August 3rd - Not the Good Kind of Accessory in Posso's Prompts

  • Aug. 3, 2019, 2:43 a.m.
  • |
  • Public

That time is finally here. Took what seemed like an eternity, but in - oh approximately 4 hours, I report to the jail to get booked and released for house arrest. Last year in my monumental trip of self loathing and reckless behavior, I somehow got pulled over for drunk driving not once, but twice in the span of 90 days.
The first time I was still reeling from being fired, getting arrested, being dumped. I was out with a friend after work - well - drinking at work after working all day. I had to be up at 6am the next day to work the Sunday breakfast shift but I was headed home to drop off my car so I could meet my friend at Buckingham’s downtown so he could spit his goofy game on ladies before he left for Philadelphia. As I was coming up to my exit, I needed to speed up to merge into traffic to get into my exit. There also just so happened to be a sheriff with a vehicle pulled over. I got to about ten miles per hour over the speed limit but figured, hey, guy looks like he’s occupied, right? Well. I clearly did not see the second squad car pulled over and behind the first vehicle, with its lights off. I remember everything in that one, I still blew twice the legal limit to drive (sheesh, yeah I know, save me the ‘you know better, you work with alcohol’ speeches) and when they asked me to submit to a breathalyzer, I then knew I was fucked and I stopped fighting the ability to make conscious decisions and went into my conditioned ability to black out and function on complete auto pilot. It sucked, it was totally my fault but the fact that I was a block away from my house just made the wound sting more.
After that, I swore off drinking for about two full months. I vowed not to be an idiot with the internal range of emotions I felt. The alcohol was solely helping me act out at that time and I wanted to gorge myself in the emotional buffet of hatred and blame. I drank my favorite job away, I drank my favorite girlfriend away, I drank the physical and emotional pain of cancer away and now it was like well, I do that but do I really even feel it anymore when I walk the four miles from my favorite downtown watering hole, through the myriad of construction sites without knowing, and pass out with all my clothes on and sleeves of Girl Scout cookies littering my bed, do I really feel what I should be feeling?
My birthday came up in the beginning of October, I couldn’t stop thinking about being alone and I figured that it’d be as good of a time as any to start drinking. For 29 straight days, I cannot tell you where or how I started or ended. I drank during work, after work, wandered from top to bottom of State Street, ripping medical grade weed til I couldn’t get higher, then drinking a half liter of whiskey until I’d find myself in some strangers bed, friends couch, the back of a pick up truck, the bottom of a twenty foot hole that I had fell into, picnic tables in the parks by the lakes, the hallway of my old apartment complex which was miles the opposite way of where I live currently.
The night time was supposed to fall behind an hour, since, you know, we still live in the fucking age of dummies and star hyped believers, I was in some fucking mood. There was going to be a band at work, I had finally dried up enough to be hungover and I was fucking pissed that I was going to have to deal with middle aged burnout rockers and people that couldn’t handle their booze. Busted old ladies, hoisting themselves into pants three times as small as they should, sucking their muffin tops in looking for that gnarly, raven haired, sun burnt fucking douche biker with a smokers voice and nothing but child support money to spend on drinking. If you can read that and it makes sense, then the next step you should ask yourself is, “Posso, why do you work with people?”

goddamnit exactly.

This lady threw a shit fit when my drug addled coworker started short pouring her and charging the wrong price. So, as a sign of peace, I made her next drink and charged her for a single instead of a double. She grabbed me by the face (instantly pissed I became) and slurred out ‘THAT DUMB BITCH IS CHARGING ME THE WRONG PRICE” to which I responded, ‘listen here lady, she’s charging you correctly, you’re making a scene and ruining the fun so I was just trying to do something nice but since you got me by the beard, you can fuck right off, ya dusty old busted twat.’

What proceeded were the combinations of me getting slapped while I had the lady by the jowls (nothing forceful) yelling at her that she wasn’t hitting me hard enough. I couldn’t feel it (that was the truth, I was a dozen shots and bong rips deep) and finally someone stepped in and took her away and I went into a full on rage and immediately started taking shots with anyone that lined up.

The band ended and this is the last thing I swear I remember for a three hour period.

Why am I even trying anymore. I hate my life. I hate my job. I’m so unhappy. I miss my exes. I should have just moved away when I had the chance. I’d kill myself now, but I’m too sober to be able to.

At this point, I had just paid to have the first DUI cleared, and was supposed to be getting the ignition interlock device installed in my car so I wouldn’t be able to drive if I wasn’t sober. As the super known procrastinator I am, I clearly said, ‘fuck that legal stuff, I’m not drinking and driving anyway.’

I’m not sure how or when I left the bar, I just knew that if I didn’t think I was fucked up enough, there was an extra hour of drinking thanks to daylight savings! I told myself before I blacked out that I could easily just drive north from the bar, not put my seatbelt on, and hit 100 in the Vibe and easily find a tree.

The next thing I know, I am in the suburb of Madison that is literally in the city limits of Madison, pulled over by my old place on the near east/north side of Madison, and I’m… handcuffed?! Wait, there’s flashing lights?! But, I’m sitting upright?!

I blacked back out.

There I am, in a jail cell and I stop because I clearly was in mid sentence making the police officer laugh when I realize

Fuck. I am in some serious trouble now. I’m not dead.

The last thing I remember about that night is my gracious roommates, who had both picked me up the first time I had “debacled” myself, and the pained look on both of their faces as their train wreck of a friend and roommate was clearly a certifiable mess.

Flash forward to the present day, almost ten months after that arrest. To the start of the eighth month of my sobriety this year. The foolish actions I committed came with the appropriate consequences - a large monetary spank on the ass and unavoidable jail time - I pushed my reporting time as far away as I could - 60 days - so I wouldn’t spend three weeks in the Dane County Jail during the hottest part of summer - and tried my best to look like I would be a satisfying risk for house arrest.

Oh, so now, in about 3 hours, I go in to get booked and released and have a GPS bracelet installed on my ankle, the wrong kind of accessory, or so I’m told. The worst part to this story is the length. Anyone that knows me, knows my penchant for waiting. I hate it. If it can be fixed, done, modified, why do I need to wait months? I handle estranged friendships, broken relationships, among other things this way. I’ve hated waiting so long to finally finish the consequences to my behavior. Alas, here we are.

Just know, that taking the alcohol out of my life aside, it took some extreme changes to realize that I need to stop compartmentalizing that I was okay, that I could get better by just ignoring my emotions and feelings, and sober, I haven’t thought a day about how I don’t want to live but rather all the time I’ve wasted by fighting battles with cancer and still not doing anything meaningful (at least to me) with my life. Like I keep telling people, with absolute certainty, I will never stay sober; I needed to find myself through all the facades and lies and stories I had intertwined into my history to make it easier to avoid being open and honest with others. Drinking went from a social outlet to an emotional response and that was never what it was ever supposed to be and luckily I could realize that before I wasn’t able to.

If you see this, read this, have time, miss me, write something. stop by. bring me snacks. I’m not going anywhere for a while.

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