Still so tired. Not much sleep at all. That’s big trigger for me. Thankfully, not itchy to gamble but still thinking I would like to throw back some drink and veg out to TV. Am going to eat a sandwich first and see if that helps.

Stepping out of my car last night, I found someone’s debit card lying on the ground. I picked it up and figured I would try to find the person or, at the very least, I would just drop it at a bank branch.

A little Google razzle-dazzle, and I found him. He hadn’t even reported it lost yet. We’ll do the hand-off later today. It makes me feel good that I can do the right thing here and not, say, try to buy a bunch of electronics at Best Buy to pawn and then go play the slots - because, let me tell you, that option probably wasn’t too far down the list if I intended to keep gambling. It lets me know I’m not completely broken inside.

Tomorrow at the office, there is a fun “sport” tournament during the mid-day lunch hour. I wrote “sport” in quotes because it’s akin to a potato sack race championship but it’s silly and amusing, and I’m glad it’s happening. But there will be beer there...

I talked to my sponsor earlier today and she says she thinks it’s time I start on step 4, making a list of all of my moral and financial wrongs. I wanted to tell her, “Wait, I’m not even sure I’ve made it past step 2 yet. I’m still not entirely convinced that I can’t just fix this all myself.”

But she’s right. There’s a lot of crud to excavate. Thinking through all of the hurts I’ve inflicted over the many years is not fun. I was just reminded of one as stood out on the back deck of the house where I am dog-sitting.

The next door neighbors are deaf, and, from what I can tell, they appear to be having a game night or watching baseball or something, as every few minutes a chorus of guttural cheers will erupt into the night. It’s quite jovial, and if I didn’t already know they were deaf, I’d probably just think it was a regional dialect.

But I do know they are deaf, and so I can hear...

One of the “tools” of 12-step groups is a list of phone numbers of other members you can call if you’re feeling rough. I remember at my first GA meeting being asked for my phone number and thinking, “That’s not very anonymous,” but I gave it anyway and someone called me to check in.

I didn’t call them back. I don’t like talking on the phone. But I did go to another meeting. And another. Until I relapsed and stopped going. And then started up again and jumped in feet first by getting a sponsor to avoid another relapse. (Spoiler alert: It didn’t 100% work, which is to say that I failed to do what I needed to do to make it work.)

One of the hardest things about having a sponsor is that I must call her every day, or damn near. Even if it’s just to say nothing at all, I have to check in. I hate it.

And, yet, I’m also a little annoyed that my name hasn’t made the new version of my home...

At each meeting, they take donations to support the GA organization. It’s always made clear that no one should feel obligated to give and, yet, I always feel obligated to give. There have been many times when I truly didn’t have a dollar to give. Tonight is one of those nights.

I have the money in my allowance account on a card, but I don’t have any cash. I think part of my resistance to going to the meeting is not being able to plunk a dollar bill in the basket. That’s just dumb. No one cares if I do or don’t except me.

That’s a pretty common kind of thought in my head: “Everyone else is doing X but I can’t. What will they think of me?”

Bring on the stress. Bring on the anxiety. Bring on the fear.

Well, I’m taking my dollar-less ass to the meeting, anxiety be damned.

I still don’t feel any full relief, more like I’m in the afternoon of a day spent hungover where things are starting to abate but I’m still not quite right. I suppose it’s going to take some time to get back to the mean. The dog’s up-and-down night didn’t help.

Nor did work. A busy day made harder by the fact that I wanted my head anywhere but in the game. I suppose the same could be said of life.

I am tempted to skip tonight’s GA meeting and just hole up with some red wine and crap TV - hey, at least I’m not gambling.

I was reading on another blog that shared an adage that there are only 2 times you need to go to meetings:

1. When you want to go to meetings.
2. When you don’t want to go to meetings.

I love and appreciate the simplicity in that. Doing only what I wanted to do is what, more or less, got me into this mess.

So, what I think I’ll do instead is finish up this nagging...

I seem to set up internal rivalries with folks who never even know about it, but that my sole energy tends to keep ferociously alive. I refer back to these rivalries often, like a penny in my pocket I keep coming back to rub.

There is a blogger who I found years ago. We share the same birthday, some similar interests and type of genitalia; thus, I felt a certain kinship and, perhaps, a kind of benchmark. I like her. That is, I like her when I’m not hating her.

I’ve just recently begun to accept that I am a resentful (i.e. jealous) person. While I am innately curious about the goings on of her life, I also read with a certain air of, “I want that. Why can’t I have that?”

Cute dog. Boyfriend. Cross-country move. Swanky wedding. Weight loss. Nifty hobby. Guest post invitations. Baby. Good job. Each item she shared, my reaction was, “I want that, too.”

Now, it should be noted that in...

My, but I made some bad decisions in the past with regard to sexual congress. My numbers are … well, high. They say that’s not uncommon with sexual abuse survivors. I’m sure that’s part of it but I also genuinely enjoy sex and have a lusty appetite. Plus, add in the whiskey and, yes, it’s a recipe for a high score card.

I honestly don’t have specific numbers but somewhere in the neighborhood of 40 or 50 seems about right. Thank the lord I came of age in an era of PSAs by Magic Johnson and MTV’s ‘Staying Alive’ campaign.

Some I am happy for and would do - no pun intended - over again: J in Charleston. PS. My sweet husband, of course. Matt B (though, differently and more honest). KVT (again, differently and more honest).

Some I would wipe away from the record books with a snap of a finger if I could: B (I think?!) in Hickory, the German in Maryland, her brother or something in C-land...

I am frustrated. I find weak people very frustrating. Why doesn’t everybody just get it like I do? Heh. Honestly, we should all be thankful that not everyone thinks like I do, or we’d be in a heap of trouble.

For years I’ve known I don’t like my job. I like parts of it, but the overall job, I don’t like. I don’t like being in charge of someone else’s success. To a large degree, I can’t help it if someone else is weak or lacking. I have a hard enough time keeping myself accountable and my head above water. I like the vast majority of the people, but one or two of the ones I work closest with are the most difficult for me. Maybe that’s the nature of it; those who are just casual colleagues are easier because there’s more room and space to act as a buffer.

Room and space, that’s a theme that surrounds me. I want plenty of room and space mentally, physically and emotionally and I seem to...

As it happens, I did not sleep any better last night, but that’s to be expected this early on. Add in one whiny dog that I’m baby-sitting, and the phrase “sick and tired of being sick and tired” seems appropriate, although it has been running through my head for a few months. It’s an oft-heard cliche heard in my GA meetings and I also recall it from past AA meetings.

I have to admit, once I got over the fear of what the 12-step meetings were about I rather came to like them. I like the universality of it, the fact that all of these faces that are so different from mine are also wearing masks behind which lie racing minds, regretful decisions and dogged fears and worries just like mine. Pardon the new-ageyness of it but, man, it feels good to be so connected especially after years and years of increasing isolation.

I’ve never once felt judged in a meeting. Well, let me rephrase that...