Blogged down

I was just talking to one of my roommates about journaling. I have three roommates: one is a nursing student, a twiggy beautiful young thing that wears flowing vintage skirts and has a sterling silver armband on her upper arm like something out of a Xena episode... her lover is butcher than I am, with a crew cut and nerd glasses (you know the look) and wears mens' oxfords and pleated trou and black shiny shoes to church... and then there is the third one, J.
J. used to be L. (the butch)'s lover. While Ed (the nursing student) is at work or at school J. and L(Rooster) are joined at the hip. They do nothing seperately. Not even going to the store for fags.
All three of them live in Tennessee; they are only here because Ed is here for school. I have two years here before they pack it up and take off back to Tenn.
J. and Rooster are both on Methadone. Ed is a pot-head. I'm clean and sober but couldn't wish for a better three roommates. But I hate it for J. and Rooster: they don't understand the importance of figuring out your past in order to guide your future.
J.'s counselor at the methadone clinic has asked her to journal. J. actually said she didn't know how it was going to help.
Sounds like she has her mind a little set against it... I told her that with all the distractions in this world, we need to go into a quiet place now and again and write things down as they come to mind, it helps us get in touch with who we were when we were being formed.
She can't grasp how that can help her as an adult. I hope she does it anyway. She, like me, has had all the good things in life before and of course right when it got to the point we thought it was really good we used.
Because it WASN'T really good... it was crap, and we'd made it look really good on the outside but inside we were bleeding like a stuck pig.
OINK!
oink.
oink
So... I truly wish I could plop them down in an NA meeting but of course, it's a program of attraction, and it's for those who want it, not those who need it. I did tell her that I'm happier now, with next to nothing, than I was in Alaska, when I had it all. I told her I did love my ex very much but that when it became apparent my ex no longer felt the same way for me, I used.
Had I been going to meetings and had my head on straight, when my ex dumped me, I would have moved in with Misty and kept going to work and I'd still be there in Alaska, making good money, with a good friend, and lots of support.
But I threw it to the four winds and it scattered ... and Alaska is again a formidable place I'm afraid to go. I thought I had conquered Alaska. But now it's laughing at me , again.
I'll tame that bitch, next time I go up, you wait and see.
I can't find my stamps... it's not a big room, and I only have two boxes of belongings. What the living hell could I have done with a sheet of stamps?
The four of us roomies were sitting around having coffee and a smoke this morning before they took off for church; they were telling me about this gal that has been coming to church. She's 21, with a facial tattoo that reminds one, they said, of Mike Tyson.
She shaves her head and wears a ballcap, and binds her breasts and doesn't shave her legs, and has lip piercings that slur her speech a bit.
Apparently this chica was living in another city where she was dating a married woman who is a teacher. They met in the hospital.. .chica is an addict, also on Methadone. Married teacher woman moved chica up here and got her a place to live, and pays the rent; chica has no healthy friends outside of church. Married woman doesn't want to go to church with chica, and chica has not even seen married woman for two weeks.
Chica is ... in a bad spot. I don't see how she can find a job in this bible belt with a tat on her face , a shaved head, and all that piercing going on.
Rooster said it reminded her of Boys Don't Cry and I started telling them about how I used to wear a pin-striped suit, with a flat top hair cut, and go to the very dark mens' gay bars and the men thought I was a chicken and bought me drinks all night... and how I got the living snot beat out of me by frat boys or cops or whomever thought I was a guy then found out I was not...
And so yeah, I know the pain this girl must be going through, and I can't IMAGINE how much worse my pain would have been had I gotten a facial tattoo and lip piercings.
I'm very grateful I never got into drugs. I probably would have more than a facial tattoo. And right now I'd be on the dole, living in some dump, probably using.
*sigh*
Of course now I want to meet chica, since they told me she was a cutter. I showed J. the scars on my arms... and she said she'd always been a cutter.
And something inside me sort of jumped... I had to hide it, because they were on their way to church... but pretty soon I think I'll have a little talk with her about childhood sexual abuse and cutting and ... maybe I'll introduce her to The Courage to Heal.
If she seems like she wants to heal. Some people don't.
Of course, when I was younger I didn't see how being sexually abused as a child could make me such a distraught, unweildy adult, but it did... because I never dealt with it.
*sigh*
And so, the buck stops here.
***
Later... took my sister to the movies. It was fairly painless, except of course for the price of admission. Thirteen bucks for the two of us. I can't really afford it. But it was a nice thing to do. And my sister seemed to enjoy it. We went to see "Burn After Reading" and I'm pretty sure it was the biggest waste of talent I've seen in ages. John Malcovich phoned it in, and he's the only reason I went. Is he selling out? Sure was crappy fluff if you ask me. ugh.
We went to CVA to get some Twizzlers before the movie... they have come out with a pack of different flavors all in one bag. Hooray, they are pretty good.
After the movie drove up to Meridianville to find some cheaper gasoline. First station I pulled into was advertising gas for 3.58... but when I got up to the pump, there were little stickers on the pumps that said OUT OF GAS...
so I went to the station next door who had the same price, and long lines at the pump. My truck has the gas tank on the right side, damnit, it is hard to get in line for the pump with people facing all different directions, I managed to get in, then someone blocked me in. People block you in and don't care how you get out, and they don't look you in the eye when you get out of your vehicle to assess the situation. So I started backing up anyway. Someone moved about five inches, enough for me to squeek through and then I ended up going over the curb to get back to the street. I think I gave a couple of drivers a heart attack. **missed it by that much** lol.
THEN I went to the gas station where I left my gas cap last week, and they didn't have it, they did have a red one but I didn't claim it as mine. I could have, but I didn't.
I tried to buy one pack of cigs and she said there was a five dollar minimum on debit card purchases. WTF?
So, I bought two packs. What is the deal with the credit/debit thing? I know my boss moans about how much it costs him to take people's credit/debit cards. I don't get that.
I finally got near home and was going to pull into the Kroger for some cookies but then remembered my sister had given me the extra pack of Twizzlers, then my phone rang. It was my roommate, wanting to know how to change the sparkplugs on the Kia.
I got home and showed her how to get the spark plug boot off. And so she got the plugs changed.
Then we sat around a little bit and talked some more then I came down and got on the internet, now I'm going to watch some movies on Netflix.
I get the second season of Dexter starting Monday through netflix, can't wait. I've missed that show.