Not an Addict 15.12

Hello, my name is Cornelia


and I’m not an addict or an alcoholic,

I am his Mom


and I am stubborn

a family trait.

My past behavior reflects

that I can be glaringly stupid too.


I had a moment of clarity recently

it seems my main problem

is that I’ve developed a nasty habit of speaking my mind

I also have some forgiveness issues.

I want my chocolate chip cake and ice-cream with the pirouette cookie

and I don’t want to share.

I want to sit on the right hand side of god

and then tell him how to run things.

I like pants

and yet

skirts are also nice.

I love my family

and I am embarrassed by them.

I invite suggestions

but will do what I want.

I tend to ignore gorillas in small rooms.

My problem is

I can’t have it all and I’m running out of time.

So my brain talks to me and says

Cornelia, choose already!

Find out

if all your hard work and effort

all the time you put in

all the tears

was worth it.

Keep going.

You are almost there.

Let go of the false hope

the alternate reality

where life is always fair

where you get Prince Charming --and the castle.

Just Be Happy!


But Just Be Happy--is bull.

You have to work to make yourself happy--it’s hard

you have to decide every day---you have to choose it.

Happy is a metaphor for good choices.


So stop moaning

about what you don’t have

about what life didn’t give you?

how you didn’t deserve to suffer

and about how tough it was

all those years

in the blistering heat

in the tropics

working as a roofer

twelve hour days

having to go home

crawl into bed

only to wake up and repeat the same thing the next day—year after year

to go shopping after work in filthy sweat stained raggedy clothes

walking through Safeway looking

like I was homeless

only I wasn’t—I was building a life

carving it out of stone—me and the other fossils

who could’ve done it better in your instruction book

yada, yada, yada

cause nobody wants to hear it!


Sometimes the only thing left

is to get down and pray

yes –pray, from a non believer

Pray for peace

Pray for enlightenment

Let go of the entitlement fantasy

Pray that your hijacked memory comes back

and that you see really wake-up before you get locked up or the reaper comes for your sorry ass.

Pray that you see what really matters

before you drown in that pit that you’ve dug for yourself.

Because there is one thing I do know

I was quite willing to get down there with you

to wander dark alleys

hunting for discarded scraps

forgetting about family

blanking out my own sanity

lost on some river in Egypt.

Face down, eyes closed, teeth grinding, always there

a phone call away, waiting for you to have one lousy moment of clarity.

I did manage to learn a few things though

I learned that

I count too

that my wants and needs are, just as important as yours

that if I constantly drive against traffic with you-- ignoring reality

that I am not taking care of me.

I learned that it’s not only okay to say no, it is a requirement.

So don’t ask me for help anymore.

Don’t ask me to sit quietly and watch

while you destroy the most precious thing in my life

one day at a time

bit by bit

because if you don’t care enough to help you

at least have the guts to leave me alone

because I could sure use some help right now.

Because I’m mom

and even though my brain is saying no

my heart is saying yes

because my off switch

is stuck

and because even if I could turn it off

I won’t.

I will defy logic

Dad

and the law if need be

because that’s how I’m wired

but you already know that.

You are betting that Mom

will come and bail you out again and again

and tomorrow will magically be okay

and hell the world’s coming to an end anyway in 2012

so, WTF!

Might as well go out smiling

kiss your bony butt goodbye

take your mom hostage with

drag her stupid ass through the mud too.



We could make up some

Mom’s coming to jail to visit me and bring money, so I can do more drugs-- T-shirts

make them this shitty brown color

or maybe a piss yellow

or how about a purple barf stain.

Purple’s my favorite color.

So when mom has to drop her laundry

to see your sorry ass in jail

she can tell herself it’s because she loves you

and it wasn’t really that bad

and then promise you again that she

will keep jumping back into that pit with you-- forever if need be

because she couldn’t possibly let you do it alone.

Someone might rape you

or stab you repeatedly

leaving your bloody corpse unrecognizable

and then she would have to bury you in a closed casket

and then mom would have to

dig up some old photo

before you were a drug addict

when you still resembled something loveable and pure

and pretend to all the relatives

and friends-- you still had,

that life had just dealt you a bad hand

and if you had just had some breaks

and a little help--you might still be alive today

only--that would be a lie

because it really wasn’t about that at all

If the truth were to finally come out

long after your rotten corpse

decomposed

and the cockroaches crawled around

your intestines and had millions of babies

nesting inside

your ruptured skeleton

buried in an unmarked grave

that the real reason you died

the real reason you wasted your life

even though you had it all

was all because you made some bad choices.