Confession is good for the soul

Yes, I have been busy with the whole moving thing. Until this morning, I had not unpacked a single thing since last Saturday. It's all about the early move thing. The stuff in the boxes? Not necessary for everyday survival. But today I started unpacking more stuff because I knew that I had to head back to Berkeley -- mostly for cleaning but I also knew that there were still some things there that I wanted. No way possible that I would bring more stuff in without unpacking some of the other stuff.

And this week there were two more deaths. My stepbrother's father died on Wednesday. My heart goes out to him. His brother was killed 20 years ago. (Sheesh. It can't have been that long ago. Where did the time go?) Then his mother died just this past November. And now his dad.

The second death was also on Wednesday -- the girlfriend of my "little brother." (My little brother is the youngest son of my "real parents." I started babysitting him when he was six months old. My freshman year of college he would come to my mom's house and ask where I was.) I liked her a lot. Because she wasn't a skank like the other girls he had dated. And we shared a first name. I haven't heard the final autopsy findings but apparently it was an aneurysm. She was 29. *SIGH* Have I mentioned how I'm so done with this death thing?

Sometimes I wonder if it's some kind of butterfly effect thing going on. I finally decide that I really want to stick around and the people around me start to drop off. It feels like life's cruel joke. The Summer of Death has become the Year of Death.

But this isn't the real confession. It's the post that I wrote on that other blog but never posted. There was that meme that went around that I posted. And some folks never understood why I said "yes" to being arrested. Now I'm going to explain.

I used to party hard. I hated my life and did not care about the consequences. Heck. I would drive down the road in broad daylight and would have a quick flash in my mind about what it would be like if I was to plow my car into the median. I just didn't care. It was the same energy that would make me think ,"Drink until you're almost sick and then make yourself puke it all back up. And then start again." And my fave bar back then had a bed in their storeroom. Sometimes I'd take a quick nap and then return to the party. And I'd stay out til 5, 6 in the morning. Except for that night hanging with the rugby players from Australia when I left for home at 10 a.m.

In those days I lived about 20 miles away. It was bound to happen. One of those early mornings, I got pulled by the cops. At my exit. He didn't have a breathylizer in his car. And I had failed the field sobriety. (Truth is I can barely pass it sober.) And he hadn't wanted me to get out of the car. Because I was barefoot -- how I usually drive -- and wearing skirt. And it was winter. (One of the benefits of being considered pretty.) By the time the car with the machine was pulling up, I had convinced the cop to let me head off home since it was no more than a mile away.

A few years later I wasn't as lucky. I should have stayed at the bar. Instead I headed out. Because the bartender -- to whom I was not attracted -- was hitting on me once more. And part of my brain told me to get the hell out of there. And that's how I found myself being pulled over by the cops just a couple of exits short of home. And I remember thinking, "Crap. Why did I stay on the freeway?" Because back then I would hit streets as soon as I crossed the bridge. And I failed all the tests. And found myself crying and in handcuffs. But the cops felt for me. On the way to the police station, they let me ride in the front seat. The second cop rode in the back. And I spent the night in jail. Because I was too ashamed to call anyone. In the morning after my release, I walked back to my car. A month later at my court date, I pled no contest. And over the next six months I paid off my $1500 court fine. And paid the $500 to attend the court-mandated classes. And another $100 or so to remove the restriction from my license after the class. Oh, and there was that day of community service in lieu of a second day in jail.

Now I live with the higher insurance fees -- that will hopefully drop at the end of this year as the seven years will have passed by then. And having to explain my arrest on job applications.

And this is why I say that I am a former partygirl. Because the person before all this crap went down? I'm just a pale shadow of that person now. Because I understand the consequences of behaving otherwise.

Oh, and on a happier note. I have been getting all kinds of crafty lately. It's helped me to find balance in the midst of all the crazy. (Actually there's more I haven't mentioned here. Believe it or not.) And so I hope to share it all in the coming days.