Don't Let Yourself Get Hung Up On All That Shit

So yesterday, I saw a shark on a bike. Okay, it wasn't actually pedaling the bike, it was slung over the handlebars while a smiling young Mexican girl pedaled the bike. And it was dead. The shark, not the bike.  I have a cool life. I do. Now my Midwestern, "Aw Shucks Roots" are prodding me to say, "Yeah, but you should see the dog shit I have to step over. And the Trash? It's everywhere." And while that's all true...

I have a cool life.

I can't blame it for my drinking.  I don't.

I had a wonderful childhood. Sure there was some shit and trash there, too. But I can't blame it for my drinking. I won't.

I don't know where to lay the blame for my drinking. I don't care. I never did. And I probably never will.

Because it doesn't matter.

IT DOES NOT MATTER!

“Out there things can happen, and frequently do,
To people as brainy and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen, don't worry, don't stew.
Just go right along, you'll start happening too!”
― Dr. Seuss, Oh, The Places You'll Go!

In my recovery, I have been besieged by explanations, and theories, and booga-booga.  Is it a disease? Is it not?  Who gives a rat's ass? Was calling it a disease or not calling it a disease going to make it any easier for me to quit?

And then there's that power thing. Some people say you have to admit that you're powerless over alcohol. Some people stomp their feet and say they'll never admit they're powerless over anything.

Fine. I shrug my shoulders. Who cares?

Then there's the biggie. That God Forsaken Label.  ALCOHOLIC!!!

Am I one? Is there such a thing?  Do I care?

Not really.

For me:

IT DOES NOT MATTER!

Here is what does matter to me. (Finally! you say.)

Drinking made me miserable.

Not drinking, doesn't.

THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS!

Perhaps, just maybe, if you're spending all that time trying to figure it all out, it's because you're avoiding doing what you know you need to do, NO MATTER WHAT.

“You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.

Some windows are lighted. but mostly they're darked. 

But mostly they're darked. 

A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin! 

Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?

How much can you lose? How much can you win?” 

― Dr. Seuss, Oh, The Places You'll Go!

Crazy Dog Lady

One of my favorite movies is "Hope Floats" starring Sandra Bullock and Gena Rowlands. It is about a daughter (Sandra) returning home to live with her somewhat zany mother (Gena).

There is a scene in that movie in which Gena Rowlands is up early in the morning, down in the creek feeding the ducks. Her dogs are barking and chasing the birds. The ducks are squawking and flapping their wings, rising up out of the water. The sun is turning the spray of water to geysers of sparkling diamonds. And Gena Rowlands is right smack dab in the midst of it all in her overalls and hip waders, tossing out more food, feeding the frenzy.

I so much wanted to be her, caught in that maelstrom, but at that time in my life, that early morning unbridled joy, those sun diamonds, were as unreachable as the moon and the stars.

All I could do is watch in wander that such moments existed.

This week I am at our little house in Dzilam de Bravo.  My friend, Linda, left yesterday to go back to Canada for a month and I am watching the brood of ragtag dogs that she has collected through the years. Twinky, Holbox, Bebe, Sparky and Toby have all found their way to her after being abandoned by their former owners.

This morning I am up with the sun. I gather my motley crew and herd them out the gate.  When we reach the stretch of road past the last house along the sea wall, I slip the leashes off.  There they go.

Unbridled Joy.

Toby bounds the seawall to chase the pelicans drying their wings on the rocks and the water sprays sun diamonds.

I made it.

I am the crazy dog woman I dreamed of being.

Hey, at least I'm not a crazy cat woman.