one broke mama

adventures in losing it all, for the modern single mother
April 9

Woah, http://www.carbonmap.org/#intro

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here’s a thought I wrote about recovery while waiting for my friend, T. as he retraced his steps for his lost wallet.

this thing we are doing everything else instead of right now? the fourth step.

hard to start, laying out all the wrongs we wronged and all the people we duped and all the heinous thoughts we thought when we drank.
get that one done. get it done because that road leads to the town where things are better than better can be imagined by our tiny imagination.

do it, though, only after you’ve reached the pivitol place where we can say that our life has become out of hand, and that everything we’ve done to right ourselves thus far has failed.
after we’ve said it out loud, after introducing ourselves with, “and I am an alcoholic” on the end, write out the shitshow that we became while still drinking. after we’ve admitted we just can’t not drink while we are the boss, and we need something bigger and smarter than us to take the hell over, finally.

this part is hard, it’s what makes some of us go out again. we are afraid to let anyone (thing) else take the handlebars. the stupid thing is, we cannot drive for shit anymore and we were going to kill us the way we were operating.

He found it.

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So I mentioned I was volunteering for a food box to someone, and for the past two weeks he has given me a secret box full of produce a week, last time he told me to meet him in the alley behind the Dolla-rama across the street after a meeting. There, because he doesn’t want other people to see. I kind of feel like a jerk, but I don’t want this brand of help. I’m giving most of the stuff away. I’ve told him he doesn’t have to do it, I’m managing on my own and I do want to do this myself, and he tells me we all have trouble accepting help and he gets it for free anyway. It’s a tiny (first world) conundrum. I’m choosing not to be upset that he won’t accept that I want him to not bring me anymore food. I’m ignoring the nonsense of getting me to meet him in a dark alley, unload 60 lbs of extra vegetables onto my bike so I can haul it home late at night, and telling me to hide something I don’t want to be engaged in. I think maybe I will take it and give it all away (a laborious option), then I think, no. Just no.

So I mentioned I was volunteering for a food box to someone, and for the past two weeks he has given me a secret box full of produce a week, last time he told me to meet him in the alley behind the Dolla-rama across the street after a meeting. There, because he doesn’t want other people to see. I kind of feel like a jerk, but I don’t want this brand of help. I’m giving most of the stuff away. I’ve told him he doesn’t have to do it, I’m managing on my own and I do want to do this myself, and he tells me we all have trouble accepting help and he gets it for free anyway.

It’s a tiny (first world) conundrum.

I’m choosing not to be upset that he won’t accept that I want him to not bring me anymore food. I’m ignoring the nonsense of getting me to meet him in a dark alley, unload 60 lbs of extra vegetables onto my bike so I can haul it home late at night, and telling me to hide something I don’t want to be engaged in. I think maybe I will take it and give it all away (a laborious option), then I think, no. Just no.

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At this moment in time I cannot tell whether this should be two blogs or no blogs.

At this moment in time I cannot tell whether this should be two blogs or no blogs.

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How can I eat you when I could plant you and make clones of you?

How can I eat you when I could plant you and make clones of you?

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Things are happening that I can’t see or smell or hear or taste or touch but they are happening and I am grateful.

Things are happening that I can’t see or smell or hear or taste or touch but they are happening and I am grateful.

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Hobo Potatoes and his buddy Bag of Kiwis.

Hobo Potatoes and his buddy Bag of Kiwis.

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