I've done the "kick" a couple of times before and I can't remember it being this crappy. I'm trying to sleep as much as possible but I feel tremendous pain in my sides, I feel bloated and sluggish and tonight I had to go to a photo shoot which was agonizing. All day I was in agony, doing the doggy-paddle on the bed and drifting in and out of strange dreams.
I had this photo shoot tonight for this award I'm getting in a couple months with about 17 other recipients and it has to do with fashion and I could barely fit in my damn tuxedo shirt. It was so uncomfortable and I was having to talk to these people, all healthy and plenty of bread in their pockets. I know about half of them from doing events with them and I probably looked like a shined up turd. They were passing around champagne and I was just trying not to grab the bottle and guzzle it down. Don't get me wrong, every one of this crowd that I know are good people who do a lot for charity and I don't have a thing against them; but these cats are all driving up to the valet in BMWs and Mercedes, hell even a Rolls while I'm bouncing checks cause clients haven't paid me yet. I showed up early to sneak Big Red into the basement of one of the most kick-ass hotels in Southern California. Big Red is what we affectionately call my beat-to-hell, spray-painted, '83 Dodge Ramcharger that I got for Burning Man a few years ago, with her ultra loose steering, cacophonous muffler and the questionable transmission she's become my only motorized form of transportation after a nearly fatal accident (completely sober) in what used to be my "reliable" car. Of course someone did notice Big Red and deduced that it was mine, probably because of the Jazz 88 sticker and the USMC Vet Nevada Plates. That turned into an interesting conversation with the director of a major media outlet who also had a pad up in Tahoe... I was just trying to get through the shoot and get my ass back home without nodding out on the 5 while at the wheel of a highly un-steerable vehicle of 3 or 4000 lbs. I got back home and napped, started to take off my tux and laid on the bed for a bit, half in and out with my pants still around my ankles, too tired to untie my two-tone shoes.
Later I forced myself up and got changed and then lay on the couch but it wasn't helping. I tried to answer an email or two but I have almost 7000 unread msgs in my inbox. That's an actual number, well, actually I just looked again and it's 6488 so I guess I was exaggerating a little bit, it was over 7000 last week but I managed to knock out about a thousand while I was using up the last of my stash. I'm pretty sure my connect got pinched last week so I guess that's God doing for me what I can't do for myself. As long as I get past this week I think I'll be good. I gotta go up on Verizon and block his number. Of course he'll probably be calling with a different number but the cat owes me like 4 grams so maybe I'll get lucky and he won't call at all, like that thing in the Bronx Tale where the kid owes the other kid 20 bucks. Maybe him owing me something he doesn't have will save me from having to deal with him calling me.
If I can get past this nasty section I think I'll be alright, of course I made a few irresponsible calls the other night but those cats wont be trying to hard to get a hold of me.
Around midnight I decided to go for a walk, maybe get some endorphins from the mild exercise. It's pitiful really, this time last year I was playing 2 straight hours of drop-in ice hockey, full speed and loving it and tonight I'm worried that a walk down the block is gonna wear me out. If you never played ice hockey you won't know what I mean. Ice Hockey has to be the hardest sport on the planet. The combination of dynamic balance, high speeds and dangerous collisions mixed with constant shifts and heavy equipment is kind of like playing football on ice with sticks and a frozen puck flying around at 80 mph takes a lot out of you. Tonight I'm thinking I don't want to have to walk more than two miles. Two years ago I hiked the Pacific Crest Trail from Mexico to Tahoe. Jesus. I know it has to do with my dopamine and serotonin levels and that they'll start to come back soon but goddamn I feel like a pussy right now. I called a couple AA pals, guys that get it, so I could talk a bit. I gotta remember to start calling these guys again, at least a couple a day to get the message back in my head and to make sure I can't hide. I'm taking a bit of 5-HTP (L-5-Hydroxy-Tryptophan) and L-Tyrosine daily to try and help the neurotransmitters come back sooner. I recommend that if you're kicking Cocaine or Meth, those are precursors that your body needs to start manufacturing dopamine and serotonin. I'm sure there are others but those are the ones that seem to work for me. Cayenne pepper too, it's supposed to create some endorphins. I just realized that I haven't had any caffeine in a while either, that may be having an effect. I broke down and hit McDonalds tonight. I'll have to make sure that doesn't happen too much, you can get a hangover just from that crap although I noticed they do actually have some healthy stuff on the menu. I haven't been to a fast food drive thru in a long time.
Anyway, back to my midnight walk. I passed two or three bars and I sat down on some steps about a half mile from my pad and saw this black widow. I took a picture and posted it. I said, "Hey sweetheart what brings you to a place like this?" or something like that. It reminds me of my choices in companions of late. On the way back I started to feel normal for the first time in a couple of days. The air was cool for San Diego lately. I sure picked a hell of a week to kick. The temperature and humidity has been very uncharacteristic for these parts. The last three or four gigs I've done I have been sweating like a pig, soaking my suits all the way through. Hopefully I only have a couple more days of that. My sweat smells acrid, almost like piss. I'll be so glad when this is over.
I just looked up and realized it's something like 3:15 am right now. I threw on Netflix and tried to write. I gotta throw these stinky clothes in the wash and hopefully I'll get to cleaning my office tomorrow if I can get the hell out of the cot. Our landlord decided that this is the week they'd do major renovation and reconstruction on the outside of this house I've been in for the last 7 1/2 years. I moved in here when I got sober the first time, weird that it would be this week. All day long they're hammering and sawing down trees and it doesn't bother me, I could always sleep through a hurricane, maybe cause I grew up in the city, a freight train used to go by my house a couple times a night. Never bothered me. A freight train goes by this place a couple times a day here, doesn't bother me. Chainsaws, hammers, dubstep, machine gun fire; no problem, but let me hear some Bruno Mars and I'm loading my shotgun. Let me hear a woman's voice and I'm straining my ears like a cold war spy in Moscow. I'm such a predictable creature. God I hope I can change.
I'm actually starting to feel a little better. We'll see how that goes. It's like my old sponsor's sponsor used to say, "How you doing?" and no matter his answer he'd say, "That'll change."
Talk to you tomorrow.
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Day 3: Lightning at the end of the tunnel