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10-14-01 - 1:41 p.m. Don't you hate waking up to find a bruise, or perhaps more than one bruise, on your body and having absolutely no idea as to how you got it/them? This happens to me all the time. Now, I already know I bruise easily. I am a weakling. It is with no regret that I confess this to you. I don't know what's wrong with me on this front. I know I roll around a lot when I sleep, but I don't exactly sleep in a bumpy iron bed. I've decided that the problem is: ghosts. There must be extremely violent spirits living in my apartment who beat me up in my sleep. I can't say I'm a fan of anyone�alive or undead�living here and not helping out with the rent, but just as long as they keep their violent little translucent claws off my car, I'll deal with their presence. A note about why I didn't post for a few days: I was not at home. I didn't feel like writing about it beforehand. Sorry...but not really. I did tell some people, didn't I? I could have sworn I emailed people and told them where I was going and for how long. Perhaps not. Pass it off as selfish teenage careless behavior and smile at the thought that one day I'll grow out of this greedy stage in my adolescence. Anyway, I left Thursday night to go to a weekend rehabilitation clinic. Simple enough. When I told Bryan where I was going, he asked me: "Why?" It's interesting to me how anyone can ask an alcoholic why she feels the need for rehabilitation. I mean, I realize that I'm not even that badly addicted. Not like some people who are older than me and have thus had more time to worsen their condition. I never drank so much at a time, or over a period of time, to the point of a bleed-out, or liver failure or brain damage. But I do know that it's coming, unless I choose to stop it. (Is this repetitive yet?) So I went. And now I'm back. Am I a changed person? Do I see the error of my ways? Will I never drink again? I quote Wayne's World: "Yeah, and monkeys might fly out of my butt." However... Rob's moving back in (but we're not back together), Bryan and I are going to take a salsa dancing class, Kellie and I are on excellent terms, I'm going with Ricky to the homecoming dance at his and Kellie's school, and I found and bought a dress for it that gives me amazing cleavage and minimizes my excessive ghetto booty. Have you ever wanted to just find yourself a mountain, void of all civilization, climb to the very top, overlooking all the city lights and just scream as loud and as long as your lungs will permit? I did that. Last night. I didn't go into the mountains, but instead sufficed the cliffs overlooking the ocean. The best part was listening to it echo. For a second I thought I wasn't the only one screaming. Then I realized all the other voices I heard were just my own. It's a comforting thought to know you aren't alone, that even if you only hear yourself complaining, there are so many millions of others in the same situation as you are, and worse. It's also a horrifying one, to know that others are grappling with the same crap as you. I'm going to focus this week's activities on screwing my head back on straight.
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