Wednesday, February 1, 2012:
I am the grandson of a woman I never knew, who spent the last 25 years of her life in a mental institution. Of my four grandparents, I think most of my genes came from her.
I’ve got ten months left and I’m getting a bit antsy.
My protege is coming along just fine. I’ve got him up to twenty miles and working the steps.
Pardon the non-sequiturs.
They’re going to let us have MP3 players. Woo-hoo. I’ve never even owned a cell phone.
I’ve been reading a book about motivational interviewing. It’s about helping people overcome the ambivalence that prevents them from making changes in their lives. It’s going slowly.
My friend, M the barber, just walked in. He’s from Iowa and speaks in a whiny, Midwestern, Jimmy Stewart voice.
My new cellmate hasn’t been in prison a whole year yet. In here, we say about such inmates, He’s still got Burger King on his breath.
I’m ready to go.
Pardon the non-sequiturs.
I gotta keep reminding myself: One day at a time. Just look at today. Just do what you gotta do today. Keep one foot in front of the other. Don’t look past today.
I haven’t had a drink or drug in 2662 days.
I had headaches every day for a month. I didn’t know if it was a sinus infection, inner ear infection, or a brain tumor. I went to see the PA. She said just breathe through my nose more often. My headaches stopped immediately even though I didn’t follow her advice.
I don’t know how I’m going to feel around “normal” people again.
I’m scared.
Pardon the non-sequiturs.
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