THINGS I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT

...and my follow up post, of things I simply can't function without. Here goes (again).

#1 MY APARTMENT

Built in 1927, and previously occupied by a single woman who may or may not have died in here, it's 900+ square feet of hardwood floors, crumbling crown molding and shaky plumbing. It's also the place I have lived the longest in my life. Not only is the rent reasonable, I fucking love the neighborhood I live in. LONG LIVE LINCOLN SQUARE!

#2 iPHONE

My first iPhone was a present from my father, 6 months after it was released. I was making fun of everyone who had one or wanted one. How quickly I became a convert. My fifth one literally sleeps on the pillow next to me at night. Perhaps I will develop testicular cancer from always having it in my left pocket, but I don't care. I can't exist without it. 

#3 GIRLS/LADIES/FEMALES

With the obvious exception of my sometimes awesome roommate, I have have managed to surround myself with a plethora of truly remarkable woman. They not only keep me sane, but also ad and abet in a serious of never ending inside jokes that no one would ever think is funny, but make me literally cry. I may not be into women, but I LOVE them. 

#4 CHICAGO

I feel blessed, lucky even, that I was born and raised here. Of course, I spent my childhood in the suburbs, starting fires and collecting lightening bugs in jars, but as an adult I have resided in this grand, slightly fucked up city, and there is no where else I would prefer to live. Maybe Vancouver, or Auckland...but for now I'm staying put. 

#5 WORK

Even if I hit the lottery tomorrow, I wouldn't quit my job. Not because I like it that much (I do) but I would just be so fucking bored. Maybe it's my latent Catholic School upbringing, but I don't mind wearing a uniform or having a set schedule. In fact, I crave that structure. It keeps me grounded. And in a weird way, I consider my current job as a hobby. 

THE DANCE

Sunday morning I woke up on time for work, and really, Really, REALLY needed to take a piss. BUT my Roommate was occupying the bathroom shaving God knows what (coincidentally she was getting ready for church).

So as I saw it I had 3 options:

#1: KITCHEN SINK: I nixed that since their were dishes in there that needed to be cleaned.

#2: GO OUTSIDE: Maybe an obvious option, but I only piss in alleys at night.

#3: CARAFE: A few days prior I took home a very rare beer in a plastic carafe...

So I pissed in it. In my pantry. And when I was done I sent the lot of it down the trash shoot. Classy, I know, but it was mission critical. Those of you who don't share a bathroom with anyone...you have NO idea how good you have it.

THERAPHY

Let's discuss this concept called "therapy". Specifically, group therapy, of which I have been going through for the last months. I've done 42 hours (out of the 75 court mandated hours) and haven't gone in 2 weeks.

There are many reasons why it's good/bad; lets start with the good. It has been helpful to talk about my problems with anonymous strangers. I can say things to these people I wouldn't tell me Mother. Or Father. And I can learn from other people's situations.

BUT, after spending 2 months in a small room, listening to heroin addicts being berated, or ex-con's who would rather be in jail, or whatever the FUCK else, I needed a break. And in addition, identifying one's own issues (as I think I've done), being beaten over the head with the same message just gets exhausting.

Last night, I had a horrific dream, in which I re-imagined the car accident I was responsible for. Drunk as I was when it originally happened, I clearly remember the officer that arrested me saying that had I not been wearing a seatbelt, I would have been dead - through the windshield.

So last night, and I can still see this clear as day, that happening, having my head severed and watching the paramedics cleaning up my lifeless, headless body, blood and glass mixed together everywhere, lighted with blue strobes.

So...yeah. I've learned my fucking lesson. And I don't need anyone else to tell me how lucky I am to be alive, or how worse it could have been. I've thoroughly beaten the living shit out of my self about this whole thing, and probably will continue to do so.

But maybe more therapy will teach me not to, and get over that hump of feeling guilty, and shitty and beyond remorseful. In the meantime, I will keep working my ass off. And paying off the money I owe these people that are trying to help me.