And the answer to my question of 12/24/10: seven months of sobriety for my son before he descended into the hell of addiction again, this time with heroin added to the mix. Pneumonia, breathing problems, that heroin lean, no light in his eyes, legs shaking with the first hint of detox... so, so sad. In rehab again and I am praying for his soul.

Christmas Eve

Visited ___ in rehab. ___ & I took him & several friends to a meeting & dropped them off- then had pie & coffee at Village Inn, then picked them up & took them back. They all were animated &  liked the meeting, but it was scary hearing their war stories. ___ spent a lot of time on some pretty mean streets.- meaner than I ever realized. It worries me- will he miss the rush, not just the drug rush but the whole thrill of being on the dark side, being an outlaw? Will he be able to escape the lure of those streets, those friends, the used bookstore owner who sells the shit? And what if he doesn't- what will I do? Can I keep on keeping on, while my child is killing himself? He's 26 years old- not a child- but he is still my child. Will he ever grow up? Will I ever let him grow up by letting him go to do what he needs to do?

Only child/lonely child

Only child of a lonely child.
Lonely child of an only child.
____, I love so you much. Please get better, heal from your sorrow.

Gloomy-Sluggish

"Sullen were we in the sweet air, that is gladdened by the Sun, carrying lazy smoke within our hearts; now lie we sullen here in the black mire."

From Dante's Inferto- the Fifth Circle. I would fit right in with the Gloomy-Sluggish crowd.

Intro

Blogging about my life sounds more like an activity for a 20-something emo girl living in a studio apartment in Capitol Hill, someone with the time and inclination to make earnest pronouncements about the meaning of life. I know that sounds condescending, but actually part of me would like to roll back the clock & be that emo girl, on my own. I'd be pretty good at it. Back in the day I did lots of soul-searching- I wrote in spiral notebooks rather than posting in cyberspace, but still... I spent hours scribbling stuff about the war,politics love, sex, books & music. I was so convinced that I could discover the ultimate meaning of life somehow in acid, literature, a long-haired earnest boy, the new Dylan album- but as Bobby would say, I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now.

Not in terms of chronological age- in April I will be 60, for God's sake. But I don't have many expectations any more.

One day at a time, as they say- although honestly I'm not very good at that. I'm the classic codependent-child of an alcoholic father, wife of a chronically depressed man, and mother of a meth addict. Quite the resume. I want to control situations that are uncontrollable- I know it won't work but I keep trying.

In my fantasies I travel back in time, change my childhood, change my marriage, change my son's addiction- and I can't do any of that.

So here I am, in a suburban house that is way too big for 3 people but still seems cluttered & stifling, working for a big corporation, always running 10 minutes behind, always tired, wondering what the hell happened.