I didn't love this song enough already.



So, you'll find periodic references to someone named Michael. That's him.

While I was time traveling, I decided to write this backwards this year. Usually by the time I get to the number one song, I'm so done that I can barely think of anything more to say. This year, I wrote the blurbs starting with number one and worked my way down. However, I'm not posting it that way. I love a big reveal. The only reason I even mention it is to reassure you that part two of this post is already written and waiting to be posted tomorrow. I know I sometimes promise a part two and then take my sweet time getting to it. You can enjoy this knowing you won't be left hanging.

Purpose

Since so many people are at least partially responsible for me having the guts and the ability to apply for grad school, I thought I would share my statement of purpose with y'all.

I agonized over how to do this for weeks before I finally sat down Thursday afternoon to start writing it. Six hours (and 600 breaks and distractions) later, I had 800 dreadful words written. On the advice of a friend, I decided to just start writing it like it was just another blog post. In two hours I cranked out 2100 words. Success. Ish.

I turned it over to a couple of friends whose opinions I respect totally and asked them each to edit it. Here's the thing. I have almost never been edited in my entire writing life. When I worked at the newspaper I was the editor and the only one with a journalism background, so I had to edit my own stuff. At the HR website, I was the editor and did very little writing. And of course no one edits the stuff I write for my blog.

So when suggestions came back that required me to rethink parts of what I'd written, to say I was freaked out would be an understatement on par with “Lindsay Lohan is a bit spoiled.” I spent about two hours needing to be emailed and talked off the ledge. Ultimately, I took the suggestions (because they were good) and the end result is probably 30-50 percent better than the original. So here's what I submitted. It's basically my whole blog in 2000 words.

Quitter

So, just this morning I posted on Facebook that I wish I had a job where I had to write something new every day. I still feel that way, but I wish I didn't have to do it at 10:30 at night. The only downside to having a really full life is that my life is really full. I haven't stopped all day. So now I'm here trying to thing of some way to entertain you and I've gotta tell you – I got nothin'.

But you know what I do have. Something I wrote when I was high about writing every day. I haven't posted anything from back then in a while and I think y'all might find it amusing to see how different my brain was back on Halloween 2006 (which is when this was written). Technically it's not a repost because it never made it to the blog. Not because I didn't think it was any good (I actually CTM'd – chuckled to myself – a couple of times while reading it just now); it never made it to the blog because I never finished it. In fact, it just stops. And I'm not going to add anything. So when you get to the end, well that's the end. Enjoy.

Always a Place

I hardly know what to say. I know that tonight I'm going to sleep sober for the 1827th night in a row; I also know that's a friggin' miracle. Oh, and I know I didn't come close to doing this myself. ADD alert – I just noticed that my sobriety date is 8-27 and today is the 1827th day. Cool, huh?

I must have cried a half dozen times today. Thank god I'm not one of those queens that wears makeup. I would have looked all Tammy Fay Baker and shit – because a couple of them were on the verge of being ugly cries. But in a good way. I'm really overwhelmed with gratitude by this. I think I'm supposed to be saying things like, “It's just another day.” And “We all only have today.” But what I feel like, “CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS SHIT?? I'M FIVE!”