Thursday, November 19, 2020
Wednesday, September 9, 2020
El Día Perfecto
"♪ I been goin' silly for the Westside (Westside) / You might catch me rollin' where the reps ride (real reps, real reps, real reps) / Ain't no opposition, I'm the best, right? (Yeah, yeah) / I might take my city on a test drive (test drive) / You don't wanna see me on a good day (oh no, oh no) / You don't wanna see me on a bad day (no, no, no, oh no) / I was just a nigga with some hoop dreams (hoop dreams) / Now, I'm in the league, bitch / Now, I'm in the lead, bitch ♪," your alarm goes. It's 10 a.m. You wake up in your two-story house where your room is decorated as the hippie oasis you've always dreamed of: colorful tapestries, giant amethyst crystals (for cleansing, protection, and inspiration, that is), a simple steel desk with a glass top where an Apple laptop sits, and your dog sleeping in his own bed on the floor because you finally mastered that trick. You're naked because fuck clothes, those smothering, colonial shits. You roll over and come face-to-face with the love of your life. They're open-mouthed snoring with their head titled up and you just smile in amazement that someone as important and unique could bless your presence like this. You go down on them for their alarm clock. And some more X-rated, freak shit continues from there, because you completely trust them and all your insecurities that have been socialized are stifled by low groans and whispers.
Afterwards, you go in the kitchen where you see the most breathtaking sunrise of your life— that pink and orange and purple husky lighting hovering over the Colorado mountains. A lake rests at the bottom. You smile that coy smile and start cooking brunch for you and your lover. Probably pancakes (because they're your favorite and you project your likes onto others like a motherfucker), scrambled eggs with peppers & onion & spinach, and hash browns because carbs aren't really a concern to ya'll.
Then you go to your desk and finish the book you've been working on for, oh, 10 years. Your heart swells with pride and you get a little emotional because that's how your astrology sun sign works. From there, you and your shawty go on a hike not far from your place. Two miles in, two miles out. You bring your camera and take candid walking shots and fall trees and wiley squirrels. You share secrets and accomplishments and failures and laughs and joy.
You go back to the house afterwards and shower. You have fancy reservations at a restaurant that serves the best fettuccine alfredo with shrimp on the planet. So you go outside to find a beautifully restored orange Volkswagen van. This is your transportation. Ya'll go out and have an amazing time. Conversations about aliens and hip hop and your pets and how happy you are that you both don't want kids because you understand that your own childhood wounds need to be healed before you bring delicate creatures into a world that's slowly deteriorating due to global warming, fascism, and an incorrigible wealth gap.
When you get home, you both immediately change into lounging clothes. You go to the balcony on the second floor. The stars are bright and alluring and mysterious. You snuggle on the wicker couch and in front of a fire. You pass a blunt back and forth, listening to a perfectly curated playlist on your iPod. You melt into your love and fall asleep on their chest.
Friday, August 21, 2020
Wednesday, June 17, 2020
iykyk
The last few weeks I've been ruminating on what my three wishes would be if I encountered a genie. As a 26-year-old adult, that's kind of a fucking stupid and pointless conversation to have with yourself every night before you go to sleep, but I am just so desperate to pinpoint where my life went wrong. Went left. Veered off course.
Fall of 2009 I was 15; I went to the doctor to get on antidepressants. How long before that was the Sadness manifesting in subtle ways before it started ripping at my seams? Thinking back, I never felt heard. People were always telling me to not be so loud and to stop talking so much. I never felt validated. Like when I used to write letters to my dad when I was 9 asking him why he never called to invite me over or came to any of my sporting events. The next time we had visitation his girlfriend asked me if someone was making me do it, as if I weren't in touch with my own feelings or lacked awareness. Psychologists say children that come from divorced families are automatically broken. Cracked from the jump. I can see it. My mom spent a decent amount of time talking shit about my dad. She told us he was a cheater, a liar, emotionally abusive, lazy, narcissistic. My dad would dog on her as well: how she thought she was Mother of the Year and how she brainwashed us into thinking he was the bad guy. Meanwhile, they were both contributing to molding fucked up humans.
I wish I were mentally stable. I feel like that would truly have changed the course my life has taken. Maybe I wouldn't have been such a fucking bully in elementary/middle/high school. Maybe I wouldn't have been so angry. I feel bad for treating Justine the way I did. At the beginning of my sophomore year, I used to listen to "Beautiful" by Eminem and "It's Been A While" by Staind on repeat and cut my wrists in my living room late at night when my brothers and mom went to sleep, tears streaming down my face, obsessing over why I was never good enough. Everyone in Peetz thought my family was delinquent trailer trash. They weren't wrong. I started drinking heavy with Paige and smoking a lot of weed with J-Dog. I would party on the weekends, completely neglecting my schoolwork. My grades were low despite my high intellect. It used to piss my teachers off so bad. Originally, I partied because it was fun but after that horrible party in Sterling when I was 19, it stopped being a good time. (You know... the one where I had dropped out of LPN school because I wouldn't stop drinking & drugging, broken up with Traver, and choked Alissa out so Nicole found a country party miles outside of town where I drank a whole bottle of UV Blue, blacked out, took off my shirt, tried to fight Brooke and other boys there, got the cops called so everyone fled since they were underage but no one would give me a ride since I was the one starting shit ((Nicole was supposed to DD but ended up drinking too)) so we had to walk and I somehow ended up getting deep barbwire cuts on my arms and legs. We went to someone's brother's trailer and he called us a taxi. When Nicole went into the bathroom, I had smeared blood alllll over the walls and was sitting naked on the toilet just spitting on the ground.) That truly was the turning point where my hobby morphed into a coping mechanism.
I clearly had a lot of issues before Lock killed himself but that fucked me up on a whole other level. He was the first person I knew who committed suicide. I'd seen it in movies but it was an abstract concept to me until then. Some people blame Morgan's death on Lock. I can see it. I have dreams about him frequently. Lately, I have the knowledge inside my dreams that he is gone and I try to explain to him that he is but seeing him again fills me with so much joy. Brains are strange. I think about these things MINIMUM once a week. Usually more though.
Back to the future. 2020. I thought moving to Texas would be this beautiful new start. I've always visualized it as an Etch-A-Sketch: shaking that red square as the pixels of my past disappear before my eyes. I tried to do the same thing with Florida. Then with Fort Collins. Then with San Diego. Rene told me, "Wherever you go, there you are." He's not wrong. I've applied for jobs. They're interested in hiring me until they get my criminal background check. I don't know if it's the Refusal to Submit to a Breathalyzer from October 2018 or the Shoplifting (less than $500) I got a few weeks later that puts them off. "We've rescinded our offer." No chance of upward mobility at this time. Being a waitress at Red Lobster is not where I pictured myself when I was a child. I mean, sure I have an Associate of Arts from NJC I got in 2016 but you can't do a damn thing with that. I've been too poor to go to university. I've tried to do a nursing program on three separate occasions and fucked up those opportunities every single time. I am a criminal and I am a pauper and I am a drug addict.
Sometimes I get on dating apps and match with plenty of men. I'm too emotionally unavailable and detached and strange to connect on a romantic level. And that's the whole point of living, isn't it? Spending time with people who you love and who love you back? Our animal brains only think about reproducing and carrying on our seeds. I know for a fact I am not cut out to be a parent. My miscarriage with Aaron was necessary & relieving for so many reasons. I know even harder I could never be a wife. Growing up, and maybe this is the Hollywood conditioning in me, all I wanted was to have a husband and a couple of children and a two-story house with a white picket fence. As time goes on, I see that I will never attain these things. A few months ago my mom told me there's eight dimensions of wellness: physical, intellectual, emotional, social, spiritual, vocational, financial, and environmental. I am unstable on every level and have been for a long time. I don't even see how they find this shell of a person appealing in the first place.
I have friends. I love my friends. They know this. But, fuck, they have their own lives. And anyway, even when I do confess the depths my depression/bipolar disorder has drug me to, they never know what to say. In all honesty, I don't think there's anything in the world that could console me. It's all bleak. Kurz, Whitney, Kyli, Kassandra, Keith, Jenna, Holiday... Marcus & Olivia & Daniel & Izabela & Shalynn & Nina & Mallori... I love my people. I know I can be overwhelming when I send songs and memes and podcasts and articles and comedy. So I just stopped sending them. I considered them extensions of myself and when they were ignored, that childhood pain was brought back to life with a defibrillator's jolt. I'm sensitive, I know. Probably too much.
I'm so incredibly drained. Tired of being sad. Tired of feeling useless... worthless. Tired of feeling like a bother. Tired of this existence where all I do is sleep my days away and wish I could start over. That I could have been like those preppy Sidney/Sterling girls I used to envy. The ones with self-discipline that took summer trips to Europe and went to homecoming with smart soccer players. I'm embarrassed of the pick-me ass bitch I was with Dillon and Jordan and Jared. I saw this quote on Instagram by Sarah Manguso that said, "The trouble with letting people see you at your worst isn't that they'll remember, it's that you'll remember." And, maaan, if that isn't the realest shit I've ever read.
My love for my mom knows no bounds. I know that she would murder someone for me. But you can't live for others. Or die for them. That's peak co-dependency right there. All she wanted was a daughter and that turned out to be... me. Fuck, I feel sorry for her. She tried and gave and sacrificed and endured and persevered. She deserves the world, that lady...
Brian would be upset. He says it's selfish. He says that Lock gave up and left how many people hurt and confused, meanwhile he's still showing up to PHS every fall, putting up with shitty sevies and apathetic seniors fighting the good fight. I agree with him. He's my angel.
Kevin would be upset. No one I know has ever met Kevin. But he thinks giving up will just lead to your next life being even more miserable. On some karma shit. That you'll have to deal with this life's drama and trauma and issues on top of all your past lives' baggage. Maybe. I'm interested in seeing what's on the other side. And that idea alone leads me to believe I have driven myself truly and completely fucking crazy. Not like quirky Susanna Kaysen or intricate Sybil or silly Kevin Wendell Crumb... Neurotic, delusional, self-pitying Janessa Garvin insane.
I used to come up with these scenarios... where, even though I'd only visited Lock's house after his death, I would serendipitously show up on Lock's front porch, moments before he shot himself. He would be surprised at the interruption of his plan. I would somehow talk him down and tell him I hurt as much as he did and that we could make it through. And then he would still be alive. I wish [they] would have reached out. Okay, but what if they have? Time and time again. Year after year after year after year. And your answer remains, "It'll get better." But then it doesn't. You still fixate on the fact that you let your mental health get in the way of your career at Broadcom where you called in all the time and put extra hours on your timecard and left work four hours early too often. Or you remember when girls would shower after basketball games and leave the locker room and you would steal money from their purses. You think about the time you told Austin you would watch 2010 A Nightmare on Elm Street and then canceled 30 minutes later and he texted you, "It's not like I went and got it already...." (He was mad. Sad? Why were you so aloof when all he wanted was for you to let him in?)
I don't have answers. I don't. I wish I did. (This isn't one for the genie...) I desire to be whole and content and appreciative and happy. Not this insatiable, incorrigible ingrate. I've had a headache for days now and just want it to go away. The stress gets to me. I can't forgive myself but I hope you do.
“All I ever really want to know is how other people are making it through life—where do they put their body, hour by hour, and how do they cope inside of it.” ―Miranda July
Fall of 2009 I was 15; I went to the doctor to get on antidepressants. How long before that was the Sadness manifesting in subtle ways before it started ripping at my seams? Thinking back, I never felt heard. People were always telling me to not be so loud and to stop talking so much. I never felt validated. Like when I used to write letters to my dad when I was 9 asking him why he never called to invite me over or came to any of my sporting events. The next time we had visitation his girlfriend asked me if someone was making me do it, as if I weren't in touch with my own feelings or lacked awareness. Psychologists say children that come from divorced families are automatically broken. Cracked from the jump. I can see it. My mom spent a decent amount of time talking shit about my dad. She told us he was a cheater, a liar, emotionally abusive, lazy, narcissistic. My dad would dog on her as well: how she thought she was Mother of the Year and how she brainwashed us into thinking he was the bad guy. Meanwhile, they were both contributing to molding fucked up humans.
I wish I were mentally stable. I feel like that would truly have changed the course my life has taken. Maybe I wouldn't have been such a fucking bully in elementary/middle/high school. Maybe I wouldn't have been so angry. I feel bad for treating Justine the way I did. At the beginning of my sophomore year, I used to listen to "Beautiful" by Eminem and "It's Been A While" by Staind on repeat and cut my wrists in my living room late at night when my brothers and mom went to sleep, tears streaming down my face, obsessing over why I was never good enough. Everyone in Peetz thought my family was delinquent trailer trash. They weren't wrong. I started drinking heavy with Paige and smoking a lot of weed with J-Dog. I would party on the weekends, completely neglecting my schoolwork. My grades were low despite my high intellect. It used to piss my teachers off so bad. Originally, I partied because it was fun but after that horrible party in Sterling when I was 19, it stopped being a good time. (You know... the one where I had dropped out of LPN school because I wouldn't stop drinking & drugging, broken up with Traver, and choked Alissa out so Nicole found a country party miles outside of town where I drank a whole bottle of UV Blue, blacked out, took off my shirt, tried to fight Brooke and other boys there, got the cops called so everyone fled since they were underage but no one would give me a ride since I was the one starting shit ((Nicole was supposed to DD but ended up drinking too)) so we had to walk and I somehow ended up getting deep barbwire cuts on my arms and legs. We went to someone's brother's trailer and he called us a taxi. When Nicole went into the bathroom, I had smeared blood alllll over the walls and was sitting naked on the toilet just spitting on the ground.) That truly was the turning point where my hobby morphed into a coping mechanism.
I clearly had a lot of issues before Lock killed himself but that fucked me up on a whole other level. He was the first person I knew who committed suicide. I'd seen it in movies but it was an abstract concept to me until then. Some people blame Morgan's death on Lock. I can see it. I have dreams about him frequently. Lately, I have the knowledge inside my dreams that he is gone and I try to explain to him that he is but seeing him again fills me with so much joy. Brains are strange. I think about these things MINIMUM once a week. Usually more though.
Back to the future. 2020. I thought moving to Texas would be this beautiful new start. I've always visualized it as an Etch-A-Sketch: shaking that red square as the pixels of my past disappear before my eyes. I tried to do the same thing with Florida. Then with Fort Collins. Then with San Diego. Rene told me, "Wherever you go, there you are." He's not wrong. I've applied for jobs. They're interested in hiring me until they get my criminal background check. I don't know if it's the Refusal to Submit to a Breathalyzer from October 2018 or the Shoplifting (less than $500) I got a few weeks later that puts them off. "We've rescinded our offer." No chance of upward mobility at this time. Being a waitress at Red Lobster is not where I pictured myself when I was a child. I mean, sure I have an Associate of Arts from NJC I got in 2016 but you can't do a damn thing with that. I've been too poor to go to university. I've tried to do a nursing program on three separate occasions and fucked up those opportunities every single time. I am a criminal and I am a pauper and I am a drug addict.
Sometimes I get on dating apps and match with plenty of men. I'm too emotionally unavailable and detached and strange to connect on a romantic level. And that's the whole point of living, isn't it? Spending time with people who you love and who love you back? Our animal brains only think about reproducing and carrying on our seeds. I know for a fact I am not cut out to be a parent. My miscarriage with Aaron was necessary & relieving for so many reasons. I know even harder I could never be a wife. Growing up, and maybe this is the Hollywood conditioning in me, all I wanted was to have a husband and a couple of children and a two-story house with a white picket fence. As time goes on, I see that I will never attain these things. A few months ago my mom told me there's eight dimensions of wellness: physical, intellectual, emotional, social, spiritual, vocational, financial, and environmental. I am unstable on every level and have been for a long time. I don't even see how they find this shell of a person appealing in the first place.
I have friends. I love my friends. They know this. But, fuck, they have their own lives. And anyway, even when I do confess the depths my depression/bipolar disorder has drug me to, they never know what to say. In all honesty, I don't think there's anything in the world that could console me. It's all bleak. Kurz, Whitney, Kyli, Kassandra, Keith, Jenna, Holiday... Marcus & Olivia & Daniel & Izabela & Shalynn & Nina & Mallori... I love my people. I know I can be overwhelming when I send songs and memes and podcasts and articles and comedy. So I just stopped sending them. I considered them extensions of myself and when they were ignored, that childhood pain was brought back to life with a defibrillator's jolt. I'm sensitive, I know. Probably too much.
I'm so incredibly drained. Tired of being sad. Tired of feeling useless... worthless. Tired of feeling like a bother. Tired of this existence where all I do is sleep my days away and wish I could start over. That I could have been like those preppy Sidney/Sterling girls I used to envy. The ones with self-discipline that took summer trips to Europe and went to homecoming with smart soccer players. I'm embarrassed of the pick-me ass bitch I was with Dillon and Jordan and Jared. I saw this quote on Instagram by Sarah Manguso that said, "The trouble with letting people see you at your worst isn't that they'll remember, it's that you'll remember." And, maaan, if that isn't the realest shit I've ever read.
My love for my mom knows no bounds. I know that she would murder someone for me. But you can't live for others. Or die for them. That's peak co-dependency right there. All she wanted was a daughter and that turned out to be... me. Fuck, I feel sorry for her. She tried and gave and sacrificed and endured and persevered. She deserves the world, that lady...
Brian would be upset. He says it's selfish. He says that Lock gave up and left how many people hurt and confused, meanwhile he's still showing up to PHS every fall, putting up with shitty sevies and apathetic seniors fighting the good fight. I agree with him. He's my angel.
Kevin would be upset. No one I know has ever met Kevin. But he thinks giving up will just lead to your next life being even more miserable. On some karma shit. That you'll have to deal with this life's drama and trauma and issues on top of all your past lives' baggage. Maybe. I'm interested in seeing what's on the other side. And that idea alone leads me to believe I have driven myself truly and completely fucking crazy. Not like quirky Susanna Kaysen or intricate Sybil or silly Kevin Wendell Crumb... Neurotic, delusional, self-pitying Janessa Garvin insane.
I used to come up with these scenarios... where, even though I'd only visited Lock's house after his death, I would serendipitously show up on Lock's front porch, moments before he shot himself. He would be surprised at the interruption of his plan. I would somehow talk him down and tell him I hurt as much as he did and that we could make it through. And then he would still be alive. I wish [they] would have reached out. Okay, but what if they have? Time and time again. Year after year after year after year. And your answer remains, "It'll get better." But then it doesn't. You still fixate on the fact that you let your mental health get in the way of your career at Broadcom where you called in all the time and put extra hours on your timecard and left work four hours early too often. Or you remember when girls would shower after basketball games and leave the locker room and you would steal money from their purses. You think about the time you told Austin you would watch 2010 A Nightmare on Elm Street and then canceled 30 minutes later and he texted you, "It's not like I went and got it already...." (He was mad. Sad? Why were you so aloof when all he wanted was for you to let him in?)
I don't have answers. I don't. I wish I did. (This isn't one for the genie...) I desire to be whole and content and appreciative and happy. Not this insatiable, incorrigible ingrate. I've had a headache for days now and just want it to go away. The stress gets to me. I can't forgive myself but I hope you do.
“All I ever really want to know is how other people are making it through life—where do they put their body, hour by hour, and how do they cope inside of it.” ―Miranda July
⏷
Part 2:
I guess this makes it seem like the whole 26 years have been unbearable. Untrue.
Off the top of my head, my favorite memory is dancing with Keith & Emily to Adventure Club in the rain at Red Rocks rolling on molly. Perfection. Beautiful. Oh my, was that amazing. Datsik at First Bank Center with Dustin, Keith, & Skyler was fantastic, too— I don't remember if that was just molly or acid as well. Shows were really special to me at one point.
Marcus has helped make my adulthood comfortable & easy. His funny ass personality and kindness is an experience all in itself. I love him big. When Olivia, Chantae, & I day-tripped at my dad's house and then his tenant came by & we had to pretend like we weren't balls deep in a rabbit hole. It rained and there was a psychedelic rainbow. ♡
Sol being born. Obvs. What an angel. I visited Ocean Beach in San Diego on a sunny day and was exploring over these rocks and in the puddles were tiny snails, just minding their own business and inciting awe in me. Designing MySpace pages. Just today, on this 90 degree Texas summer day, "Gypsy" by Fleetwood Mac came on the radio and it almost moved me to tears.
One day my dad and I were listening to music and making up stupid dances, making each other laugh... I really liked that. Taking naps with my mom. Meeting Mac Miller. When Cassius was a puppy, he would make me laugh at his awkward, adorable puppy mishaps. Holiday telling me about his wild adventures in boot camp. Watching Dave Chappelle stand-up. Corissa and I tripping on acid and her laughing her ass off at me for unlocking a car door with my finger instead of the button. Staying up after a delicious dinner, drinking wine with Lorna as we binge-watched "Sex and the City". Brother Josh playing basketball at lunch in high school, his uncoordinated ass getting furious and struggling to make a basket even when he was only a foot from the rim. Daniel Ryan— everything about that angel child... he means everything to me. Roberta and I tripping on acid in Las Vegas watching "Pan's Labyrinth" and "Ready Player One". Kyli's hilarious jokes and her mellifluous laughter. Whitney Nicole and her radiance and strength. KURZ!! oh my... those 5 amazing years in his classroom and all our texts & conversations since. The books and work Maria assigned. My uncle Ricky's laugh and his gigantic heart. Watching "Wanted". Listening to J. Cole, Tech N9ne, Tyler the Creator, and Megan Thee Stallion albums front to back.
Some of these may sound corny or boring or unfunny, but I promise, at the time, they were everything I could have ever dreamed of.
Tuesday, June 16, 2020
solo
Cranes in the Sky by Solange
I tried to drink it away
I tried to put one in the air
I tried to dance it away
I tried to change it with my hair
I tried to put one in the air
I tried to dance it away
I tried to change it with my hair
I ran my credit card bill up
Thought a new dress would make it better
I tried to work it away
But that just made me even sadder
I tried to keep myself busy
I ran around circles
Think I made myself dizzy
I slept it away
I sexed it away
I read it away
Thought a new dress would make it better
I tried to work it away
But that just made me even sadder
I tried to keep myself busy
I ran around circles
Think I made myself dizzy
I slept it away
I sexed it away
I read it away
Away, away, away, away, away, away
Away, away, away, away, away
Away, away, away, away, away
Well it's like cranes in the sky
Sometimes I don't wanna feel those metal clouds
Yeah it's like cranes in the sky
Sometimes I don't wanna feel those metal clouds
Sometimes I don't wanna feel those metal clouds
Yeah it's like cranes in the sky
Sometimes I don't wanna feel those metal clouds
I tried to run it away
Thought then my head be feeling clearer
I traveled 70 states
Thought moving 'round make me feel better
Thought then my head be feeling clearer
I traveled 70 states
Thought moving 'round make me feel better
I tried to let go my lover
Thought if I was alone then maybe I could recover
To write it away or cry it away (don't you cry baby)
Thought if I was alone then maybe I could recover
To write it away or cry it away (don't you cry baby)
Away, away, away, away, away, away
Away, away, away, away, away
Away, away, away, away, away
But it's like cranes in the sky
Sometimes I don't wanna feel those metal clouds
Yeah it's like cranes in the sky
Sometimes I don't wanna feel those metal clouds
Sometimes I don't wanna feel those metal clouds
Yeah it's like cranes in the sky
Sometimes I don't wanna feel those metal clouds
Away, away, away, away, away, away
Thursday, March 19, 2020
Wednesday, February 26, 2020
mellowlist
◉ All About Our Love — Sade
◉ Back in the Day — Erykah Badu
◉ Bag Lady — Erykah Badu
◉ The Barrel — Aldous Harding
◉ Best — Borgore
◉ Blackbird — The Beatles
◉ Break of Dawn — Michael Jackson
◉ The Barrel — Aldous Harding
◉ Best — Borgore
◉ Blackbird — The Beatles
◉ Break of Dawn — Michael Jackson
◉ Broken Clocks — SZA
◉ Butterflies — Michael Jackson
◉ Bulletproof Soul — Sade
◉ Butterflies — Michael Jackson
◉ Bulletproof Soul — Sade
◉ Candy Bling — Mariah Carey
◉ Candy Rain — Soul for Real
◉ Certainly — Erykah Badu
◉ Closer — Goapele
◉ Code Blue — The-Dream
◉ Code Blue — The-Dream
◉ Consideration — Rihanna featuring SZA
◉ Cranes in the Sky — Solange
◉ Do Me, Baby — Prince
◉ Do Me, Baby — Prince
◉ Don't Touch My Hair — Solange
◉ Easy — The Commodores
◉ Easy — The Commodores
◉ FEEL. — Kendrick Lamar
◉ Female Energy — Willow Smith
◉ Garden Shed — Tyler the Creator
◉ Grown & Sexy — Damian Marley
◉ Garden Shed — Tyler the Creator
◉ Grown & Sexy — Damian Marley
◉ Honey — Erykah Badu
◉ Human Nature — Michael Jackson
◉ Human Nature — Michael Jackson
◉ I Don't Wanna Take You To No Club — S A S H A
◉ It Gets Better (With Time) — The Internet
◉ It Gets Better (With Time) — The Internet
◉ Lavender and Velvet — Alina Baraz
◉ Lingerie — Lizzo
◉ Lingerie — Lizzo
◉ Loungin (Who Do Ya Luv) — LL Cool J
◉ Lost In Love — I-15
◉ LOVE. — Kendrick Lamar
◉ Loveeeeeee Song — Rihanna
◉ LOYALTY. — Kendrick Lamar
◉ Me — Summer Walker
◉ Maybe — Alina Baraz
◉ Needed Me — Rihanna
◉ No Ordinary Love — Sade
◉ Me — Summer Walker
◉ Maybe — Alina Baraz
◉ Needed Me — Rihanna
◉ No Ordinary Love — Sade
◉ On Melancholy Hill — The Gorillaz
◉ One and Only — Mariah Carey
◉ Phone Down — Erykah Badu
◉ Precious Possession — Anna Wise
◉ Phone Down — Erykah Badu
◉ Precious Possession — Anna Wise
◉ Running — Nicotine
◉ Slip — Elliot Moss
◉ Smile — Isaiah Rashad
◉ Smile — Isaiah Rashad
◉ Smile/Petty — Anderson .Paak
◉ Soldier of Love — Sade
◉ Something — The Beatles
◉ Special Affair — The Internet
◉ Something — The Beatles
◉ Special Affair — The Internet
◉ Stay — Rihanna
◉ Stay the Night — The Internet
◉ Stay the Night — The Internet
◉ Tyrone — Erykah Badu
◉ Wat's Wrong — Isaiah Rashad
◉ Wat's Wrong — Isaiah Rashad
◉ Weary — Solange
◉ Yeah, I Said It — Rihanna
◉ 9 — Willow Smith
Tuesday, February 25, 2020
Testimony
I don't know if this is some of ya'll's first time trying to get clean, or second or third or fourth or whatever. It doesn't make any difference. But I just wanted to go back to that form of life. So every time I got out of prison I'd say, "Well... if I just don't do this... If I just don't stick needles in my arm. If I just don't do methamphetamines. If I just don't smoke crack. If I just don't drink and drive. If I just..." And it was always "if I just". All those things were my Ideas. And I'm sure ya'll got a head full of 'em, because I know I did for many many many MANY years. They were always my ideas.
There's a saying in the program of Alcoholics Anonymous, and you'll hear it in the readings... It says something about, "These things were nil until we let go absolutely." And I had to let go absolutely. I had to let another man control my life. And that's who I call my sponsor. That's what I had to do. I had to turn something over to somebody because my decision- making skills weren't any good. And just because I get clean and sober don't mean that I start making good decisions. I'm 17 years sober and I still call my sponsor and ask him. Still. Because I'm still an Alcoholic-Addict. I'm still that person, you know? And so I need to make sure before I make decisions to run it by somebody before I make decisions.
Anyway, October 11, 2002, I stepped out of the penitentiary for the last time and everything. They were sending me to a halfway house in Abilene, Texas. And some of ya'll may know where it is. It's called the 180 House. They sent me to Abilene. I never been to Abilene before in my life. It was going to be just like any other halfway house. I did not get out of prison in 2002 going, "I'm gonna clean myself up." I had no plans of getting clean and sober. I had no plans of what happened to me. It was going to be the typical: get out of prison, go to the halfway house, find My People (it'll take about 2 or 3 days), and get the hell out of here. That was my plan. You know? I wasn't scared to go back. I can say that through all those years of addiction and alcoholism and living in all the places I lived in, I lived better in prison than I did on the streets. I did. And that's sad. That's very sad.
So I had no plan of cleaning up or anything else like that when I got here. It was going to be my typical: okay, let's go to this place, let's find my guy, let's find my girl, whoever it needs to be, and let's get out of here. And I'm going to go back to prison. Okay. I've done this deal for twenty plus years. Let's keep doing it.
So I got to the 180 House. I had to pay 'em just a little money, what the penitentiary gave me so I could stay there a week, and I started looking for My People. I wasn't one to just go up and ask you. I could tell. I knew who My People were. And so that took all of about three days and I found my guy. And I just started watching him and just kind of watching what was going on around me. That he could be The One to help me get out of here. So I been there three days. And I pull the gentleman to the side. His name was Michael Ian. He's still a friend of mine today. I asked Michael, I said, "Hey..." I said, "Do you know where I can get any guns? Credit cards? Stolen checks? Or anything like that so I can get out of here?"
He said, "Dude, didn't you just get out of prison??" I'd been there three days. We're going to these damn meetings. They make you go to these damn meetings.
And I said, "Yeah."
He said, "You're gonna go back."
And I said, "I don't care. I just need to get away from here."
And he says, "Are you serious?"
And I says, "I'm serious."
He says, "Well, come on." And he tricked me. Because we walk down to his room, there at the 180 House, and the Texas-OU game is playing. That's the first time I can tell you, looking back, as a person not believing in God, that God did for me what I could not do for myself. I like Texas-OU games.
He goes, "You like Texas-OU?"
I said, "Yeah!"
He goes, "Let's watch it!" And we did. We watched the game. And we got into the evening. And he took me down to Taco Bell. He bought me something to eat. And it got later that night, and he says, "Hey. Don't go nowhere tonight, man. I'll holler at you in the morning."
I said, "Alright."
The next morning, he did. He came and knocked on my door bright and early in the morning. Probably 6 o'clock, 6:30 in the morning. It was a Sunday morning. And, uhh, he had an armful of clothes.
And he goes, "Hey. You realize you ain't change clothes since you been here?"
I said, "Yeah. These are the clothes the prison gave me. Why?"
He said, "Why don't you change your clothes, man?" And that's who I was. I could go weeks... days without changing clothes. I could go days or weeks without showering sometimes. I'm not going to sit here and tell you I was the cleanest freak out there. I wasn't. I was nasty. Maybe all ya'll took showers everyday and put on clean clothes and brushed your teeth. Maybe ya'll got pedicures and manicures but that wasn't who I was. I was a stone-cold Alcoholic-Addict. That's who I was. And, um, anyway... so he gave me a change of clothes and I changed clothes and everything and we talked a little bit and he told me to give this thing a chance and and this and that.
And I said, "Well, I don't know, you know? I just need to get out of here." And I still had no desire to clean up. The only reason I was clean for those three or four days is because that place will kick you out if you use or drink and I'm having to go to these meetings and I'm hearing these stories in these meetings and I hear ya'll talking about some kind of 12 Steps and I hear ya'll talking about "get a sponsor". I hear ya'll talking about all that, but it's going in one ear and out the other because I have Ideas.
Monday morning rolls around and everybody went to work. And I realized that I was going to have to have some money here real quick to pay another week's worth of rent. And I had to look for a job. I hadn't done any of that stuff since I'd been there. I had no desire to look for a job or anything like that.
I did know one person here in Abilene, and it was the wife of a fellow convict that I met down there. He was an eleven-time loser. And he had been with his wife for a long long time. And I was supposed to parole to their house but that did not work out, because Greg told me his wife had changed. That she was just like us— she was an Alcoholic-Addict for many many years and that she had changed and that she had changed into a Cheezus Freak. And so she wasn't gonna allow me to parole there. So I did have her number. She's the one that picked me up from the bus station and took me to the 180 House. And the first thing she wanted to talk about was Cheezusand I didn't want to hear nothin' about no damn Cheezus. And how much he loved me. And I didn't want to hear all that.
So I thought I'd call Mary and ask her if she knew anybody that might need some help, because Mary lived in Abilene her whole life. And so I called Mary up on the payphone at the 180 House and asked her if she knew anybody that might be looking for help or might need some help or something like this, and of course, immediately, Mary wanted to start talking about Cheezus. And wanted to know if I'd prayed to Cheezus. And ask Cheezus.
And I said, "Mary, I don't believe in Cheezus. I don't believe in God. That's not who I am."
And she said, "Rick, you have to. Cheezus loves you. He;s gonna help you."
And I said, "Mary, I just need a damn job."
And she says, "I understand."
And she says, "Well... if you don't believe in Cheezus, Rick, I do. I believe in him. And I believe God is going to help you."
And I said, "Okay... I mean... how's he going to do that?"
And she goes, "Well, can you say what I say?"
And I said, "What do you mean?"
And she says, "I'm going to pray and I want you to say what I say." I will do anything this woman tells me to do as long as she'll get me a job. Okay? I'm just gonna use her. Just like I've used everybody in my life. And so she said something about, "Cheezus, help me find a job."
And I said, "Cheezus help me find a job."
"God forgive me of my sins."
"God forgive me of my sins." I don't remember what she said but it was along those lines. But, you know, I was praying to something I don't believe in. And I was talking to something I hadn't talked to in a long long long long long time. And she got through saying what she said and I got through repeating what she said and she goes, "Well alright! Good luck!" And she hung up. That's what happened.
I can tell you I walked from the payphone and sat on the couch. Right there at the 180 House and watched some tv. I sat on the couch and a guy came through the door and he walked right up to me and he said, "Hey, you lookin' for any work?"
I said, "Yeah. I am."
He says, "What do you do?" I didn't work my whole life, but I do know today that we all have gifts. And I was given a gift. We all have them. And I have a gift that God gave me. I don't have any experience in construction. I didn't work construction jobs. I didn't paint houses. I didn't frame houses. I didn't roof houses. I didn't do none of that shit, okay? But I know how to do it. I knew how to do it that day. It's a gift. It's something I can do.
I said, "I do construction."
He said, "What kind of construction?"
I said, "I can do anything."
He said, "Really? Well that's what I do. I remodel and flip houses. And that's what I'm needing. I need someone to help us out. What kind of money are you looking for?" I ain't got no tools. Don't have no vehicle. I ain't got no drivers license. I deserve at least fifteen dollars an hour. Typical Alcoholic-Addict. That's who we are.
He said, "Son, I've got guys that been working for me for 30 years that don't make that kind of money. I'll give you seven dollars an hour." This was 17 years ago, which is not a long ago. I knew I needed something and so I said, "Okay."
He said, "I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll come pick you up every day, I'll drop you off every day, and I'll buy you lunch every day."
I said, "Okay." And I went to work.
You probably heard the promises they read in the A.A. meetings. There's promises after every step and after the ninth step it says: "Sometimes they happen quickly. Sometimes they happen slowly." I'm not going to apologize to anybody and never have because they happened to me so very very quickly. They came on and they kept coming and coming and coming. I mean, my life started changing dramatically.
So I got the job. I went to work. I'd go to these meetings. I'm starting to think, Maybe I'll stick around here... I've been around here a week, a week and a half, I'm laughing, I'm having conversations with strangers (which is strange), I'm getting along with the guys... I'm trying to find me a girlfriend (I mean, I just got out of prison. Somebody's got to be available). And I'm feeling pretty good. Just in a week and a half, I'm feeling pretty good. So I'm thinking, Why not stick around for a little bit? And let's just see what this thing's gonna do. And so I heard about this sponsorship thing. And somewhere in those first few weeks, I can't tell you exactly when it was, this is what I heard, and this is my story. Ya'll told me to find a sponsor that has something I want. That's what I heard in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous. They told me to get a sponsor that had something I want. They did not say, "You need to find a sponsor that has been to prison. You need a sponsor that shot dope like you shot dope. You need to find a sponsor that stole cars like you stole cars." I didn't hear none of that. I heard: find a sponsor that has something you want. This is my story. This is how I chose my sponsor. There was an old cowboy that sat back in the back. I heard him talk about his ranches. I heard him talk about his cattle. I heard him talk about some oil. I heard him talk about some land. He had some dually pickups. He had lots of cattle; he'd be hauling cattle in these big ol' long cattle things. He'd be going to his other ranch. And I heard him talk about this and I thought, Huh...... Find somebody that has something you want? This guy's got some money and I want some of that. I did not think, That guy sounds like he'd be a good sponsor. He might have his shit together.
So I asked Kurtis to be my sponsor. He handed me a card and said, "Here's my number. You call me every day for 90 days and we'll see how it goes.You miss a day, find a new sponsor."
I said, "Okay. I can do that." And I did. I called Kurtis every day for two years. And I still talk to him three, four times a week. I'm not scared to pick up that phone. A lot of people go, "Why is the phone so heavy??" But I've been around long enough now that I've heard 'em all.
"Well I didn't have time. I worked late." Bullshit.
"Oh, man, we got busy! My girlfriend—" Bullshit.
"Oh, my kid was in the—" Bullshit. You got time to pick the phone up and call your sponsor. It's all bullshit stories. If you don't want to call your sponsor, just say, "I didn't want to call you today." Let's just be honest, you know? Because you always have time to pick the phone up and call somebody.
Anyway, I'd only been there a couple weeks at that time. The guy I was working for did tell me that if I wanted to get a raise— because soon I didn't work for him but a week and I thought I deserved a raise already— he told me if I got a truck he'd give me a two dollar raise. I'll make this story real quick: old man knocked on my door one evening, asked me if I was R— and I said, "Yeah."
And he says, "You lookin' for a truck?"
And I said, "Yeah but I ain't got no money."
He said, "I didn't ask if you had any money. I heard you might be looking for a vehicle." We went over on North 10th to this barn. There was a '93 Nissan pick-up. It had about 35,000 miles on it that looked like it had about 735,000 miles on it. They used it on this guy's farm to throw fire wood in the back of it. Sometimes they hit the truck, sometimes they didn't. Sometimes they made it, sometimes it went through the window. This truck was a nice 35,000-mile truck. And he asked me if I'd give him fifteen hundred bucks for it and I said, "I told you I didn't have any money."
He said, "You think you could give me fifty bucks a week?"
I said, "Sure. I could give you fifty bucks a week because I know if I get this truck, I'll get a two-dollar raise." That's eighty bucks more a week. I could afford fifty bucks, you know? I'm thinking about insurance, too. He whipped the title out, he signed the title, said, "Sign here." He signed it and said, "Go on about your way."
I don't know what would have went through ya'll's mind when he signed the title, but what went through my mind is: "I'm never paying you a dime." I mean, I wasn't well in two weeks... three weeks. I wasn't trying to just live a good life. I was just trying to get on my feet. When I left that barn that night, I had no intentions of ever giving that guy anything. He signed the title over to me.
I got to work. I got a two-dollar-an-hour raise. I told him I had a truck. I could not drive that truck that first day because someone told me I needed to talk to the program director of the halfway house. I went up to him and said, "I got a truck. Somebody said I needed to come talk to you before I drove it. I didn't drive it to work today. What's up?"
He said, "You got a driver's license?"
I said, "No."
He said, "You got insurance?"
I said, "No."
He said, "If you drive that truck, you get kicked out of here. You get you a driver's license and some insurance first. If I hear you're driving that truck, I'll kick you out."
And I'll tell you, that really was one of the best things that ever happened to me. There was a couple of years ago that I was driving down the road, minding my own business, and my life kind of flashed in front of me. The last fourteen/fifteen years. And that was one of the best things he ever did for me. Not allowing me to drive that truck without a driver's license and insurance. And what that taught me is: shortcuts. I'm trying to shortcut everything. I'm trying to rush everything. I'm trying to rush the process.
So I got a license. I got insurance. All this happened within about three weeks. I'm driving this vehicle. I got a two-dollar-an-hour raise. I've got a sponsor. Honestly, I wasn't really working the steps but my sponsor was giving me suggestions; telling me to read this, read that. I was lying to him, "Yeah, I'm reading that, and I'll let you know what I read and..." Bullshit. I was lying to him. You know? I really was.
I thought now that I had a vehicle, I had a license, I had a insurance, I had a job, I'd be there about three and a half weeks, I was looking for a girlfriend. It's pretty easy to find a girlfriend in a halfway house if you got a job, a vehicle, and a driver's license. Then it became a little easier. They see you driving, now they want a ride. "Hey, this guy's got a car! He's got a job!" And so I did... I found me a little sicko. I did. I had to go for an easy real sick, sick one. I'd go to A.A. meetings and listen to them talk. I knew she'd been to treatment, like, eleven times. I was like, "That's my girl! That's my girl! Right there. That's her. She just became The One™."
Things were going really good at about four weeks. In such a short period of time. I can tell you when my life changed. It was on the 35th day of recovery, is when my life changed. And when my mind changed, my attitude changed, everything changed. I come home from work on my 35th day of recovery. I had been clean and sober for 35 days, since the day I got out of prison. I didn't count my prison time. Some people do. I started mine when I got out. I came home and I heard the director hollering, "Rick!"
I go, "What!?"
"You got a letter!"
I said, "A letter...?" I haven't spoken to my family in 20 years. I don't know if they're alive... or dead. Nobody knows where I'm at. What do you mean I got a letter? That's kind of what went through my mind. A letter? From who?
And so I went in there and got the letter and immediately I recognized it. It was the letter that I had written the 180 House with the parole papers asking if I could stay there. They were supposed to fill out the forms and send it to the parole board and I'd be going to the halfway house. That's what the letter was. It had come back in the same envelope but a different letter and returned to me. And by the time the letter had gotten back to me, I'd already paroled there. So it had come back and found me.
So I went to my room, and I went to go take me a shower because I just got off work. I needed a shower because I was getting with my little girlfriend I'd got and we'd go out and get a bite to eat or something. Anyway, I took a shower and I got back to my room and that letter kept looking at me from the bed and I was like, "Damn, what is that letter?" That's weird. I'd never had that happen to me. All these years I'd been going to halfway houses, that ain't never happened. I had never had a letter come back to the halfway house. So I opened up the letter and it was the parole application. And I know today that it was the owner's wife, of the 180 House, she's the one that answered my letter. And on my parole paper, asking if I could stay there, there's about a six-inch, red stamp— and I still have it; it's in my drawer right beside my bed— and it says: DENIED.
I don't know how many of ya'll been to prison but they don't let you go anywhere in prison unless you have somewhere to go. How I ended up there is only by the grace of god. And I knew right then and there, when I seen that, I said, "Denied?" I know because of all of my expertise and everything in the prison system I knew something happened... and it was something from another world. In just a few seconds, I started crying. I started bawling. I could not stand on my own two feet. I fell to my knees. And I was crying. Tears was just rolling down my face. And I couldn't stand on my knees. I ended up on my belly. Flat on my belly. On the floor. In my room. Just crying. I don't know if I was there for 10 seconds or 10 minutes. I can't tell you how long I was there. But when I was able to stand up, and able to stop crying and sobbing, because now I know there's a god. And I stood up inside the room, me, myself, and God, and I raised my hands up and I said, "God, if you can do this much for me in 35 days, you can have it. What do you want me to do?" And I didn't know what he wanted me to do. But he could have it.
'Cause let me tell you: at 35 days sober, all those things that happened to me in 35 days, I have not lived this good in twenty-five years. I mean, I had a job, I had a check coming in every week, I had a car that belonged to me, and I drove A LOT of cars. A lot of cars. But none of 'em belonged to me. That was one thing I was known for when I was out there. Slick Rick gon' be driving something sharp, okay? 'Cause I stole some nice cars. I had a job. I had a vehicle. I had a drivers license. I had insurance. I had a girlfriend. I had a little money in my pocket. I had a place to lay my head down. Things were going good. I was showering every night. I was actually using deodorant. I was brushing my teeth. I mean, I was living like a KING. In a frickin' halfway house, I was living like a king.
I immediately called my sponsor after I kind of stopped sobbing. I called Kurtis. I said, "Kurtis, this is what happened." I told him the same story.
He goes, "You know what it sounds like to me? It sounds like you just worked the second and third step. You turned your life over and you told God he could have it. Rick, I've never done this before, usually we do this in person and get together, but it sounds like you just did it."
I said, "Is that what I did?"
He was like, "That's what you did."
He says, "Now we need to go on to your fourth step."
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
There's a saying in the program of Alcoholics Anonymous, and you'll hear it in the readings... It says something about, "These things were nil until we let go absolutely." And I had to let go absolutely. I had to let another man control my life. And that's who I call my sponsor. That's what I had to do. I had to turn something over to somebody because my decision- making skills weren't any good. And just because I get clean and sober don't mean that I start making good decisions. I'm 17 years sober and I still call my sponsor and ask him. Still. Because I'm still an Alcoholic-Addict. I'm still that person, you know? And so I need to make sure before I make decisions to run it by somebody before I make decisions.
Anyway, October 11, 2002, I stepped out of the penitentiary for the last time and everything. They were sending me to a halfway house in Abilene, Texas. And some of ya'll may know where it is. It's called the 180 House. They sent me to Abilene. I never been to Abilene before in my life. It was going to be just like any other halfway house. I did not get out of prison in 2002 going, "I'm gonna clean myself up." I had no plans of getting clean and sober. I had no plans of what happened to me. It was going to be the typical: get out of prison, go to the halfway house, find My People (it'll take about 2 or 3 days), and get the hell out of here. That was my plan. You know? I wasn't scared to go back. I can say that through all those years of addiction and alcoholism and living in all the places I lived in, I lived better in prison than I did on the streets. I did. And that's sad. That's very sad.
So I had no plan of cleaning up or anything else like that when I got here. It was going to be my typical: okay, let's go to this place, let's find my guy, let's find my girl, whoever it needs to be, and let's get out of here. And I'm going to go back to prison. Okay. I've done this deal for twenty plus years. Let's keep doing it.
So I got to the 180 House. I had to pay 'em just a little money, what the penitentiary gave me so I could stay there a week, and I started looking for My People. I wasn't one to just go up and ask you. I could tell. I knew who My People were. And so that took all of about three days and I found my guy. And I just started watching him and just kind of watching what was going on around me. That he could be The One to help me get out of here. So I been there three days. And I pull the gentleman to the side. His name was Michael Ian. He's still a friend of mine today. I asked Michael, I said, "Hey..." I said, "Do you know where I can get any guns? Credit cards? Stolen checks? Or anything like that so I can get out of here?"
He said, "Dude, didn't you just get out of prison??" I'd been there three days. We're going to these damn meetings. They make you go to these damn meetings.
And I said, "Yeah."
He said, "You're gonna go back."
And I said, "I don't care. I just need to get away from here."
And he says, "Are you serious?"
And I says, "I'm serious."
He says, "Well, come on." And he tricked me. Because we walk down to his room, there at the 180 House, and the Texas-OU game is playing. That's the first time I can tell you, looking back, as a person not believing in God, that God did for me what I could not do for myself. I like Texas-OU games.
He goes, "You like Texas-OU?"
I said, "Yeah!"
He goes, "Let's watch it!" And we did. We watched the game. And we got into the evening. And he took me down to Taco Bell. He bought me something to eat. And it got later that night, and he says, "Hey. Don't go nowhere tonight, man. I'll holler at you in the morning."
I said, "Alright."
The next morning, he did. He came and knocked on my door bright and early in the morning. Probably 6 o'clock, 6:30 in the morning. It was a Sunday morning. And, uhh, he had an armful of clothes.
And he goes, "Hey. You realize you ain't change clothes since you been here?"
I said, "Yeah. These are the clothes the prison gave me. Why?"
He said, "Why don't you change your clothes, man?" And that's who I was. I could go weeks... days without changing clothes. I could go days or weeks without showering sometimes. I'm not going to sit here and tell you I was the cleanest freak out there. I wasn't. I was nasty. Maybe all ya'll took showers everyday and put on clean clothes and brushed your teeth. Maybe ya'll got pedicures and manicures but that wasn't who I was. I was a stone-cold Alcoholic-Addict. That's who I was. And, um, anyway... so he gave me a change of clothes and I changed clothes and everything and we talked a little bit and he told me to give this thing a chance and and this and that.
And I said, "Well, I don't know, you know? I just need to get out of here." And I still had no desire to clean up. The only reason I was clean for those three or four days is because that place will kick you out if you use or drink and I'm having to go to these meetings and I'm hearing these stories in these meetings and I hear ya'll talking about some kind of 12 Steps and I hear ya'll talking about "get a sponsor". I hear ya'll talking about all that, but it's going in one ear and out the other because I have Ideas.
Monday morning rolls around and everybody went to work. And I realized that I was going to have to have some money here real quick to pay another week's worth of rent. And I had to look for a job. I hadn't done any of that stuff since I'd been there. I had no desire to look for a job or anything like that.
I did know one person here in Abilene, and it was the wife of a fellow convict that I met down there. He was an eleven-time loser. And he had been with his wife for a long long time. And I was supposed to parole to their house but that did not work out, because Greg told me his wife had changed. That she was just like us— she was an Alcoholic-Addict for many many years and that she had changed and that she had changed into a Cheezus Freak. And so she wasn't gonna allow me to parole there. So I did have her number. She's the one that picked me up from the bus station and took me to the 180 House. And the first thing she wanted to talk about was Cheezusand I didn't want to hear nothin' about no damn Cheezus. And how much he loved me. And I didn't want to hear all that.
So I thought I'd call Mary and ask her if she knew anybody that might need some help, because Mary lived in Abilene her whole life. And so I called Mary up on the payphone at the 180 House and asked her if she knew anybody that might be looking for help or might need some help or something like this, and of course, immediately, Mary wanted to start talking about Cheezus. And wanted to know if I'd prayed to Cheezus. And ask Cheezus.
And I said, "Mary, I don't believe in Cheezus. I don't believe in God. That's not who I am."
And she said, "Rick, you have to. Cheezus loves you. He;s gonna help you."
And I said, "Mary, I just need a damn job."
And she says, "I understand."
And she says, "Well... if you don't believe in Cheezus, Rick, I do. I believe in him. And I believe God is going to help you."
And I said, "Okay... I mean... how's he going to do that?"
And she goes, "Well, can you say what I say?"
And I said, "What do you mean?"
And she says, "I'm going to pray and I want you to say what I say." I will do anything this woman tells me to do as long as she'll get me a job. Okay? I'm just gonna use her. Just like I've used everybody in my life. And so she said something about, "Cheezus, help me find a job."
And I said, "Cheezus help me find a job."
"God forgive me of my sins."
"God forgive me of my sins." I don't remember what she said but it was along those lines. But, you know, I was praying to something I don't believe in. And I was talking to something I hadn't talked to in a long long long long long time. And she got through saying what she said and I got through repeating what she said and she goes, "Well alright! Good luck!" And she hung up. That's what happened.
I can tell you I walked from the payphone and sat on the couch. Right there at the 180 House and watched some tv. I sat on the couch and a guy came through the door and he walked right up to me and he said, "Hey, you lookin' for any work?"
I said, "Yeah. I am."
He says, "What do you do?" I didn't work my whole life, but I do know today that we all have gifts. And I was given a gift. We all have them. And I have a gift that God gave me. I don't have any experience in construction. I didn't work construction jobs. I didn't paint houses. I didn't frame houses. I didn't roof houses. I didn't do none of that shit, okay? But I know how to do it. I knew how to do it that day. It's a gift. It's something I can do.
I said, "I do construction."
He said, "What kind of construction?"
I said, "I can do anything."
He said, "Really? Well that's what I do. I remodel and flip houses. And that's what I'm needing. I need someone to help us out. What kind of money are you looking for?" I ain't got no tools. Don't have no vehicle. I ain't got no drivers license. I deserve at least fifteen dollars an hour. Typical Alcoholic-Addict. That's who we are.
He said, "Son, I've got guys that been working for me for 30 years that don't make that kind of money. I'll give you seven dollars an hour." This was 17 years ago, which is not a long ago. I knew I needed something and so I said, "Okay."
He said, "I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll come pick you up every day, I'll drop you off every day, and I'll buy you lunch every day."
I said, "Okay." And I went to work.
You probably heard the promises they read in the A.A. meetings. There's promises after every step and after the ninth step it says: "Sometimes they happen quickly. Sometimes they happen slowly." I'm not going to apologize to anybody and never have because they happened to me so very very quickly. They came on and they kept coming and coming and coming. I mean, my life started changing dramatically.
So I got the job. I went to work. I'd go to these meetings. I'm starting to think, Maybe I'll stick around here... I've been around here a week, a week and a half, I'm laughing, I'm having conversations with strangers (which is strange), I'm getting along with the guys... I'm trying to find me a girlfriend (I mean, I just got out of prison. Somebody's got to be available). And I'm feeling pretty good. Just in a week and a half, I'm feeling pretty good. So I'm thinking, Why not stick around for a little bit? And let's just see what this thing's gonna do. And so I heard about this sponsorship thing. And somewhere in those first few weeks, I can't tell you exactly when it was, this is what I heard, and this is my story. Ya'll told me to find a sponsor that has something I want. That's what I heard in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous. They told me to get a sponsor that had something I want. They did not say, "You need to find a sponsor that has been to prison. You need a sponsor that shot dope like you shot dope. You need to find a sponsor that stole cars like you stole cars." I didn't hear none of that. I heard: find a sponsor that has something you want. This is my story. This is how I chose my sponsor. There was an old cowboy that sat back in the back. I heard him talk about his ranches. I heard him talk about his cattle. I heard him talk about some oil. I heard him talk about some land. He had some dually pickups. He had lots of cattle; he'd be hauling cattle in these big ol' long cattle things. He'd be going to his other ranch. And I heard him talk about this and I thought, Huh...... Find somebody that has something you want? This guy's got some money and I want some of that. I did not think, That guy sounds like he'd be a good sponsor. He might have his shit together.
So I asked Kurtis to be my sponsor. He handed me a card and said, "Here's my number. You call me every day for 90 days and we'll see how it goes.You miss a day, find a new sponsor."
I said, "Okay. I can do that." And I did. I called Kurtis every day for two years. And I still talk to him three, four times a week. I'm not scared to pick up that phone. A lot of people go, "Why is the phone so heavy??" But I've been around long enough now that I've heard 'em all.
"Well I didn't have time. I worked late." Bullshit.
"Oh, man, we got busy! My girlfriend—" Bullshit.
"Oh, my kid was in the—" Bullshit. You got time to pick the phone up and call your sponsor. It's all bullshit stories. If you don't want to call your sponsor, just say, "I didn't want to call you today." Let's just be honest, you know? Because you always have time to pick the phone up and call somebody.
Anyway, I'd only been there a couple weeks at that time. The guy I was working for did tell me that if I wanted to get a raise— because soon I didn't work for him but a week and I thought I deserved a raise already— he told me if I got a truck he'd give me a two dollar raise. I'll make this story real quick: old man knocked on my door one evening, asked me if I was R— and I said, "Yeah."
And he says, "You lookin' for a truck?"
And I said, "Yeah but I ain't got no money."
He said, "I didn't ask if you had any money. I heard you might be looking for a vehicle." We went over on North 10th to this barn. There was a '93 Nissan pick-up. It had about 35,000 miles on it that looked like it had about 735,000 miles on it. They used it on this guy's farm to throw fire wood in the back of it. Sometimes they hit the truck, sometimes they didn't. Sometimes they made it, sometimes it went through the window. This truck was a nice 35,000-mile truck. And he asked me if I'd give him fifteen hundred bucks for it and I said, "I told you I didn't have any money."
He said, "You think you could give me fifty bucks a week?"
I said, "Sure. I could give you fifty bucks a week because I know if I get this truck, I'll get a two-dollar raise." That's eighty bucks more a week. I could afford fifty bucks, you know? I'm thinking about insurance, too. He whipped the title out, he signed the title, said, "Sign here." He signed it and said, "Go on about your way."
I don't know what would have went through ya'll's mind when he signed the title, but what went through my mind is: "I'm never paying you a dime." I mean, I wasn't well in two weeks... three weeks. I wasn't trying to just live a good life. I was just trying to get on my feet. When I left that barn that night, I had no intentions of ever giving that guy anything. He signed the title over to me.
I got to work. I got a two-dollar-an-hour raise. I told him I had a truck. I could not drive that truck that first day because someone told me I needed to talk to the program director of the halfway house. I went up to him and said, "I got a truck. Somebody said I needed to come talk to you before I drove it. I didn't drive it to work today. What's up?"
He said, "You got a driver's license?"
I said, "No."
He said, "You got insurance?"
I said, "No."
He said, "If you drive that truck, you get kicked out of here. You get you a driver's license and some insurance first. If I hear you're driving that truck, I'll kick you out."
And I'll tell you, that really was one of the best things that ever happened to me. There was a couple of years ago that I was driving down the road, minding my own business, and my life kind of flashed in front of me. The last fourteen/fifteen years. And that was one of the best things he ever did for me. Not allowing me to drive that truck without a driver's license and insurance. And what that taught me is: shortcuts. I'm trying to shortcut everything. I'm trying to rush everything. I'm trying to rush the process.
So I got a license. I got insurance. All this happened within about three weeks. I'm driving this vehicle. I got a two-dollar-an-hour raise. I've got a sponsor. Honestly, I wasn't really working the steps but my sponsor was giving me suggestions; telling me to read this, read that. I was lying to him, "Yeah, I'm reading that, and I'll let you know what I read and..." Bullshit. I was lying to him. You know? I really was.
I thought now that I had a vehicle, I had a license, I had a insurance, I had a job, I'd be there about three and a half weeks, I was looking for a girlfriend. It's pretty easy to find a girlfriend in a halfway house if you got a job, a vehicle, and a driver's license. Then it became a little easier. They see you driving, now they want a ride. "Hey, this guy's got a car! He's got a job!" And so I did... I found me a little sicko. I did. I had to go for an easy real sick, sick one. I'd go to A.A. meetings and listen to them talk. I knew she'd been to treatment, like, eleven times. I was like, "That's my girl! That's my girl! Right there. That's her. She just became The One™."
Things were going really good at about four weeks. In such a short period of time. I can tell you when my life changed. It was on the 35th day of recovery, is when my life changed. And when my mind changed, my attitude changed, everything changed. I come home from work on my 35th day of recovery. I had been clean and sober for 35 days, since the day I got out of prison. I didn't count my prison time. Some people do. I started mine when I got out. I came home and I heard the director hollering, "Rick!"
I go, "What!?"
"You got a letter!"
I said, "A letter...?" I haven't spoken to my family in 20 years. I don't know if they're alive... or dead. Nobody knows where I'm at. What do you mean I got a letter? That's kind of what went through my mind. A letter? From who?
And so I went in there and got the letter and immediately I recognized it. It was the letter that I had written the 180 House with the parole papers asking if I could stay there. They were supposed to fill out the forms and send it to the parole board and I'd be going to the halfway house. That's what the letter was. It had come back in the same envelope but a different letter and returned to me. And by the time the letter had gotten back to me, I'd already paroled there. So it had come back and found me.
So I went to my room, and I went to go take me a shower because I just got off work. I needed a shower because I was getting with my little girlfriend I'd got and we'd go out and get a bite to eat or something. Anyway, I took a shower and I got back to my room and that letter kept looking at me from the bed and I was like, "Damn, what is that letter?" That's weird. I'd never had that happen to me. All these years I'd been going to halfway houses, that ain't never happened. I had never had a letter come back to the halfway house. So I opened up the letter and it was the parole application. And I know today that it was the owner's wife, of the 180 House, she's the one that answered my letter. And on my parole paper, asking if I could stay there, there's about a six-inch, red stamp— and I still have it; it's in my drawer right beside my bed— and it says: DENIED.
I don't know how many of ya'll been to prison but they don't let you go anywhere in prison unless you have somewhere to go. How I ended up there is only by the grace of god. And I knew right then and there, when I seen that, I said, "Denied?" I know because of all of my expertise and everything in the prison system I knew something happened... and it was something from another world. In just a few seconds, I started crying. I started bawling. I could not stand on my own two feet. I fell to my knees. And I was crying. Tears was just rolling down my face. And I couldn't stand on my knees. I ended up on my belly. Flat on my belly. On the floor. In my room. Just crying. I don't know if I was there for 10 seconds or 10 minutes. I can't tell you how long I was there. But when I was able to stand up, and able to stop crying and sobbing, because now I know there's a god. And I stood up inside the room, me, myself, and God, and I raised my hands up and I said, "God, if you can do this much for me in 35 days, you can have it. What do you want me to do?" And I didn't know what he wanted me to do. But he could have it.
'Cause let me tell you: at 35 days sober, all those things that happened to me in 35 days, I have not lived this good in twenty-five years. I mean, I had a job, I had a check coming in every week, I had a car that belonged to me, and I drove A LOT of cars. A lot of cars. But none of 'em belonged to me. That was one thing I was known for when I was out there. Slick Rick gon' be driving something sharp, okay? 'Cause I stole some nice cars. I had a job. I had a vehicle. I had a drivers license. I had insurance. I had a girlfriend. I had a little money in my pocket. I had a place to lay my head down. Things were going good. I was showering every night. I was actually using deodorant. I was brushing my teeth. I mean, I was living like a KING. In a frickin' halfway house, I was living like a king.
I immediately called my sponsor after I kind of stopped sobbing. I called Kurtis. I said, "Kurtis, this is what happened." I told him the same story.
He goes, "You know what it sounds like to me? It sounds like you just worked the second and third step. You turned your life over and you told God he could have it. Rick, I've never done this before, usually we do this in person and get together, but it sounds like you just did it."
I said, "Is that what I did?"
He was like, "That's what you did."
He says, "Now we need to go on to your fourth step."
✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
Wednesday, January 1, 2020
dogmatic musing #222
My whole life can be summed up by a metaphor: a seedling is a young plant that's usually grown just to be transplanted. Get it? I'm the seedling; and my purpose here on Planet Earth is to absorb other people's negativity, wring it out, and move on to the next wild venture that coincidentally falls into my life. Only plot twist: there is no such thing as coincidence. Not that I believe in the white, male, Christian God, because I don't. I used to, but that's a story within a story.
Pantheism is the doctrine that God is the transcendent reality between the material universe and the fact that human beings are only manifestations. It denies "God's" personality and chooses to identify god with nature instead, which I think makes perfect sense. When we die, we decompose and become a type of fertilizer for Planet Earth that plants use to thrive. From there, the plants put off oxygen for humans to breathe with. The law of conservation of energy live in action!
If Pantheism explains how life works, Buddhism is the philosophy that should guide how we live. He wanted us to extract all the material bullshit from our lives and to truly find peace within. That hate and anger and sadness we project on other people doesn't make us feel whole. If we truly know ourselves and can learn to control how we react to situations, we can attain the closest glimpse of happiness human beings will ever be close to finding.
I don't I know how the Universe was created, by any fucking means. If I had to go with anything, I would say the Big Bang Theory, which was this cataclysmic event that caused the whole solar system as we know it to appear and expand. I see pictures and quotes on the Internet all the time mocking Atheists.
"Atheism: the belief that there was nothing and nothing happened to nothing and then nothing magically exploded for no reason, creating everything and then a bunch of everything magically rearranged itself for no reason whatsoever into self-replication bits which then turned into dinosaurs. Makes perfect sense.
Okay, Smart-Ass McGee, when you put it that way, it sounds silly. Though the geniuses behind the theory of evolution, Big Bang Theory, and theory of relativity were probably closer to the truth than that book that claims an omnipotent being created the Universe, gave human beings free will, punished human beings for said free will, sent his son (who's also the man himself) to Earth to forgive human beings for things they do with their free will, and chooses whether you go up to spend your eternal afterlife in a Utopian oasis with all your family friends or whether you go down to spend your eternal afterlife in a fiery pit of misery and pain. Oh, and he is supposed to all of this out of love. In reality, it makes me people act out of this unhealthy fear and blindly accept claims that are clearly irrational. The Bible mentions unicorns, talking snakes, a man separating a whole sea in two halves, a voice coming from a burning bush, and a man turning water into wine. Makes perfect sense.
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