Learning how to iron. Learning to polish boots. Still scrubbing my belt buckle. Marching in formation is really difficult with 17 guys that have never done it before. People going in so many different directions. It’s absolute chaos, but we get to work on it every day. I’m exhausted, but dealing with it, as if my life depends on it, which it does.
We haven’t started chemical dependency (CD) treatment yet, that’s next week. But the general consensus from the people that have been in it is that it’s different and it is working for them.
AA in my opinion has turned into too much of a faith-based 12 step program. I have no interest in religion and am generally turned off whenever the subject comes up in public (yes, AA isn’t exactly public but I think I got my point across).
Anyhow, I’m excited to try out a different approach. Maybe this will be the one.
I can say this: they really come after us from all angles here. Mental, physical, emotional, and whatever other angles exist that I don’t know about yet.
This is not just the beginning of the rest of my life. This is the opportunity to enjoy the rest of my life, be a good, honest person, and break free from the evil spell of my addictions.
Failure is simply the opportunity to begin again. This time more intelligently.
[ANNE: I got into trouble again, unintentionally, this time with Vince. For six months, I’ve sent him every blog post, no matter what the content. His, mine…this has been part of the deal, so he can see I’m not editing him, or he can change or clarify something if he wants. But then I got his first letter from boot camp:
“I maybe didn’t clarify enough how important it is to never send me any posts, especially of the nature that you sent most recently. That subject is absolutely taboo. I thought you knew that. Send me the comments from everybody, and your posts. Sending me posts like the Kermit one could easily get me kicked out. No joke. So please think before you send.”
No, he had not told me not to send any of his posts anymore. Given all the conflicting, capricious rules and difficulty of us communicating, he could be forgiven for thinking he had. God, I could have gotten him kicked out of boot camp in his first week!
So there I went again, middle-aged mom wading into the Kafkaesque correctional quagmire (the KCQ—good acronym!).
“Kafkaesque: having a nightmarishly complex, bizarre, or illogical quality, as in “Kafkaesque bureaucratic delays.”]