Mmmm..Beer....

Tonight is my first night without Captain Chaos. If I went to sleep right now, I might actually get eight or more hours of sleep in a row. That hasn't happened since he was born. That's right, in the past ten months, I have not gotten more than five hours of sleep at any one given time. I can hear all you moms out there going "so?" but I'm pretty sure that the research I've read on sleep deprivation mentions going fucking crazy after a certain amount of time...

So, you ask, why the hell aren't you sleeping, princess?

I am not sleeping because I am blogging. I am blogging because I want a fucking beer. And a smoke. And a cigarette.

And none of those things are going to happen because A. I'm pregnant and B. I made a commitment to myself and to Captain Chaos that those things would not interfere with us. (At least, not till he's fifteen or so. I'm not a total idiot.) Anyway, under no circumstances will he be raised the way I was, and that's that.

Where I come from, there is a vein of addiction that runs deep and wide, and everyone I know has been affected by it in one way or another. I want to veer as far away from that vein as possible so that, hopefully, my kids have a fighting chance at a somewhat normal life.

The thing that I wasn't prepared for is how hard it is to do that. I mean, I'm no saint. I haven't got a lot of practice at this whole abstinence thing yet. Captain Chaos himself was concieved in a haze of beery, shot laden, cigarette smokin party-ness. It was only after I found out that he was coming into the picture that I toned it down. He's not showing any signs of FAS yet...(fingers crossed..)

 Since then, it's been a pretty easy ride. I mean, I was pregnant for the first time and obessessed with doing it right ( and by right I mean perfectly, because that's who I am). Then bam! I was a mom and god knows I haven't had much of a chance to think about tying one on, what with most of my time being taken with trying to keep Cap'n Chaos alive and the house from burning to the ground....

But tonight was different. As soon as I dropped him off with Baby Daddy, I could tell I was going to have trouble. I was already talking myself out of a beer two blocks from BD's house.

It didn't help that I dropped a couple of friends off at an outdoor concert after that. Man it took me back. Dressed up on a Friday night, a case of beer and a pack of smokes in the purse, going to see some live music. That's pretty much how I grew up. Shit, when I heard those bottles clink together, I thought I was going to die of thirst.

Someday I will be able to drop my kid off for the night without obessing over this shit.

Someday I will be able to go see a band again without wanting a beer and a smoke, but until then, I guess I'll just sit right here, writing it all down until I'm tired enough to just sleep.

Which is what I am now.

Which makes this a very

Good night. :)

Fear, Trust, and some dude named Bob

Fear is an ugly, ugly thing.

I suppose, in the right context, fear is a good thing. It's healthy to have a little fear. It's what kept our ancestors from trying to shake a paw with saber toothed tigers. It's what keeps us away from that guy in the alley with a knife. Thus we live to propagate the species with that fear reaction intact.

Too much fear is what I'm talking about. Fear that gets in the way of living life, that damages relationships, that causes meltdowns. Monsters in the closet, grownup style. Where does that fear come from, and why is it so hard to get rid of?

In my life, I've had a lot of people tell me that I wasn't good enough for their love, sometimes through their words, most of the time through their actions. I've gotten to a place where I actually fear love - or more specifically, where I fear losing the people I love. It's irrational and it leads me to do ridiculous things. I spent many years in a loveless relationship because it felt safe to me. It was an incredibly stupid, cowardly thing to do and it taught me that a person I'm not in love with can hurt me too. Just in different ways. But it wasn't scary, and that was what made me stay.

Over the past couple of years, I've shed my cocoon of dead end relationships and substance abuse and found this big beautiful life in this big beautiful world, and it's beyond amazing to me. I never even thought it could be like this. It's full of love and hard work and happiness and sadness and all kinds of fantastic things - in short, it's a real life. And it scares the shit out of me. I hoard all the precious moments I can from it, ever fearful that someday all my happiness will be snatched away from me. My fear overshadows those moments, darkens the brightest days. It sits in the corner and whispers terrible things to me - that the trust I've worked so hard to have in those I love most will be shattered. That these people who mean so much to me will leave in time. That I will be hurt terribly again.

I'm sick of my fear. I call it "mine", like it's something I own. That's how long I've had it. Jeebus Christ - I may as well give it a name. "Hello, I'm Toquegirl, and this is my fear, Bob." It's fucking ridiculous.

I know that this fear, this lack of trust, is not protecting me from anything. In the end, it is more damaging than anything anyone else can do to me. So it's time to move on. Give Bob the boot, give the haters the finger, and get the fuck on with living, finally.

Wish me luck.

Suburban Homesick Gratitude Blues..( or, How the Hell I Did End Up Here)

Oh man, am I homesick.

Thing is, I'm homesick for a place that no longer exists. I'm beginning to doubt it ever did.

Last night was one of those early spring nights that bring a sense of wonder to even the most jaded of souls. One of the first warm days of the season that melts into a muted sunset and finally fades to a perfect royal blue as soon as the last rays have left the sky. The kind of night that keeps you out drinking on the patio until until your hands are frozen, claw like, around your pint glass and you are wearing your toque and jacket but you will NOT go inside because dammit, it's too nice out. Then at some point someone does convince you to come inside and you realize that you're drunk, and work tomorrow is going to suck balls anyway, so what the hell? Let's go see a show!

One of those nights where you crawl into bed at three a.m. You reek of beer and smoke, and faintly of regret, dreading the day to come. You know that it was all worth it, though, because dammit, you were with your friends, having an awesome time, you saw a great band, and shit; it's only one day. You'll survive.

I'm sure everyone has their own spring fever memories. Many of them likely involve less booze. The point is, that's mine. When I feel that clean, cool evening air for the first time after a long dark winter, that's the place I get taken back to.

This year, though, that wonderful sense of possibility was tinged with a pretty deep melancholy. As I rode through that fresh night on my bike, I felt like a younger version of myself, if only briefly. I felt like I was riding down through my old neighborhood to the local to meet some friends for a patio night.

I remembered that feeling of riding reckless through the city, not a care in the world other than what time the liquor store closed. I remembered living in a place that was large enough to have a band scene. I remembered stoop parties with my friends. I remembered being focused on a career where I showed some talent, and where I loved my work. It all came rushing in on me at once and it hurt. I let it.

What hurt was not so much that all of those things have changed in the past couple of years - although they have, dramatically - as the fact that those memories were quickly becoming fiction even as I was living them. Those nights going to meet friends were becoming fewer and further between, replaced by me, riding to the nearest pub to get drunk. Those stoop parties often just involved myself, a book, and twelve beer. My career? Definitely something there, but how many times can a person miss work because they're hung over?

There was nothing careless about my single life. It just seemed that way on the outside. And I know I wasn't the only one living that way. Many of my friends were in the same boat, sliding quickly from bar star to alcoholic, not noticing the years flying by, not changing. Just running faster, playing harder.

My whole world changed two years ago, the day my mother passed away. I gave up my wandering ways, my career, my whole lifestyle, moved to the flatlands to help my family. Like me, many of them had moved away when they were young. Now those wanderers are also returning home. I am surrounded by the big, messy, loving family that I'd spent so many years running from. It's the best decision I've ever made.

Six months after moving to this tiny town, I met a man. Now I have Captain Chaos - certainly the best thing that's ever happened to me. That little guy fills me with feelings I didn't even know existed before I became a parent.

In the past two years I've given up freedom for responsibility, solitude for family, recklessness for stability, dissolution for sobriety. Sometimes it's overwhelming, to think where I've been and where I am today. So, if one clear calm night, you see me gliding around on a bike and you can't quite place the expression on my face, I'll let you know right now - it's gratitude.