I'm under construction.

I have a question.  Where were you on Sept. 11, 2001?  It’s hard to believe there are indeed people that don’t remember because they were too young or something.  That's how long ago it was now.  For years, the radio station morning shows would do nothing but play remembrance shit.  It’s so god damned hard to hear.  I don’t know if they do it anymore because I don’t listen to one second of radio on Sept. 11.  No.  Way.  I’ll always remember.  I’m still overcome with sadness at the thought of that day.

On Sept. 11, 2001, I woke up in the bed of my newest love interest.  I had to break up with him after the story that follows.  It was all just too intense to be dealing with a person mostly unknown, and given the emotional state I was in.  A second phone call came from my eldest sister, Alena.  I answered.  She said, “okay, so this is really scary.”  I felt the tears swell already.  I was so scared her next words were going to be, “mama…”  Something happened to my mama.  My worst fear in life ever—to lose my mother—and that will happen.  My worst fears will one day become true.

She filled me in… I felt relieved and guilty all at once.  Mama is okay, but… well.

On went the news just in time to see tower two get hit.  I won’t recount the horrors of that day.  We won’t fucking forget, okay.  Stop SAYING THAT.  God.

I started a new job that night, 9/11/01.  I’d lost my other job at a hotel because I just fell completely apart after my breakup a year earlier.  I had just been spiraling out of control.  Long story.  It was also the last semester of college.

I started working at Joy of Austin as a cocktail waitress.  It was a deplorable job.  Contrary to popular consideration I did not strip.  I did show one boob for a $50 once.  For about 3 seconds.  He said it was worth it.  Whatever.

The next three months were spent working in an environment where women subjected themselves to the grossest of human beings.  It was exhausting.  I self-medicated with tequila.  I wasn’t supposed to drink while working, but I did anyway.  I wanted to forget everything—Steven, 9/11, losing my job, my completely shattered heart, my lack of direction, my hatred for school—everything.

Just before my birthday that year, I got a judge at one of my tables.  He was loaded.  He had a team of associates and he asked for me as his waitress.  All I had to do was sit there and talk to him, be nice to him—that wasn’t hard, and he’d tip me really well.  Bill always $300-$400, and he was a 30%er.  His associates began buying me tequila shots.  I did six.  My tip was $150 that night from one table.  I didn’t want to lose yet another job.  So, when asked if I was “fucked up,” I declared, “no.”

I drove to a guy friend’s house.  Nothing beyond friendship had happened between us, but I wanted it to, and so did he.  I was so drunk.  When I got there, his ex-fling and her friend was there.  So, I got back in my car, crying… not because I really cared all that much… I was sobbing due to the situation in which I found myself.  I drove the rest of the way home.  I lived in Leander then… it was easily 30mins of trying not to puke or crash.  I’m so ashamed of it.

SO FUCKING ASHAMED.

I opened the door to my bathroom and just barely made the toilet to vomit my night away.  What followed was the worst hangover I’ve ever had.  I drank coffee and water, took some advil and just sat… stunned.  I knew at that moment something had to change.  So, I called my mom.  She said she wanted me home to help care for her elderly parents who’d just moved in.  It was true, that was hard on her, but she didn’t really need me.  She was just saving face for me.  She told me to quit my job and stop drinking until school was over.  She’d help me the last semester of school with bills, and then I could come home.  Fuck I missed her so much.  So I agreed.

Then, I called Steven.  I hadn’t spoken to him in a few weeks.  But, so much had happened.  9/11.  I felt the need to hug everyone I saw, and get in touch with those I don’t any longer.  I guess I was waiting for some kind of “don’t go” sound in his voice.  It wasn’t there.

So, I finished school.  I went home.

I didn’t drink for a year.  It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.  That breakup tore me up.  9/11/01 was the catalyst for me to acknowledge something had to change.  I hate such a terrible thing had to happen for me to change.

I’m working on it.

I thought of this specific post today: http://memoriesmysterious.blogspot.com/2010/11/return-my-love.html

Read it.  It's not long.  First off, forgive my horrid grammar and punctuation.  I was lazy about it at that time.

I still remember writing it. I feel the same heaviness that caused all those emotions... again.  For the first time since the first time.  It's like he's collected the pieces of me that I left behind, and he's come to return them.  I feel drunk--every time and completely by him. 

I even forgot to eat today.  Drunk as fuck.

I almost cancelled that first date for a run because my legs were sore.

BECAUSE MY LEGS WERE SORE.

I almost didn't meet him, and now I'm intoxicated in the most wonderful way.  He actually likes ME.  Me for me!  Who knew that was possible?  This doesn't feel real.  Maybe I took too many ZMAs and I'm in a dream that seems to last weeks, but it's really only a few hours, and I'm going to wake up, drunk AF off these butterflies giving me goosebumps, and I will just be here, alone.

Tragic to wake from such things.

Intoxicated, and I just want more.  I am greedy.