Tonight I'm Having Brussel Sprouts

Okay, I think I should get the award for blogger that spends the most time dicking around on the internet when she's supposed to be blogging.  No kidding, I sat down at 8:00 am this morning to write this blog and now it is 2:00 pm.  There's always one more thing I need to check, or voice my opinion about, or read about what somebody thought about my opinion and then the sun is shining so I better get a walk in before it clouds up and maybe I should have some lunch, this shirt is too scratchy, I should change it, I should light a candle and make it smell good in here, where's my gum? I wonder if anyone has responded to my post on fb yet, I'll just check it one more time.....

I am in awe of you bloggers that post everyday while you have real jobs and family to take care of, I don't know how you find the time, obviously a lot less dicking around than I do.

Anyway, on one of my "breaks" today I took Stanley, the blind killer bichon out for some exercise.  He's probably 18 years old and I think he needs to get out and use what he's got left so he doesn't lose it, even if he bumps into things and his back legs kind of go caddywompus on him these days.  I was talking about Stanley to some of my co-workers a couple of weeks ago and one of them (my ex-sister-in-law, if you can imagine) said, "If he's that bad off, why don't you just put him down?"  I spluttered and sputtered, hopefully some of it landed on her, and replied, "He's been blind so long, he doesn't even remember what it's like to see. Other than that he's fine."

Today, whilst dicking around, I was reading posts on the Moderation Management List and the topic came up again about what to do with all that time we used to fill with drinking and I was reminded of my conversation about Stanley, it's as if alcohol put a blindfold on us or those things that racehorses wear so that we can't see anything out there but the booze and after awhile we forget that there were other things out there.

Here is my reply to the post: (Wait a minute, I've got to go back to the list and get it and who knows what I'll find over there that demands my attention or opinion and there will probably be a little notification number on my fb tab and I'll have to go check who just won some stupid ass totally make believe prize in Slingo Slotfest because I keep getting notifications even though I've blocked all content from that user.)  BRB

Ah, here it is,

Oh Jann

This just says it all. It echoes a post that was on the mmabsers board a few days ago in which Pepper said she felt like a 6th grader again with a new found level of interest and joy. I replied, Enthusiasm, I missed you.

In the short term, filling those hours that we used to spend drinking seems impossible, we all refer to it as a void, but what we don't realize is that it's not the absence of drinking that creates that void, it was our drinking that created it, our drinking that took over all of that space that used to be filled with such worthwhile things.

So when you quit or slow down, your looking at this big hole that you have to fill, but if you just hang on, your heart and your brain starts to heal and they start reminding you of what you used to love to do, or they goad you into doing what you always wanted to do. If you let them, if you don't sit around just staring into that f'ing hole thinking the only thing that will fill it up is booze.

I replied on a blog with the same message about new found interests (we can't all be making this up), I said,

I want to be a ballerina, neurosurgeon, children's author who dabbles in watercolors and is a gourmet cook.

Why the heck not?

Ok, maybe I'll skip the ballerina gig, my knees are shot.

 

You just gotta start throwing some things into that hole.

 

All my best, Kary

 

So my hole is overflowing at the moment. (Yes, I know how that sounds, but it made me laugh so I'm keeping it.).  I know I've said it a million times, so this will be a million and one, I was such a sick, quivering hopeless blob a couple of years ago, that this life of mine is a miracle.  

 

For those of you that are reading that were smart enough to stop and do something about your drinking before you got to that point, I am forever in awe of you and so grateful on your behalf. 

 

For those of you that resemble that sick, hopeless, scared, lost blob (that's just a nice way of saying pile of shit) you don't have to feel that way anymore, you really don't.

Now about those Brussel Sprouts!  The cap'n hates them so I"m fixing them while he's gone (there are advantages to sleeping alone) and I've only had them maybe twice, so what's the best way to fix them?  I need suggestions, and please nothing creamed, Julia just about has me creamed out this week, and that says something coming from the daughter of a German housewife who didn't know how to cook without cream and butter.  I await your counsel.