January 12, 2005
Boy, do I feel squirelly. Squirelly, squirelly, squirelly. This is an AAism (yes, I've become one of those people who peppers his conversation with AAisms-- annoying, isn't it?) for that restless feeling of unidentifiable origin, pretty common in alcoholics, particularly in early sobriety. This is no doubt helped by a heavy dollop of ADD, wiith bi-polar disorder on the side. (The speaker last night--a funny young woman--said "the difference between alcoholics and normal drinkers is that after a one glass of wine, an alcoholic orders another, and a normal drinker orders an entree." She also noted that an alcoholic can control his drinking--or enjoy his drinking--but never both. Both ring very true for me.)
I have tons to do, considering I am job-hunting, and all I can think of is to meet a friend for lunch or go to a meeting. Whatever I choose, I won't beat myself up for it. I just can't. I have to recognize the reality that this is a time of enormous upheaval and uncertainty, of transformation really, and the road is rocky and fairly lonely. I'm moving Saturday to my friend's Larry and David's, but I won't have a computer there so either must buy one with my limited funds or go to Internet Cafes. Either choice seems fraught with dramatic implications.
I don't think I got the job at Cybersocket, as the Publisher said he was deciding at the end of the day yesterday and he needed someone immediately, and he hasn't called. It's okay. The interview went well enough, although he didn't mention my felony conviction, which was listed on the application right before "Do you use illegal drugs?" I checked "no" and wrote in "I AM SOBER." That he noted with approval. I am frankly unsure if I shouldn't just leave the "have you every been convicted of a felony?' question blank, and hope they don't notice. I hate filling out job applications. Not only do you have to repeat everything on your resume, but my handwriting is execrable and that doesn't bode well for taking legible phone messages.
I'm okay about not getting the job. It was a big step for me just to go on an interview, and to be honest about my past. And though I would have written plenty of punchy, short entries about the internet, it wouldn't have afforded me any opportunities to do the kind of essayist-type writing that is my forte. Not that the jobs that allow for that are likely to come my way. One doesn't just go straight to Russell Baker/Maureen Dowd Land without 20 some odd years of journalism under one's belt. Should I start prostituting myself, allowing banners and pop-ups on the blog? That would be so annoying for you guys, wouldn't it?
I did receive a fascinating letter from my cousin, who told me she had researched "the Bends" and found out depression and longterm neurological problems were not uncommon longterm effects, so this may well have played a significant role in my grandfather's suicide. She also told me that after my grandmother died, her mother, my Aunt Cora, (married to my father's brother) had taken it upon herself to investigate the origins of my adopted Aunt Nancy. She found out Nancy was born Beverly, in Gloversvile, NY, to alcoholic parents who had been both killed in a car accident. Being the youngest, she was put up for adoption, but had several surviving siblings. Nancy died, however, before her sister-in-law ever told her the information she gleaned.
This news astounded me. Had she known, I wonder, would Nancy have wanted to meet her natural family? Would it have made any difference? What we don't know about such things still end up belng a lot more than what we find out.
I have decided my next remembrance piece will be an account of my own molestation by a scout leader in 1969. I can hear the frissons going up everyone's spine reading that. But I am a firm believer that in exercising discretion about such things, we only compound the victim's sense of shame. What do I have to be ashamed of? And who knows to what degree I may have internalized the shame that so inevitably surrounds such things? In any event, I certainly have a fair amount of politically incorrect observations to make about the entire experience.
Our glorious LA weather has returned. I simply must take a walk and soak up some God before checking my email.
MCO 2005
