Real-life fantasy.

My fantasy did sort of happen. No, not the one where ex gets run over by a train, or the one where ex begs me to take him back, or the one where Matt Damon calls saying he read my story and wants to turn it into a movie. The fantasy where the CEO, in this case just the Director of marketing, sees my copy for AOL and asks, "Who wrote this?" in a Judy Garland/get me that girl kind of way. It didn't result in a full-time job, but it made me feel happy. (Y'all can pick yourselves up off the floor; you haven't heard me say happy in--what?--ever.)
I watch two and three-quarter DVDs last night: The Switch, Venus, and The King's Speech. All good. Reviews up on the public blog soon.
In my quest to torture, I mean enrich (I was going to do that odd blog conceit where the writer strikes through words. Have you ever seen that anywhere else besides blogs?) my children, I'm taking Mario to see Smuin ballet. Alvin Ailey would have been a better choice but it was four times the price and in Berkeley. Mother of the year award: it's not even my weekend with the boys.

Missing Ex.

Sometimes I wish ex was a complete motherf****er, sociopath, psychopath meanie because then I'd never miss him and that would be easier. He isn't and there are days that I'm full of remorse for my past behavior and wish he could forgive me and we could go back.

Apples and oranges.

At my second interview, I was given a math problem of the word variety, i.e. a train leaves the station going 35 miles an hour and hits a 19% grade and is carrying a full load of passengers but 20% of them are overweight how long does it take to go 200 miles away? That kind of question. I was interviewing for the job was for editorial content manager. Here's a tougher question: how are these two things related? I'm not terrible at math, but I was flummoxed thinking there was some trick I was missing, some other reason I was being asked this, for instance maybe I was being filmed for some new reality show: Interviews Gone Awry, true tales of sweat and squirm.

On a more excellent note, as a lucky alcoholic I got to see Annie L. of Marin speak at an AA meeting. (For those of you not in the know, that's Annie Lamott.) She was terrific, of course. She makes recovery look like fun. That meeting was preceded by an Al-Anon meeting. Ex is a card-carrying member, but I've never been to one. The take away, their big catch phrase is the three Cs: didn't cause it, can't control it, and can't cure it. Now you know all there is to know about that program.

I'm not due back at AOL until Thursday. My fantasy of the CEO finding my copy on a printer and exclaiming "Who wrote this recruitment ad? It's genius. Hire her on the spot and pay her whatever she wants" didn't happen. No, my copy is making its rounds but mostly being ignored by the people who are supposed to be approving it. Happy Monday.

Oh shit.

I think I was a better writer when I was drinking. Drunk, hungover, high on whatever, I had this singular focus and could ignore my aching ass and the cries of my hungry children and stinking guinea pig cages. Now? I have sober-onset ADD. I can't stop multitasking. What if I can never write anything good again? It reminds me of this guy I met in the house--he was a professional sommelier. How sad is that? Finding out your an alcoholic sommelier? He said he thought most of them, and chefs, were. I suppose if you drink enough, the cucumber eventually turns into a pickle. See? See what I mean? This post was about my inability to focus and I've just proved my point.

People just like me.

How, how did I never find this blog? Or this yahoo group? Of course there are middle-class, functioning, suburban mothers (and fathers) struggling with this disease just like me. Of course they're gonna blog about it 'cause that's what some middle-class, functioning, suburban mothers (and fathers) do. I mean, I practically started the trend. Years ago, I published a popular essay in Brain, Child called On the Rocks: Mothers who Drink, (how's that for "center of the universe/alcoholic thinking?") in which I ponder the boredom and stress of staying home with my kids and note that I only make it through each day with the medicinal wonder of nightly cocktails, then my drinking buddy went and joined AA. It took me something like eight more years of pondering before I took my seat at the table where I so clearly belonged.

Anyway, these blogs are terrific for women/men/parents pondering the tough questions about when enough is enough and whether or not one wants to be a member of THAT group. I didn't want to be a member of that group! No way! I was a loner and an individual and a free thinker! Nobody was going to tell me how to live and--God forbid--to pray. It was only after a couple years of sobriety that I realized I had been beholden, devoted, even genuflecting (if you consider crawling to bed a form of genuflecting) to my own god of addiction--the Beast--for years. I thought I was in control but he was running the show and he was an asshole. (I say "he," but my beast is gender neutral. He looks a bit like an ugly doll but furrier.)

Second interview at the little electronics distributor today. Fingers and toes crossed even though I feel a bit like I'm slumming or, at the least, settling. Talk about getting "right sized."