I learned three lessons this week. I saw greed personified, I read "Guts" by Kristen Johnston, and I got wound up and confessed something very revealing to a friend of mine, and she didn't end up hating me.
I will tackle the second two lessons after I tackle the first. As some of you know, I am working again after being "effectively unemployed" for over two-and-one-half years. No, don't fret for my family, I was never without a check, nor did I use up any of that mythical happy retirement dough. I got this great job, where after suffering the slings and arrows of government employment for over 30 years, I am suddenly respected, valued, and actually writing for my living. I never thought I would be able to say that.
Now I don't want to embarrass anyone, so I will try to disguise this part just a bit. The firm I work for sells franchises, but they also perform a service. In this case, the service was to remove everything but three pieces of awful furniture from an apartment in San Francisco. Everything gets thrown into a giant truck and away we go. It was my one day to accompany our workers to the job so I could learn the nuances of our service. We were met at the apartment by a 70ish, short guy, who led us up to a third floor walkup--that means no elevator--and we walked down the hall, into this apartment.
It was filthy. From what I understand, someone had died in this apartment. There was a church robe in a plywood closet, a picture of Jesus near the front door, and pornographic movies and magazines stacked up in a box. It smelled oddly sweet, but medicinally so. There were mouse traps, roach traps, a rug that looked 50 years old. We removed absolutely everything but a few sticks of furniture. Bathtub, toilet, sink, personal items, everything but cleaning products and the aforementioned furniture.
While working, the real property manager, a tall guy about 40 arrived. Here's how he and his posse climbed the three flights of stairs: Tall guy first, all smiles and full of bon mots and bullshit, then came the shorter property manager, following on the heels of the tall big shot, then a short girl, low-cut blouse, about 25, holding a ledger or a legal pad. It was like she could have been holding big shots makeup, or like she was his personal assistant--take this down. Big shot wants to nickle and dime every transaction, and he acts like God's gift to the whole world.
I thought of him like this though: "How can you prance around like the fucking blessed saint of apartments and allow people to live like you do?" Oh, I know, not everything is in his control, but this apartment was the worst excuse for a rental I have ever seen. The fucking floor in the kitchen was bare wood, not wood flooring, but ancient sub-flooring. All the plumbing was ancient and rusted, and big shot doesn't seem to have any empathy in his entire being. I felt very thankful that even at its worst, my life never took that turn.
Onto "Guts" by Kristen Johnston. This is the second book I have read about addiction. I don't consider myself an addicted to anything but depression, FB, writing, feeling sorry for myself, and at various times, golf, surfing, playing music, sleeping, etc. Substances, not very often. Acceptance? Oh, I need it, I need it, I need it, please, please, please.
Kristen talks to the reader. I love the conversational style of writing. I use it myself. The book starts off funny, like the ha-ha kind of funny. First page and onto the second good, but I wondered a bit if I the book was going to be all funny, and what... no money. Second page of text cures that. The revelation is made, still funny, unless you consider the implications of what is said.
Our society has long celebrated the drunk, the stoned, the mentally-ill. It's a joke right? My generation laughed a the drunk guy on the Jackie Gleason show, Foster Brooks--the lovable lush, even Barney on the Simpsons has his moments. Later came the Hippie-Dippy Weatherman, Cheech and Chong, and even Roseanne Roseanna Danna. All this is funny stuff unless it is real--unless it is you.
Kristen was the functional drunk--the functional addict. Until it all backfired on her. We all know her on "Third Rock from the Sun." Think about that show. The actors had it wired. It was funny without being absurd or maudlin or stooping to a series of stupid jokes about tits or pandering to the kiddies. But make no mistake, Kristen was high whenever she got a chance during the run of that show.
What was the reason? Acceptance. It's a lousy deal being nearly six-feet tall at 12. It's a lousy deal being made fun of for something you can't help. It sucks being the girl no one loves in high school. This is no celebrity pity party though. Kristen laughs at herself, at others, and she laughs through a description of harrowing intensity when the years of abuse she had been dealing her body finally, and dramatically, takes it's pound of flesh.
Look, I like this book a lot. It isn't because I think Kristen Johnston is beautiful, or because I dated two women over 5'10" in my life and they don't scare me, or because I wish the author would read this and think me fabulous. Don't get me wrong, approval is my drug of choice. But there is something being said in this book that is real. The conclusion isn't all wrapped up into a neat package of happily ever after. It isn't even one day at a time. While Kristen doesn't say it directly, I think she knows that even AA meetings are often just another form of addiction. F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote a short story about a drunk and if I remember, a child, where one is just holding his breath about whether the main character is going to screw up and lapse into drunkenness again. The tension is built just wondering if he can manage to stay sober. I think "Guts" leaves us with a bit of that. I think she will stay clean. She thinks she can stay clean, but there's always a possibility that she, or you or me can fall back into this dark hole. Yeah, it's funny and scary.
Finally, thanks to Shelley for listening to something really personal and understanding. It meant a lot to me in this remarkable week.
No comments:
Post a Comment