In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “An Extreme Tale.”
My marriage ended, and at the same time, my new career began. I drank daily, I drank hard. I studied daily, I studied hard. I socialized hard. I had to meet new people, it seemed more important than ever. I don’t know if I ever really slept. I still had the hour commute (one way), the result of a geographic compromise that had been made a few years earlier with the ex: We lived halfway between her work and my work. I was learning a new language, the language of technology. I often worked well into the night. I often drank well into the morning. I picked up smoking again.
I was trying to cling to the progress I had made before all this – in a prior devoted self-helpy spiritual quest, but I was losing ground. The safe, sane and spiritually grounded grounds that I did manage to hold – it was a life-saving sanctuary for me. If I hadn’t undergone practices and measures of improving my Awareness and Presence before this crazy confluence of life forces slammed into me, I don’t know if I would have come through it. I was fighting for my sanity and my future. I used every bit of horse power I had only recently added on. There was also this writer thing – the voice inside that demanded to be heard and splayed out onto paper – cracks in the sidewalk would definitely fill with weeds and words. Walls would be spray-painted. Stickers needed sticking. Pamphlets needed distribution.
It was everything. It was all the time. It was all at once.