Good but not great...

My first in a series of presentations was held on Friday evening. The topic was whether or not to “Leave or Stay” with the alcoholic. It was general in nature as to the entire world of alcoholism rather than focusing on just end-stage alcoholism. I think it was too much information – too broad of a subject. I felt I came off as a bit speech-y rather than as a true presentation. I was unsure of what equipment would be available, so I had no slide show or anything fancy. It was just me. And I can get a bit – well – boring.

But, although the attendance was small and one attendee nodded off, I think everyone took something away that they had not heard before. I know everyone related. That was good.

Hey, it was my first attempt at reaching outside my self into the public eye. It was a baby step… next time it will be more of a giant leap. It may not have been a resounding success, but it was a success. I am thankful for that.

I have visions of grandeur for my next presentation which will focus entirely on end-stage. I’m planning a slide show depicting the journey of alcohol as it travels through the body; a tidbit from a doctor (in person or via Skype or pre-recorded --- any volunteers?) about illnesses related to alcoholism; and I’m not sure what else… but it will be spectacular. Did I ever mention that I’m an over-achiever who takes bites larger than a python can swallow?? Oh well, I have to have SOMETHING to reach for that is outside my comfort zone.

The food was wonderful – even if I do say so myself since it was all created by me. I included the recipes in the handout – and the handout was well received. Since cooking is something I do to distract myself from the chaos around me. I thought it would be nice to share some of my creations. All my food is from recipes handed down through my family and friends. I also use recipes I find on cooking shows and on-line, then I revamp and revise them to suit my own tastes. I’m thinking about publishing a cookbook – but that’s a ways in the future. How about a title of “Cooking the Chaos”? Maybe not – send me your suggestions.

I’ve posted the Cliff Notes version of the presentation as a page titled “Leave or Stay”.

Sunday is my usual posting day. But, today I’m just going to leave you with this and the new page. Things are quiet in Riley World today and I’m going to enjoy the peace while it exists.

Have a beautiful day…

My own addiction...

I have an addiction of my own. For an hour of each day, I transport myself to Genoa City and become a part of the world of Young and Restless. I have watched it from the very first episode in the 1970s. With so many soap operas being cancelled – I pray that God will spare me my one addiction and help the powers that be understand that this is an important program.

It’s an hour a day that allows me to be a part of the fictional city. I can be any one of the characters, but I think I relate to Nikki and Phyllis more than any of the others. I see in them traits that resemble my own.

I’m getting off tract – because that’s a whole other post. The point is – it’s only an hour a day and I need that hour so I can just stop and breathe.

Riley interrupted my hour yesterday. He came barreling into my office with that little smile on his face – and – announced that it was storming in California. He sat down directly in front of the TV. When he has done this in the past, I’ve just let it go. But, today – I needed my little brain trip to somewhere else. I asked him if he could wait another 15 minutes to tell me about the weather.

He abruptly stood up and stomped out the door.

The truth is – unless California has had an earthquake and fallen into the Pacific – I don’t really care about the weather in a state where I’m not living. If there is severe flooding in an area of the state where my relatives and friends reside – yes – I want to know. But, will waiting 15 minutes change anything? Is there anything I can do about it? I don’t think so.

Later in the day, I had to go out and run some errands. Before I left I asked Riley if he was sure that he didn’t want to come along. The answer was that he did not want to go.

There was something in his attitude. I knew something was going to happen.

Then – there is was – Riley could not understand why it was more important to watch TV than doing the things I needed to do or talking to him about the what was going on in the real world. Although, he would never admit to it – he was angry that I had asked him to wait.

He proceeded to tell me about how he lives and deals with the real world where things need to be done. He told me he had responsibilities and in his world he didn’t have time to waste on soap operas.

I responded by telling him exactly what I thought – how could he talk to me about living up to my responsibilities when he doesn’t do what he says he’s going to do around the house? It’s hypocritical for him to chastise me for watching TV when that’s ALL he does all day long.

He almost got me. He almost got me to go into a triad of self-righteous indignation. And he almost managed to make me feel guilty about watching Y&R. But – I took a deep breath and then it hit me. Riley 2 was in the building and Riley 1 had disappeared.

A month ago all the things Riley 1 said he was going to do managed to get done. Currently, very little actually takes place. The problem is – I really hadn’t noticed so much until yesterday.  I have been so busy, I didn’t realize that the floors hadn’t been sweep and the furniture was covered in dust. Both chores are his self-assigned duties.

I’ve been spoiled because I’ve enjoyed Riley 1 over the past few months. He is someone I can tolerate and actually talk to. He is someone who helps me by keeping the house tidy and doing other little things that I need.

Riley 2 has a problem with the accumulation of ammonia in his frontal lobe. His reasoning is not always logical. He is angry most of the time. He makes unreasonable demands. He thinks he’s done things he hasn’t and thinks he hasn’t done things that he has. I am all too familiar with Riley 2 because I see him far more often than Riley 1.

Riley 1’s return to drinking – even though it is just beer – has finally caught up with him. Beer is booze. Booze is a toxin that likes to make a home in the frontal lobe. His body is not able to fully metabolize the alcohol and it is taking over his persona.

I have taken things for granted. That was not wise.

My escape to a world where there is continuous serious drama – infidelity, corruption, lies, alcoholism, lost children, questionable sanity – will not change. It will happen for me everyday for as long as the producers produce. My addiction will continue and I will not be seeking out a 12-step program to help me stop.

In Linda and Riley World there is also drama, questionable sanity, lies, and other things that might make a good soap opera. We already have a Young and Restless. How about an Old and Buzzed??

In some people we trust...

All others pay cash…

I trust that the sun will rise each morning. Without fail that sun will edge its way over the paddock and provide a beautiful view for about 20 minutes. It happens everyday. Even when it’s storming outside, I know the sun takes the expected route – over the paddock and on up into the sky even if I don't actually see it.

There are very few things in my life that I trust without contingencies. The sun and moon are only two. I also trust that Jade will chase after any mouse she sees. I trust that my great-grandson will laugh when he sees me. I trust my great-granddaughter to tell me truth no matter what – after all, she’s only four. I trust my bff, Carrot to keep my secrets. I trust my navigational instincts. I trust my soup-making abilities. And, I trust that Riley cannot be trusted.

I have to have a heart catherization to determine the extent of a heart attack I had more than 4 years ago. It was never done when I was told that I had the heart attack. I don’t know why, but never the less, I need to have one know. It’s really just an elimination process because I’ve been having chest pains. If my heart can be ruled out – then the chest pains are most likely caused by living in a stressful environment and being overweight. I’m not a doctor. I’m at their mercy. I’ll do as I am told. I’m not saying I’ll trust them to be right, but if they talk to me in a language that I understand, I’ll totally lean toward their direction.

Actually, having the heart cath is a relatively simple procedure. It’s done on an outpatient basis. I’ll be sedated and won’t remember a thing about the procedure itself. I like that. There are times and things I just don’t need to know and my body’s surgical details are right up there on the top of the list.

Unfortunately that fact that I’ll be sedated brings up another issue. I must coordinate with Alea’s work schedule so she can take me. The hospital is two hours away. She also feels that if she weren’t there and something went wrong, she would never forgive herself for not being there. It’s a closed issue – at least for me and Alea.

Riley says he should be the one to take me. Riley, who has not been totally sober for more than 76 days, wants me to trust that he will be sober on that day. He wants me to trust that he will not forget me at the hospital. He wants me to trust that if I ask him to not drink – that he will not drink. He wants me to trust that the two hour ride will not put my -- or anyone else’s -- life in danger. And – if something goes wrong – he wants me to trust that he will make the right decisions concerning my medical care. He has become so insistent that he yells that I should “trust” him to do as I ask him to.

Alea and I have been over the medical scenario many times since Brian’s death. We know -- without a doubt – what each of us would want if the unthinkable ever becomes reality. I trust Alea to make the right decisions for me. I trust her to not leave the hospital while I’m there. I trust her driving ability. I trust her to be sober for the entire day.

Yesterday my project was to re-do my closet configuration by moving the shelf and hanging bar up to adult height. I don’t know why the master bedroom would have a closet designed for a kid – but there it was. It needed to be fixed so I could finally unpack the rest of my clothes. To accomplish the task, I needed some wood screws that were a shorter length than the ones I had. That meant a trip to the hardware store. I also needed celery for the chicken soup I was making for the presentation I’m giving on Friday. That meant a trip to the grocery store. Both stores are easy to get to and close to each other.

I was so busy with unpacking boxes and assembling bookshelves that I found myself being resentful that I couldn’t send Riley to the store to get the necessary items. He starts drinking at 5 a.m. By the time I realized I needed the items it was almost 9 a.m. There was no way I could let Riley drive to the store. In fact, I couldn’t have sent him even at 5 a.m.

So, here’s this man who says I should trust him with such an important task as taking me to get a heart cath when I can’t trust him to go to the hardware store.

I understand that a part of Riley wants me to treat him as my husband and partner. I also understand that he wants to appear to others that he lives a life that is not alcohol infused. I understand that he wants to be drunk while trying to live a sober life. In my mind, it’s all a part of the alcoholic game of “Let’s see who I can con into believing I’m not really drunk.” It’s the same game he played while being a district representative for AA while he was drinking more than a fifth of vodka every day. I don’t believe he really conned anyone. Those AA people are too smart for that. And I’m too smart for that.

I trust that all his ranting were simply drunken bravado from a man whose hazy brain thinks he is capable of doing anything the same as any sober person.

Living with an alcoholic has not caused me to be incapable of trust. I just reserve it for things that have proven to be trustworthy. In Linda World, using the analogy that “In some people we trust…” Riley would have to pay cash.

Georgia and the Captain...

I have a friend who fell in love with a Captain. I imagined him to be a swashbuckler kinda guy from a romance novel. He was always with my friend accompanying her on shopping trips, wine tours, to the beach, and sometimes he even went with her to work. What a guy!!

When I first met Georgia I was a little intimidated. She’s almost 6 feet tall and when standing next to her, she loomed over my 5 foot frame. She spoke in a quiet voice which meant that I had to listen closely or I wouldn’t understand what she was saying. All of our mutual friends loved her and everyone knew that she loved this guy named Captain Morgan.

As I got to know her, I started to like her. I found her to be funny, considerate and caring. She could not, would not, allow herself to be pushed around and I admired that. She was more loyal than an old dog to its master. She would take your secrets to the grave. I found her to be a safe harbor which, for me, is the cornerstone of a solid friendship. Eventually, she became one of my best friends.

In spite of the friendship, I knew in my heart that Georgia’s relationship with the Captain was unhealthy. He was her favorite person to have over for the evening and he was there nearly every night. Sometimes I could smell remnants of the Captain’s visit as it came from the pores on her skin. I knew there was a problem and I wasn’t secure enough to talk to her about it. This was before I found my anti-alcoholism voice, before Riley came to stay with me, before my son died. I crossed my fingers and tried to mind my own business.

One day, soon after Riley had returned to my home, I was having a particularly bad episode and I was extremely distraught. There was very little privacy in my smallish cottage, so when I was upset I would pace up and down the driveway until I had regained my composure. On this day of pain, I paced and paced and then paced some more. I didn’t seem to be able to get a grasp on my calmness and the tears just did not stop.

Just as I was about to try a longer walk, Georgia called. “Hi Slick!” When I heard her voice I started reiterating Riley’s conversation and all my feeling became the ranting of a lunatic. She listened. She did not interrupt. She just let me go on and on. When I slowed down and she saw a window of opportunity, she simply asked, in that soft, calm voice of hers, “Are you better now? Is there anything I can do?” The minute I heard her say that – I knew I was better. There was nothing more she could do because she’d already done what I needed her to do. I was grateful for her patience and friendship. And now, she was no longer just my friend – she was a sister.

A few months later, Riley and I moved to North Carolina and my relationship with Georgia became one of phone calls and e-mails. I heard from her almost everyday. I could always count on her to send me things that would make me laugh and make me cry. She was a vital part of my daily routine.

I hadn’t heard from her in almost a month. I knew she had been planning a vacation so I wasn’t concerned when two weeks had gone by and I had not heard from her. But as we edged on into the third and forth week – I started to worry. I called a mutual friend and she told me Georgia was having some medical issues. She had no other information.

I called Georgia’s house and her daughter answered the phone. In my mind I was thinking that this must be serious if Georgia wasn’t even at her home – images of her lying in a hospital bed shot through my brain. But what I heard next was actually good news. Georgia had ended her relationship with the Captain and entered rehab. There was an intervention and she agreed to get help.

Just about that time, Georgia came into the house and picked up the phone. I was so very happy to talk to her. I asked how she was doing and told her how proud I was that she had taken this step. She told me she loves the support of AA and had found a “home” with the people in her groups. At this time she was not missing Captain and could now see how unfaithful he was. If she started to miss him, she had her new AA friends to help her keep him at bay.

It was interesting that when I was talking to her, she was not speaking softly. She was talking right out loud and clear. I didn’t have to strain to listen to her. She was still the same confident Georgia, but there was a little more bounce to her voice. I liked that.

My fears of the worst have been set aside. Sometimes living so far away is a disadvantage when you can’t be there for the friends you love. I’m sorry I could not have been there to support her. But she has a wonderful group of people behind her – her son and daughter, uncles and aunts, loyal friends both in and out of AA – and there’s a restraining order out on the Captain. He’s been beat down and I hope he will not show his face ever again. Ding dong the Captain's gone.

Tornado warning...

When the Emergency Broadcast came over the television announcing that we were under a Tornado Warning, I gathered my stuff – blankets, pillows, laptop, water, etc – and put it in a secure place in my bathroom. I was ready.

Riley was in his rocking chair watching his usual NCIS. I told him we needed to get his bathroom ready in case the worst came about. He just said – “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” And being the good little caretaker that I am – I stocked his bathroom. Both the bathrooms are small and there is really only room for one person in each.

As the night wore on, I settled in and listened. Wind, rain, hail, more rain, quiet, wind and more wind – but there was no rumble. I was waiting for the rumble sound of an oncoming train. It never happened – and I was thankful.

As I was waiting, I could feel the house swaying with the wind. We have a brick rancher – solid as possibly could be – but the wind was so strong it was moving the house. I thought of the three little pigs who built their last house of bricks. What a smart thing to do.

In spite of the three little pigs’ wise decision to use brick in the construction – some lyrics kept running through my head -- but they weren’t verses about the pigs’ quest for a secure dwelling. Instead, I was hearing in my head the lyrics to a song from The Wizard of Oz.

The wind began to switch – the house to pitch and suddenly the hinges started to unhitch.

Life with an alcoholic is much the same as a house in the middle of a tornado. This first verse could well define what it is like to watch the beginning of an alcoholic downfall. Things are unsettled, the family never feels secure and things start to fall apart.

Just then the Witch  – to satisfy an itch went flying on her broomstick, thumbing for a hitch.

The alcoholic (the Witch) needs to satisfy the craving for alcohol and so he/she seeks it out. Sometimes they ask others to help them obtain the alcohol – as in hitching a ride to the liquor store.

And oh, what happened then was rich.

I think if we substitute the word “sad” for the word “rich,” this would be exactly correct. Because what happens after the alcoholic gets the booze is rich with sadness.

The house began to pitch. The kitchen took a slitch.

Things become increasingly upsetting in the alcoholic household as the drinking continues.

It landed on the Wicked Witch in the middle of a ditch, which was not a healthy situation for the Wicked Witch.

The consequences of the alcoholic’s actions cause him/her to land in unpleasant situations. Eventually the health of the alcoholic deteriorates and puts the alcoholic’s life in danger.

Who began to twitch and was reduced to just a stitch of what was once the Wicked Witch.

The person who was once a vital, productive, happy member of the community is reduced to becoming a mere servant of alcohol. At that point, the entire family is not in Kansas anymore, but rather in some uninhabitable place – like Antarctica. No matter how many times you click your heels, those ruby red slippers are not going to help you now.

I’m told by fellow country dwellers that this is unusual weather for this time of year. Funny, in Linda and Riley World – living in a tornado is a way of life.

Top 100...

The Immortal Alcoholic has been listed as one of the Top 100 Blogs for Overcoming Addiction. I’m honored.

I’m also in great company since several of my fellow bloggers also appear on the list. Congratulations to Syd of I’m Just F.I.N.E. and Dave of higher powered. If you haven’t been to their blogs – do it. Both blogs are a source of inspiration, comfort and humor. You can find their link on the left side of my layout under My Blog List.

Although they didn’t make the Top 100 list, I would be lost without Addy of Alcoholic Daze and Anna of HyperCRYPTICal. These two bloggers are a vital part of my support group. Thank you for being there.

To see the list go here: http://www.nursepractitioner.org/addiction-blogs. Since I don’t have time to read all 100, let me know if you find one to be outstanding. With all those blogs there has got to be a lot of great information and support among them.

Not my choice...

The one aspect of living in the country bit me on the butt this weekend. It was Easter and I would have loved to have had a big family dinner at my house. I have the perfect yard for an Easter egg hunt. We also have lots of rabbits to hide those eggs.

My grandson’s wife has a lot of family where they live. They have a lot of obligations. There just isn’t enough time in the day for them to drive two hours to see us. I understand and I do my best to accommodate them, but I miss them terribly.

So… why don’t we go to them?? It certainly is the best alternative and, until now, we have done just that on previous holidays. This holiday was different because things are changing with Riley.

On Friday night, I cooked a wonderful beef stroganoff. The meat had simmered in a red wine which made it sooooo tender. The onions had caramelized. The mushrooms were fresh. There was nothing low cal about it and every calorie tasted superb! Riley loved it. I loved it. I wanted to lick the pan!

About an hour later, Riley lost his dinner. The stroganoff probably didn’t taste so good going the wrong direction. He went to bed and was up and down to the bathroom all night. The problem continues even through this morning – four days later.

Basically, he has not had a real solid meal since Friday – which doesn’t count because there’s no nutritional value in a meal that can’t be kept down. He has had toast, crackers, soup, and a bit of mac and cheese. In spite of it all, his liquid consumption remains about the same – 12 cans of beer a day with a few sips of water in between.

When my stomach is upset, I want nothing to eat or drink. I have to force myself to eat crackers or soup and to drink water. I usually try to stick to dry toast and warm unsweetened tea. But, I certainly could never drink a beer. The thought of it would send me on a run back to the porcelain bowl. It’s difficult for me to understand how Riley can continue with the beer. I don’t get how it is even physically possible to get it down at all.

So on Easter Sunday, driving two hours to my daughter’s was really not an option. Riley would certainly insist upon going. If he has the flu – I cannot expose the babies or anyone else. Our last trip to her house resulted in Riley peeing all over Alea’s brand new ottoman – that trip was a disaster. So even if the vomiting is part of an alcohol related illness and not contagious – I cannot expose anyone to that either.

One of the reasons I moved to the country was to separate Riley’s alcoholism from the children. As I fret over not being able to see them, I know I’m doing what’s best for them. My plan is working.

In the meantime, I make do with hearing my great-grandson laugh over the telephone. He has such an infectious raucous laughter for a little guy. My great-granddaughter briefly talks to me – she’s a 4 year old with things to do – such a little diva. I enjoy every second of hearing their voices. Afterwards, my resolve is reinforced that I’m doing the right thing for them. They are too little to understand. There should be no need for them to have to understand.

Is the vomiting alcohol related?? The logical part of my brain says – absolutely. We are probably on the downward spiral. I no longer check his feces or intestinal matter for signs of internal bleeding. I’ve freed myself from that by not trying to save him. If I don’t know that he is bleeding internally, I won’t feel compelled to get him to the hospital. I won't ignore it, but I won't look for it either.

I asked him if he wanted to go to the doctor – he said NO. I asked if he wanted to go to the emergency room – he said NO. I told him if he changed his mind to let me know and I would take him. He has not changed his mind. I don’t plan on asking again.

Oh – I know what you are thinking – how could I be so cold!! I’m not cold, I’m doing as Riley has requested. His loud and clear statement of his desire to choose death over sobriety rings clearly in my head on a daily basis. It’s not my choice to make. I won’t go against his wishes again because I’ve done that over and over and I’ve gained no ground.

Just to clarify – I will not keep him from getting to the hospital. I will gladly take him if he asks me for help. If he doesn’t ask for help, I will do nothing until he is unconscious. When that happens he will no longer be able to decide for himself and I will get him medical care. It may be too late by then and if so – it was his choice.

If it turns out that the Immortal Alcoholic is in fact truly mortal… well… next Easter the kids will come to my house the Saturday before and I will have a family holiday in the country filled with love and laughter.

Then again… it could be that Riley simply has the flu.

Tuesday's towel...

One of my very first needlecraft projects was to embroider a set of kitchen towels. My mother bought seven blank “flour sack” towels and ironed a transfer onto each one (do they even make those anymore?). The lines were to be stitched using bright colored embroidery thread in several different stitch styles. There were seven towels – one for each day of the week and each day had a specific task: Monday-Sweep; Tuesday-Dust; Wednesday-Laundry; Thursday-Ironing; Friday-Mend; Saturday-Shop; Sunday-Rest. It took me a while to get them completed, but I was sooooooo proud of them when they were all done and neatly hung on the handle of the oven. For months I changed them daily so they matched the appropriate day of the week.

My little girl mind would often drift into believing that maybe this is how life was supposed to be lived. Was there a day for each chore and was it always to be done consistently each and every week? I wondered if this was the way life was suppose to be lived and the fact that my family didn’t operate in that manner meant that we were somehow not living the “right” way.

After a few months, I forgot about putting the right towel out for the day and just grabbed one when needed for drying the dishes without concern for what day of the week it was. But, I did, however, carry over a bit of “neatish” behavior through my teen years. While other teens had rooms resembling the city dump, mine was neat and organized. My closet was divided by dresses, skirts, tops and pants and in each section the clothes were organized by color. For a teenager – I was definitely not normal.

As I have gotten older, I have digressed… Fast forward 40+ years… left to my own devices, I would have a house that was livably clean but not spotless. You might find yesterdays coffee cup still on my desk and the newspaper might be thrown about the sofa. In my room there is a stack of clothes that needs to be hung up or put away. If I lie down during the day, I do not re-make the bed. My toothbrush doesn’t always make it back into the holder. My bedroom slippers never make it into the closet.

I know I have a point here somewhere in the clutter of my mind… In Riley World there would be a kitchen towel for every day of the week and each would have a list of tasks. He would adhere to those tasks as though they were the holy grail itself. The towels would be changed at 12:01 A.M. every single day. They would be clearly hung on some special hanger in view for all to see. There would be no deviation.

Imagine the frustration he must feel when comforted with the fact that the pile of things… *#!% ...as he calls it… accumulates on my desk and my attitude is “I’ll get a round to it this week.”  It must cause extreme stress for him when he gives me a grocery list and I come home with only seven of the ten items. Riley lives in an absolute black and white world. I live with approximations and shades of gray with an occasional absolute thrown in.

Riley says he has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder – I’m not so sure. The absolute routine of Riley’s world has a purpose. He has told me that if he gets everything done that needs to be done, his time then becomes his own do to with as he pleases. And what he pleases is alcohol related. In his mind, it’s OK to be drunk to the point of peeing your pants, if the kitchen counter is spotless. It is OK to be oblivious to the end table having rings from his beer cans if he vacuumed the floor this morning. That doesn’t sound like OCD to me. It sounds more like alcoholic behavior.

There is a jagged sort of logic in his thinking. It’s not one I agree with – but it belongs to him and I have no right to try to take away his thought process. As he – again – progresses towards end-stage, he needs those daily reminder towels to keep him on task because he sometimes confuses Monday with Wednesday. He has difficult remembering his self-assigned tasks and when he is to do them or even if he has already done them.

I know that part of it is the memory loss from the stroke. But I am also acutely aware that most of it is that his frontal lobe is saturated with ammonia and therefore not truly able to agree to anything for a long period of time. I also know that he finds some kind of “pay back” in creating minor difficulties for me.  If he is not happy in the living arrangement, he will not let me be happy either. Or, if he makes me miserable enough, I’ll send him away.  Whatever…

I just want to give fair warning… if I see that Tuesday Towel around here, I will promptly burn it and then claim no knowledge.

Pure $$ and ¢¢….

There comes a time in most alcoholic’s drinking career when the money may run out.  If he/she is not old enough for Social Security or hasn’t retired from some entity that provides a monthly income, the alcoholic will eventually cease to be financially solvent. And even if there is an income, most of it will, in all likelihood, become booze. There may be a check, but that same check will surely morph into a bottle.

The best thing that could happen now is to go buy that lottery ticket. It’s really easy. Just make sure you buy the winning ticket and you’re set. And don’t go after those namby pamby ones for a few hundred dollars – go for the millions or even billions! You just have to plunk that dollar down on the right ticket and waah-laaa – you are set for life! How hard could that possibly be!?!

Now that we’ve taken a fantasy trip to lottery land – let’s get back to the real issue at hand in the real world. Because pinning your hopes on a lottery ticket is like depending on an alcoholic to be responsible – it’s just not likely to happen.

I can’t tell you what is right for you, but I can tell you some things I have done to make mine and Riley’s financial life a little easier. While reading this, remember that I have no small or dependent children at home. It is just the two of us that needs to eat and have a place to lay our heads at night. Things get complicated when there are children involved.

Control of the money is solely in my hands. While I include Riley in financial decisions and he participates in “budgeting time,” really I am the one with the control. It has to be that way. Riley will prioritize booze and porn above food and electricity. It’s up to me to make sure the bills are paid.

When Riley came back to live with me, I had him sign a Power of Attorney for his financial matters and one for his medical issues. I then contacted all his creditors and provided each of them with a copy of the POA. That meant I could now act on his behalf in negotiating payments in financial situations. I also opened a joint checking account so his military and social security retirement checks could be directly deposited into an account with which I had access.

I had no problem surviving financially for many years prior to Riley coming back to my home. I know how to support myself by myself and I have the means to take care of ME. Now that HE is here, I need his money to meet our joint expenses. So I must be sure there is, in fact, money to manage. Fortunately, I’m in an unusual situation for a family dealing with alcoholism – I have guaranteed income as long as Riley is alive. Most don’t have that luxury. But when he dies I will only have a small portion of what I get from him now.

So the question becomes – could we survive if we didn’t have his retirement pay? And how would I do it? Of course we would survive, but it wouldn’t be pretty. We would do without a lot of things and I would be cutting corners to the point of creating a hostile environment. That’s really not a big change in our present living conditions.

Currently, I give Riley small amounts of cash. What he does with it is his business and he seldom has enough to do much with – certainly he couldn’t buy much vodka with it. He does spend it on beer – his newest attraction. I take care of his priority list in as much as I can – new shoes, new printer -- those things are taken out of the household budget and not his pocket.

My financial goal is to get as much paid off and gone as possible so I only have to contend with the basic living bills. I want to pay off the car. I continue to stock my pantry and freezer to the brim so I have good healthy food to eat during really lean days. I’m building up my video library so I won’t be tempted to get pay-per-view or go out to the movies. I check out the dark end of my closet before I buy new clothes or shoes. I try to learn how to fix things myself before calling a repairman. I look for ways to get a few extra bucks. I try to put away just a few dollars a week – it almost never stays in the savings account, but at least I make the attempt.

In short, I’m preparing for the inevitable. I’m preparing for the day when Riley takes his last drink and my income is more than cut in half.

Thank God, I don’t have children in this house because that would make things so much more difficult. Those of you with children are truly blessed and I admire that somehow you find the means to keep it all together.

I got one of those chain e-mail things the other day. I thought I would share it with you.

Dear Congress… Last year I mismanaged my funds and this year I cannot decide on a budget. Until I have come to a unified decision that fits all of my needs and interests, I will have to shut down my checkbook and will no longer be able to pay my taxes. I'm sure you'll understand. Thank you very much for setting an example we can all follow.

I don’t know who the author was, but I am giving him/her a standing ovation!!

Smile...

This past week has been a tough one. Riley’s return to drinking has left me a bit frustrated and angry. I knew it would happen eventually and I thought I was prepared for it. But there is always a sense of “What the f……?” when the cycle does a 180.

There have been conversations – albeit nonsensical – about Riley’s drinking. I’ve asked questions like, “Do you understand that drinking is killing you?” The answer has never changed – his answer is “Yes.” Does he care? Yes, he cares but that’s not going to stop him.

During one of these conversations, Riley asked what would happen if I died before him. I told him he would have to go live with Alea. He asked, what if he didn’t want to live with Alea? I told him there were no other options. He then asked about what would happen if he didn’t want to live with me anymore? My answer was the same as the other one – he would go live with Alea. He said he didn’t want to go live with Alea. I told him there were two choices – me or Alea. He then told me he wanted to go live by himself in California. I repeated his two choices – California wasn’t one of them.

Riley is passive aggressive. He has ways of trying to get his way via the backdoor. We’ve had conversations this week about conflicting house rules. That is I have a rule and Riley has a directly opposing rule. For example, I don’t want the dog to be feed table scraps. Riley would set a place at the table for Jade if he thought he could get away with it. He ignores my rule and gives all the scraps to her when I’m out of the room. No matter how many times I have told him that this is not healthy for Jade, he insists upon feeding her those scraps.

In my mind, I believe he will do everything he can to generate a stressful environment so I will get tired of it and send him back to California. This is exactly the sort of thing Riley will do. I know this and I become angry with myself when I fall into the trap of letting him anger me to the point of yelling. Yelling has never done any good. All it does is make my throat sore and give me a headache. It’s definitely not worth it.

At the moment the only alcohol Riley is consuming is beer. Alcohol is alcohol. It doesn’t matter if it is beer, vodka or Listerine. The only difference, at the moment, is that the beer haze doesn’t seem to carry over to the early morning hours. That means I can have a semi-reasonable conversation with him prior to him popping that first beer of the day. I am grateful for the conversation; however, he is only SEMI-reasonable. I never know what the topic will be or if it will make any sense.

In order to maintain my own sanity and health, I have to reach into my bag of magic tricks and pull out my extra-strength survival wand. It’s in there somewhere – mixed in with my One Day At A Time and the chocolate bars. Then I see it… dim little lights in the darkness of the bag and they are spelling out… Smile and Nod!

When Riley’s conversations are unreasonable and I run out of things to say before I start yelling… I must smile and nod. Close my mouth. Turn off the reactive part of my brain and just smile and nod. It is not a nod that implies acceptance of what he says – it’s just an acknowledgment that he is speaking. The smile is to let him know that he has not succeeded in riling my anger.

So now the conversation is about how many clothes to put into the washer. I ask him to not put so many in at one time. He responds with – OK, I’ll just use less water. I tell him that won’t work because it would be the same thing as one of his “regular” loads. I tell him to keep the water level at high and use fewer clothes. He begins to give me a litany of why I’m wrong. I tell him, OK – just don’t wash any of my clothes. Of course, he has an answer to that and I can feel the frustration turning into anger. I shut up. I don’t express how irritating he is instead I simply… Smile and Nod.