My Purdue: A Video Diary, Part 1

Here is a video blog, my first ever, but more to come!

Thanks!

A 2012 Mid-Year in Review: A Year Without Mom

I have not been writing very much lately. It has dawn on me that my skills as a writer may not reach a level worthy of recording every silly thought or review of a situation. Just seems irrelevant to pop online to talk about whatever movie, legal case, political issue, or economic turn happens to catch my fancy for the time it takes to organize some coherent thoughts. Other matters are more important than the contributions one makes via blogs.

Today, one year has passed since my mother's death and funeral. Obviously, it runs through my head a lot. July 4th is my grandfather's death to remember too. So while others prepare for food fests, live concerts, fireworks, tracker pulls, horse showings, and whatever else makes the Fourth, the fourth, I will likely ride my bike around campus a lot and watch movies for my own way to get through the holiday.

The year since has been one of reorganization and reality. I got into to Purdue again, achieved my best GPA ever and semester honors, and will take the GMAT in August. I moved to West Lafayette, and currently, paint apartments and bust up plaster that needs work while spackling over the rough spots too. My life too needs more spackle (and walls of plaster) in places we've discussed before, many years ago on this blog.

I spend most of my time alone. Have not made good friends yet, not for lack of trying. But again, as always,
past experiences and realities just are...there. A line from the movie, Hoosiers, by Barbara Hersey's character regarding Gene Hackman's plights before coming to Hickory to coach basketball: "A man your age comes to a place like this, either he's running away from something or he has nowhere else to go."
At Purdue, a little of both is probably true of me.

I saw this course as the last go at school and whatever that might bring. That there can not be much to gain from staying on a paper route, hoping I'll get ahead, and knowing it never did get me (or my mom) anywhere in the decade plus of time we both dedicated to that task. That I also have no where else to go and no one left in my life to share it with is true. This is due to a fear of intimacy.

To be clear: In the last moments and months of my mother's life, I found a closeness to her even as she could not always make clear her thoughts (dementia and cancer.) Being relied upon, and counted to do the right thing, is never easy. I made mistakes and stress was in every decision. Yet, I did my utmost to give my mother as much of a happy time as we could afford. (Her favorite: going to PETSMART to pet the cats. We went about twice a week as it was nearby.) Simple, frivolous to many I suppose, but it was something. Book stores too were treat. Shopping at Target. Watching the Cubs...

But outside of that one relationship (the easiest one to be closest, for many people, but not all), I have no real close relationships. Just superficial acquaintances and meager work connections that end at the juncture of mutual interests and quitting time. Years ago, I discussed this from the woe-is-me, victim-is-me standpoint. I was who I was then; flawed and failed and flailing around for answers. It was after the first time I seriously attempted to tear down a codependent, fear-of-rejection/intimacy wall as a recovering alcoholic in 1999-2000 while in a community organization. Later, I was duly burnt by pursuing an unavailable woman; reacted very badly to her salt-in-the-wounds rejection; was punished rightly for my bitter and spiteful words in retaliation; and had to accept lies told (to buttress the legal case) on top of that. And then...life had to go on with the damage done.
  
Now, I have tried to be more open, yet guarded also, since there are others out there that are just as hurt and
just as willing to repeat their cycle of re-victimization. So while I can hope to make things work, I realize what are the missing pieces to the puzzle: intimate relationships. What is worse - I have never seen them in operation in my own life. No happy intimate relationship while in any romance. (14 years since I've even kissed a woman.) Barely a friendship to count on. For some, I can hear, "well, you need to give more to others." 

The last six to eight months, in various ways, I have made strides on this area. At least dozen fellows, for various reasons, I have tried to advise in long form. Work-related, life goals, self-improvement mantras, or titles of worth, or just general encouragement in pursuit of the long-term. Sometimes a few minutes, others, maybe 1/2 to and hour in social atmospheres I probably should not be in - bars. Advise, not, "This is what you should do...period," instead just stories from my own failings... Yet, while worthwhile, it lacks. It's not fulfilling long-term. Still does not solve my own personal issues. But, I try.   (And for contrast: I've tried a couple times to talk to ladies. Not very successful at all - nor were they open to advice - in fact, plenty of know-it-all ladies must attend Purdue. Wisdom: the outcome of failed experiences. Or: You can learn a lot from a dummie. )

That said, you have to Run Your Race. (See Below.)

So, that's the year in review, mid-year. We will see where I am next year.

Will I still blog, if infrequently?
Will I be in an MBA program?
Will I make a contribution of note?
Will I cross a rubicon in my evolution towards a more whole and satisfying life?

I realize some may not like Joel Osteen, but a few bits here in Run Your Race are worth listening to:

1) 20:25-22:30 Saul & High Maintenance People
2) 24:15-25:30 The Old Man, the Boy, and The Donkey, People Pleasing
3) 25:35-27:15 Dreams Untold (Joseph, Mary)
4) 11:55-13:00 The Pit: People Pleasing, Ignoring Advise

 

Alcoholism: The plight of many people

In the news yesterday was the typical story about a 21-year old movie star that was arrested for DUI and cocaine possession. It was not a surprise given her bouts with alcohol abuse and the crowd she must, even in a alcoholic daze, say to herself: "why the fuck do I hang around with these jokers?"

I am trying to feel sorry for her and the life she is currently living, but I find it hard to feel anything for her. But in listening to another sports talk idiot (All Night with Jason Smith, ESPN Radio) he said, "Alcohol is a choice, not a disease." I wondered, is he an expert on anything related to alcoholism, or is he just another person that holds a fantastic grudge against someone that was actually an alcoholic?

My personal story with Alcohol:

I had my first alcoholic drink when I was 10 years old. My dad ran a bar in Tennessee for several years (on and off) and when my mother left me with him in 1982, after their violence-laden divorce, I had to stay in the motel behind the bar. I spent plenty of time in the place that summer, even when my dad was looking to "hook up" a woman of some sort. (Later, my mother came to get me after my dad got tired of me cramping his style then.)

The 1st time I got drunk was age 13, right after my grandfather died. Richard Zimmerman and I were at the Middle School football field shooting Tequila all night. We talked about the girls we had the hots for, and why we couldn't get with them. (We both were transplants from other schools. He moved to Lowell, IN the year after I did.) I threw up that night so hard, I bursted blood vessels in my head. (Purple splotches appeared all over my face.)

The 2nd time I got drunk was age 16, right after my dad went to the pokey for a while. It was at a typical high school party with plenty of intrigue between people because of boyfriend-girlfriend stuff. (I wound up hitting my then best friend after he teased me about God only knows what.) Anyways, the whole thing left me looking even worse when I exploded about life... I tended to do that. Especially when I know things could be better and should be better than they are. I wound up in the fetal position in a tent - and the WHOLE thing got recorded for prime time school listening a few days later....

College was pretty much a alcohol fest after I turned 21. (Though I did not go to a bar until 6 months after my 21st B-day. I waited until my then best friend turned 21.) I got arrested in 1995 on a PI. I tried to go to Taco Bell at 2:30 AM. I saw people eating, but the door was locked. Cop picks me up and I went to the jail for the night.

Two months later, I got arrested for a altercation between me and some Joe Smith (actual name.) He and his buddy decided to cause a situation with me. I say that without lying. It was a average night at a bar. And I had about 3 beers watching the Bulls kick the Supersonics brains in. As we both approached the bar, we bumped into each other. His first response: "Get the fuck out of the way." My response: "Who died and made you John Purdue?" He retorted: "You think your funny prick." Mine: "As funny as you are Mary." (At least I'd like to hope I could have said that.) Final remark by him: "Your mother 's a bitch." Mine: BLAMMM! (Shot to the jaw. He hit the floor. Bouncers removed me. I went to go home. Cops on bikes pulled up. Investigate. I get arrested for assault after he pressed charges.)

In 1999, I got drunk again and tried to take pills while in the Navy. That didn't work. I got Honorably Discharged for Alcohol Rehabiliation Failure (failure being a term I know pretty well.)

In late 2000-2001, after 18 months sober, I relapsed. That happens.

After 4 more years of forced sobriety, I was back on the wagon. Nevertheless, I've fallen off it a few times. I have no one that forces or assists me in the pursuit. (No AA, people use GOD in that too much. I've heard enough sermons from Dad and the Catholic Church.)

Rather, I consume about 2-3 beers a week now. Not at any particular time or need to, just do it to socialize and forget that I am termed an Alcoholic. Maybe a bunch of self-medication is part of the theory I pose to myself.

I'm a functional Alcoholic, meaning I can do enough to not be in a gutter or in/out of a rehab center. I couldn't afford the bills -unlike Ms. Lohan. (The prompter of this blog.)

Given the world around me, I guess I would like to think I channel Hemingway, Fitzgerald or some other writer-alkie in my thoughts. I don't, of course. But they would be my drinking buddies if I had the druthers of it. Even though I could not keep up with their thoughts.

I realize HOW serious the subject is. But I also figure it has not even been my biggest obstacle, as odd as that may seem to a soberite. My biggest wall has been escaping the family and home life I grew up in, rather alone. Loneliness surrounds me daily. It's a dark man with robes that kill on contact, metaphorically, and drains my existence into his all-you-can-go-to-blazes cess pool.

When I heard Mr. Smith goes to the back of the class prattle on about Lindsey being not an alcoholic, I wanted to either congratulate him for being another Hollywood basher or strangle him for being such a fucking toolbox that wouldn't know real trouble if it fell on him from on Hosanna in the Highest high.

We all have to deal with life. Some unfortunately get to use alcohol as their escape. (And I know you don't have to. And if you don't, don't OK!)

Take care and stay sober!