Community jam session

Last night, Sunshine grilled some venison burgers and almost everybody here showed up at our place for dinner. Rude Ass brought his guitar, and next thing you know, Mr B had picked up Sunshine’s flute and he and Rude Ass started playing some songs.

After Mr B headed home, Sunshine picked up the flute and he and Rude Ass played a while.

This is why we decided to make this change.

This is what it’s about for us: simple pleasures, friends, connections, community. Last night, all was as it should be in my world.



Our neighbor is an antiques fanatic. She used to own an antique store, and she goes junking/saling a lot. She took Mollie and me on a grand 20 mile yard sale adventure recently, and I had great fun (I’ll write about my haul some other time).

Recently, she asked us to come over and look at a cedar armoire and nightstand set that she needed to find a new home for. Her price was beyond reasonable, and we were planning to go look at it and finalize a deal. Before we could get over there and buy the pieces from her, she decided she would just trade us the furniture for some animal sitting duties. Now, we would have taken care of her ducks and chickens and cats while she traveled for no pay at all; because that’s what friends and neighbors do. She wouldn’t hear of it, and now we are the proud owners of a cedar armoire and a cedar nightstand.

Sunshine claimed the nightstand and I claimed the armoire and immediately moved my winter clothes into it.

Thank you, kind neighbor lady who apparently just needed an excuse to give away something we would have paid good money for!

Blogger appreciation award

Thank you, Benjamin, for nominating me for this award. Your kind words made me cry pretty early this morning. They mean a lot coming from you, because I respect and admire you so much. You’re one of those people I’ve come to love, even though we haven’t had lunch or coffee together. Yet๐Ÿ˜

If you haven’t checked Benjamin out yet, I encourage you to do so. His is a voice that deserves to be heard; he delves into some weighty social issues in a very personal way that truly touches my heart.

So, I’m supposed to write a paragraph, about something positive about myself.

It’s hard to choose something positive about myself. Well, actually, it’s hard to choose just one, because I’m so full of the awesome all the way through.

Just kidding. Being the fully westernized wypipo woman I am (and an addict on top of that), I tend to see the negatives first, foremost, and always. I also tend to be a very fully westernized wypipo woman that’s really good at beating herself up for the tiniest little imperfection.

Side note: wypipo is deliberately there, because I’m pretty good at having wypipo problems #firstworldproblems.

Ultimately, the one positive thing about me that I have to choose to write about is my recovery from addiction. Anything else good about me stems from that, even all the good stuff my mama taught me as a kid. My addiction took so much decency, goodness, and normalcy; and it buried it under a mountain of character defects and nasty behaviour (AKA shortcomings). Through my journey in recovery, I have learned to accept myself just as I am, even the flawed parts; and I’ve also learned how to take the flawed parts and get into the solution. I don’t always do it perfectly; and that’s where I’m glad that pretty much all of the world’s spiritual teachings say that nobody’s perfect so we just do the best we can to keep growing. Recovery has also opened me up to other people: I see the beauty of a person’s humanity, other people’s feelings matter to me, I remain open-minded because everyone has something to teach me. I don’t dwell on past mistakes and I don’t worry too much over potential future problems; I try and stay in the moment and just experience the joys of living it. Again, I have to state that I do none of that perfectly. Some days, I do none of it at all. I do the best I can with what I have to work with. I always try to keep in mind that I’m fighting my biology; I’m fighting my disease; and I’m fighting the damage my addiction did to my mind, body, and spirit. I scream for help when I need it, and I try and listen for the screams of others. Someone heard my screams and responded; it is my honor and duty to hear someone else’s screams, even when I can only respond with a hug.

Now, I’m supposed to nominate other bloggers, so:

My friend the dancer


Tag, you’re it๐Ÿ˜

The last thing on Benjamin’s checklist for this award was a Mic drop, so I leave you with this:

The kind of problems I don’t mind having

Right now, my truck is out of commission. We know the alternator is bad (brand new remanufactured), and I hope that is all that’s wrong.

If that isn’t all that’s wrong, is it going to suck? Yep, it’s going to suck really bad.

However, it’s a problem that money can solve. Pay Ride Ass to change out the alternator and make sure nothing else is wrong. That’s the kind of problems I don’t mind having.

Imagine, if you will, that two men have young sons with a terminal disease that has no cure or treatment. One of the men is very wealthy, the other is very poor. Both of these men are equally unable to solve this problem.

Now, imagine those same two men and their sons being stranded on the side of the road because their vehicle broke down. That’s a problem that money can solve, so one guy easily gets home & gets the car repaired while the other is just stranded and probably loses his job because he can’t get to work.

I don’t mind having the kind of problems that money can solve. There’s generally opportunity to come up with the money some way or another: paycheck, sell one of our spare vehicles, etcetera.

Side note: yes, I totally understand that it is easy for me to say some shit like that. White privilege makes it easy for people that look like me to go get some money. Even Sunshine enjoys white privilege, because his blue eyes and winter pale skin means he passes for white even though he’s a card carrying citizen of a First Americans tribe. White privilege does make it easier for us; however, that’s a discussion for another day and its own post.

As frustrating as it was to be stranded outside the bank two days ago because my truck wouldn’t crank, Sunshine was out of town, Mr B was unavailable, & I don’t have roadside assistance…. Well, it’s still a problem that money can solve therefore I don’t mind having that problem.

The problems I don’t like having are the struggle to repair my relationship with my brother and sister, the knowledge that my mother is mortal and won’t be with us forever, the rain that delayed repairs to my truck…

I can’t control any of those things. I can’t even control my internal emotions and thoughts about those things. I can only control my reactions and responses to those things, and I can’t even do that sometimes. Hey, I’m fighting my own biology. Addiction, my scorch-the-earth temper, depression, anxiety; these are all genetically encoded into me and I can’t get rid of them. I can only try and learn skills that help me be a decent human being in spite of them.

So today, instead of being pissed off or depressed that my truck is dead, I’m just grateful that this is a problem we can solve with money.

Final note: I’m also grateful for Rude Ass who left work to come rescue me. He jump started my truck, then followed me home because he knew it was going to die before I made it home. It did, and he was there to rescue me again. Thank you, Rude Ass for being so decent.

I don’t fit the profile

I’ve recently read some thought provoking posts about race. Like this one from Alexis, or this one. Or this one from Benjamin.

So I have a question for you. When you look at this picture, which one of the people in it would you be afraid of? Which one of these people would you cross the street to avoid?

A huge thank you to my dear friend @Reshaud for graciously allowing me to use pictures of him for this post.

If you had never met me or read any of my blog, which one of those faces would you think belonged to a junkie with multiple felony convictions?

I can’t tell you how many law enforcement officers I heard say “she doesn’t fit the profile” as I was perp-walked into yet another police or sheriffs station. If I were behind you in line at Target, you wouldn’t lean away from me as you instinctively moved your hand to make sure your wallet was still in your purse or pocket. I don’t look like what most people think of when they hear the word junkie. I don’t fit the profile.

And yet, here you are, reading the words of a junkie with multiple felony convictions and several stays at the “gated community” as a guest of the state.

I don’t want to hear a word about how “that’s all in the past” or how I’m “a totally different person now”. Those statements may be true, but the cunning, baffling, powerful nature of addiction means that I am, right now at this very moment at 10:06PM, closer to my next high than my next day clean.

Side note: the knowledge of that fact scares the shit out of me, which is why I make meetings, and stay in contact with my sponsor, and work steps, and try and help my fellow human beings by being of service to them. However, should I stop doing those things, my good intentions and desire to be a decent human being don’t mean shit. Because addiction wants me high, and addiction is a motherfucker.

I’ve been arrested multiple times for drug charges. I’ve been arrested for fighting. I’ve crashed more cars than any human should ever have a right to crash. I’ve left a string failed marriages and relationships in my wake. I was an angry, raging, self-centered fuckup for the first 35 years of my life. I did prison time for drug charges. Then I did prison time for a parole violation. Then I did prison time for another drug charge. Then I did probation. While on probation, I was still an angry, raging, self-centered fuckup and I was on my way BACK to prison when I got placed into a drug court program under the care of a counselor who somehow managed to keep me out of prison until I decided that I couldn’t live that way any more.

I wasn’t brought up to be an angry, raging, self-centered fuckup. I wasn’t brought up in a family of addicts or alcoholics. I wasn’t abused. I had a good home, a good family. As an adopted child, I believe that I am proof that addiction is a genetic disease; because there is no logical reason for me to be sitting here saying “I’m an addict named Cindy”. Yet here we are, discussing my sordid history and how I don’t fit the profile.

Then there’s Reshaud. He’s never been arrested. He’s a kind person. I’ve never seen him angry. Well, except when I eat cookies and try to call it lunch. He’s a great employee. He’s an even greater friend to both myself and my Sunshine. Reshaud was the only person I invited to my wedding.

Side note: I’d have invited my family but they wouldn’t have come. Let’s face it, this is my third marriage, and Sunshine & I had been living together for almost 10 years, so the wedding was long past overdue. All of Sunshines family was there: his dad, all the way from Utah; his two oldest sons; his four grandchildren; his nieces and nephews… I saw that I was going to lose the battle for a very private thing like I wanted, and Reshaud dropped everything he was doing on 5 minutes notice on Christmas Eve to make sure I had somebody there that was there just for me. I’m crying as I type this, because that’s a friend right there. That’s the kind of friend I’m not, and the kind of friend I don’t always deserve.

It was my time in the gated community that started opening my eyes to the insidious nature of racism and inequality in this country. I saw the disparity in sentencing firsthand. I witnessed unfair treatment with my own eyes. I also saw more grace and dignity in the black and brown women in the “gated community” than I saw out of the white ones. White people are fucking crazy, y’all, and you will never convince me otherwise. I did time with white people, hell I AM A WHITE PEOPLE, so I know exactly what we’re capable of. And it ain’t nothing nice.

What really drove it home for me, though, was Katrina. It wasn’t the horror everybody saw on the news that did it. It was what I saw with my own eyes in the rooms of 12 step fellowships. I saw people who claimed to be spiritual–who claimed not to care about age, race, creed, religion, or lack of religion–act in despicable ways when the evacuees started arriving in our area. I saw the people who looked like me get hugs and dinner invites; and I saw the people who looked like my friend Reshaud get ignored. I heard those people share their pain, and I watched them be shunned by people who should have been doing everything in their power to make those people feel welcomed and safe at one of the most horrible times of their lives. Racism is alive and well in this country. It’s just a bit more covert than it used to be.

I don’t fit the profile. I am blonde, with blue eyes, and pale skin. I was treated respectfully, politely even, by law enforcement and judicial officials. Well, except for that time my attorney got frustrated with me for being an absolute ass in a courtroom and threatened to slap me. Seriously, he was not having any more of my shit, no matter how good I was for business. And yes, he actually once said that I was good for business.

Every time the police shoot another black person in this country, I can’t help but cry. Black people are dying in these streets like it’s open season, for infractions as minor as wearing a hoodie and eating Skittles… And I spent years getting away with so much shit that I never got in trouble for… And I know it’s because I don’t fit the profile.

I’m here to tell you that the profile is wrong. I’m a white person who has done some pretty ugly shit, behaved in some really ugly ways, and treated people horrendously; and Reshaud is a black person who is so many of the good things I could never hope to be, never been in prison, never been an addict, and can be trusted with my car keys and credit cards and even with little kids. How the hell does it even make sense that I don’t have to fear for my life for wearing a hoodie and eating some Skittles? I don’t even have to fear for my life while going on a drug fueled bleep fest of a rant at a cop, and yet Reshaud had better be polite and do as the cops order him to or he risks dying. I am heard when I speak, while so many are ignored. I am allowed to speak, when so many are being silenced.

I don’t fit the profile, and that is fucked up. That’s privilege, folks. White privilege.

The profile is wrong. Maybe the only way the profile is going to change is if people who look like me quit being ashamed to say “I am the profile”.

Now, I’m going to leave you with two last images, then I’m going to retreat into my corner and go back to listening to people like Alexis and Benjamin. Because they are worthy of being heard. Their experiences matter. And to be honest, their experiences are most likely a whole lot less sordid than mine.

Which one of these people would you be afraid of?

Leave it to Mr B…

When Mr B came over for his morning cup of hazelnut coffee, he remembered he had something in his truck for me. I went out to retrieve it, knowing only that he said “it will be obvious what’s for you”.

I found these

and they fit.

He said he was sitting at a red light and saw these booties on the ground. He opened the door, leaned out, grabbed the booties, threw them over his head into the back seat of his truck, closed the door, and barely missed having his arm and door smashed off by a vehicle blowing past him in the next lane over.

I’m just glad he & his truck came out of the incident unscathed. Now, I’m off to find some foot fungus spray to make sure these booties are cooties free!

Thinking ahead

Last night, I found some really super cool pendant light fixtures on a flash sale site. I showed them to Sunshine, and he agreed that they were, indeed, very cool. He even thought the price was reasonable, and told me if I wanted them to order them.

I didn’t order them. I’m thinking ahead to cabinets and appliances. Those appliances are the battles I’m choosing to fight. Those appliance are the hills I will die on if I must. The functionality of my kitchen is important to me, and I am willing to compromise somewhat on the aesthetics now to better appliamcererefford the functionality when it comes time to buy cabinets and appliances. 

This morning, I woke up thinking ahead to the move from magic bus to little house.

Side note: I also woke up with a radically different mood this morning that makes me think that straight depression might not be what’s wrong with me; it might be bipolar. That’s a post for a future time, though. 

Black to thinking ahead…

I realized that I’m going to have to pack up all our shit in the multitude of locations we have it stored in (magic bus, storage sheds, cargo container, my truck) and move it into the little house. It will be a great opportunity to purge. 

Honestly, it’s a frightening task. Sunshine is going to be far less willing to part with some things than I will be. It’s also frightening because it makes me realize that I should probably make some hard decisions about my clothes and things. Because why should I spend the energy to move shit I ain’t gonna use? We made that mistake when we moved into the magic bus. 

I’ll probably take you guys on the journey with me. If you can help me laugh at myself, or if I can just get your honesty about some of this stuff; well, than that will be a very good thing indeed. I’ve come to count on seeing your faces surrounding me as I walk this path, and you’ve become very fine companions. I’m grateful for that. It makes me want to shout to the world that “IT’S NEVER JUST THE INTERNET!”, you know?