It is 7:28 am here. The President is visiting 15 minutes from away, and I can feel the madness festering in the atmosphere. I made it another day sober! The idea that I could "secretly drink" spun in my head half the day. I want a micro brew cider that's exotic and not sweet, or pinot noir and then champagne. I have brewed beer in those 5 gallon home set ups, and some of it turned out divine.It was a lot of work, though people weren't rinsing my 22oz bottles, things got gross. I remember some bottles snapped up instantly after bottling, still warm, flat and yeasty. Assholes. That's what sucks about alcohol, all the pretty wrappings and tinsel, all the fancy distraction to the nature of the poison.

I miss my mother, and yesterday was her birthday. I dance with ghosts sometimes, or ruminate like Nurse Ratchet, when i am altered enough. She timed her death to fall the day before her birthday, to complete the circle of 9/9. She was very wild, and intense,a hot tempered red haired piano player. She attracted schizophrenics, other than my father who treated them. 

Thing is, we are all our mothers. Something in me is her. I am her creation. I can attribute certain psychic scar tissue to her violations against me. I have my wounds that also fester there, gilded away with the fog and fat of an aged mind. She kidnapped my brother and I to Florida and hooked up with an unstable, abusive, evil shit, for example. I bring this up to set the fertile scene that my mind feeds on chaos. That imprint, that complete revolution of a world once secure turning dark, has left it's ghost behind. 

I guess all therapy is really about your mom. My son carries his scars, he would dream of me as a zombie. I become a zombie when my frontal lobe is anesthisized by drink. I am not fully here. Considering the mystery bruises I can wake up with, whatever apocalypse i was battling, i think it won. It kills me to know i have left permanent damage to a person I love beyond measure. My beautiful, perfect little boy. Why would I want to be half present? Those days are mostly behind me, as I am learning to deal with my triggers, but so are those precious days when he loved me without judgment. The young man he is becoming has a different opinion. He has such deep contempt for me ever drinking that he threatens to stop loving me all together. I have truly lost the war at that point.

I am off to do a ton of dishes, empty a urine bucket, deal with the saturated moldy aftermath of a water heater failing in a hoarder's basement. Can I deal with it sober?? One day at a time.