Holding On

I am not a morning person. I am the type to set three alarms and sleep through them all. I am usually gracing my workplace just shy of way-too-late. Still, there is something magical that happens for me in those first few moments of consciousness. There is a personal and spiritual luminescence, a complete sense of clarity. I no longer roll out of the bed in a complete fog, no matter what the hour. I am more in touch with my feelings and my wisdom when I first open my eyes than I am all day. Today was no different.

Last night was a difficult one for me. I experienced an acute rush of heartache. When the ache started in, squeezing my throat closed and pushing me forward into a puddle of hysterics, I lost, for a moment (okay, maybe an hour, maybe even a little more), any sense of groundedness. I hadn’t yet, in my sobriety, felt quite so low. Still, my former self would have sunk quickly into self-loathing, or self-harm, or into a bottle. Anything to drown out the pain. This time, despite the racking, I somehow stayed afloat. In all my years of numbing, it was, honestly, good to know that I can truly feel. Good to know that I have come to a point in my life in which I can authentically withstand emotional discomfort.

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A Word about Football

I wrote this after the 2014 Super Bowl. I never posted it. But, what better time than just before the 2015 college football season?!?

Yesterday was a big day. It was the first of the month, so I had just gotten paid and, apparently, it was the Super Bowl.

I don’t watch football. Not even on Super Bowl Sunday. Not even when I lived in Gainesville, FL and the city breathed football. I have no understanding whatsoever about how the game is played. I see men in tight pants and helmets doing football things. That’s all I see. I don’t even know in which direction either team is supposed to be running. I do, however, recognize a touchdown. I think.

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