Well, made it N.A. again. A bit late, couldn’t find the room. Found it, felt crook as all buggery. Was talking to old N.A. star on FaceBook and she convinced me to go. Not even in the usual, expected, N.A.ZI way. In a way that was more like “well, it worked for me, so if you want…” At that point in time it was 6pm and I was on and off the toilet constantly. Super runny. Not even worth standing up and wiping. Just sit there as you damn well you will be back sitting there in another few minutes anyway. Why bother aggravating the skin? So, jumped on bicycle about 7pm. Rode into town, no lights, no helmet, headphones on blaring some crappy old punk tunes. Got to internet cafe and presented my typically tragic story (see post below)… Got into meeting. Everybody looked up as they were near the end of a reading. Sat. Shut up. Took three layers of clothes off. Sweating. Took another layer off. Sweating slows. Shaking starts. Damn. Sweating, shaking and occasionally nervously jerking my way through an N.A. meeting doesn’t sound like a good night out. Shut up. Listening. Relating to some stories. As you do. You always do. They are the same. Of course.
Me talking to old N.A. Alumini last night on FaceBook… So missed what the subject was. Introduced myself when main person looked at me and said “there are some people here whom I don’t know the names of…” “Hi, I am ME and I am an addict (loud “HI ME” from the crew) who is pretty damn crook right now. I would share, but if I tried to say more than two sentences they would no longer make sense” and gave a thumbs up. Then sat trying to hide the fact I was shaking and sweating and shivering alternatively over the next hour. Heard about fifty percent of what was said. Ten percent I could relate to real well. One guy is off on a plane to meet his blood brother for the first time ever. He is fourty. I met mine at twenty. Should have said something after meeting. But someone came in later than me whom you know. He sat next to me, so I had a quick yarn to him and fucked off quick smart at the end. Which is a shame. They all seem cool. Would be good just to hang out outside of the confines of “meeting” sometime. Holy crap, I got to get back on the toilet……
Had a brilliant ride on bike to get home. CHILD IN TIME by DEEP PURPLE came on my headphones just as I said goodbye to old mate “anonymouse”… F C K N A! And the first bit was downhill. Hands in pockets, sitting upright (I do have a sore back remember – this helps with my core. I think. Maybe. It’s an ongoing study…) and rocking out to Lord, Gillian n Co through Wellington at 9pm. Dark, cold. Up the wrong side of roads, wrong way up others, cutting over footpaths, dodging the odd bus (hard to hear with all that guitaring and yelling going on) with hands in pockets. Got a few toots from people who thought I should know better. I do know better. Did I mention that before being a drug addict I was a severe adrenaline junky too?
It’s true. I was doomed from outset. At the age of three mum and dad got me a three wheeled bike. I rode down the concrete drive onto the gravel and ate shit. Gravel rash. Went screaming to mum. Tried again about five minutes later. Gravel rash. Went screaming to mum. Tried again……….. Yeahp yeahp yeahp……….. Made it through gravel in the end.
Oh shit. That is something else. MY DAUGHTER DOES THIS CRAP ON OUR BIKE RIDES TOGETHER. One day I asked how she chipped her teeth. She came off her bike ten times one day and didn’t tell me her tooth was smashed as we were too far away from home. She just got back on and rode faster and crashed again. She is intelligent enough I think to be able to deal with stuff later. But so was I. Mind you, she has a low http://www.acestudy.org/home ACE-SCORE adverse childhood event, mine is… Well, email me!
http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-playing-field/200803/the-addicitve-nature-adrenaline-sport This story by steven-kotler is about a guy whom I felt pretty close to, in a kind of AWE inspired way… I moved to Queenstown and set up extreme sports events when I got out of jail at age 21. Him and his mates couldn’t work me out at first. Then I told them some motorbike stories. Then I jumped off some cliffs in army boots at the top of Temple Basin ski field as they all yelled “no.,..!”… Hahahaahah. Come on lads, you have your ski’s and wings and parachutes. I have my old army surplus boots and black jeans and old bomber jacket and goatee. On the way back I had three dozen beer in my pack and jumped off a small bluff near top of main rope tow, through the crust and almost broke my ankle… Email me, will tell you about the trip back to carpark!
So, got home anyway. Was pumped. Rode FAST. Rode hard. Rode like I was at football training as a young fella. Rode like I was fit. Went up hills as fast as going down them. Just went. Went hard. Was the best feeling. Aggressive. Painful. Pumped. Got home pumped. Lucky the hills are small. Otherwise would have needed cardiac defribulation. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Defibrillation#Wearable_cardiac_defibrillator let me at it. Looked around at all the flotsam of five days of not really paying attention. Smelt the air. Opened a window. Did the dishes. Did not turn on tv. Put record on record player. Some crappy Chris Knox comes on. Did a bit of vacuuming (just where required). Congratulated myself on not going to score drugs. Just for today, after all! Hahahahaha!
TRIED TO REST.
Yes, good. Resting nice. Lay down on couch with gas heater going. Nice. Relaxing. Music playing. Slow breathing. Trying to self hypnotise. It works. A lot. I have to remind my daughter of it when she cannot sleep too. She’s nine. She’s going to be something special.
Resting is good.
Sleep. Well. Nope.
Sleep is one step too far.
The old shakey legs. The sweats. The not being able to get the cramps out of the body. Meditate all you want stupid. You ain’t making it to sleep. Not now. Sorry, get fucked.
Bugger me. I was so tired. A few hours sleep here and there over what feels like two weeks (I know it’s only a few days – but time goes on strike when you’re hanging) isn’t enough at all. Cranky. Annoyed with myself, I put on auto pilot and head to the opiate drug stash. Tramadol swallowed about 1am. Nod off about 3am. Wake at 6am. Brilliant. Feel okay, but groggy as all sin. Like waking from an opiated stupor but knowing otherwise. Not happy with myself for taking tramadol. But hey, go read what I am withdrawing from (70 mg’s a day of methadone a fortnight ago…)
Cannot be too down on myself.
Hard road this.
At least it’s just shivering and shaking and feeling like swine flu is back in town. At least this road doesn’t gravel rash my knees.
If you’ve ever wondered about the addictive nature of adrenaline sports, you might be interested in checking out the Matchstick Productions Ski Movie: “Yearbook.” It’s available via Netflix and while the vast majority of folks would probably rather watch paint dry than see a ski movie, my advice is to check it out anyway. Even if you’re not a skier, you’ll want to see footage of Shane McConkey ski-BASE jumping off the Eiger.
(From The Addictive Nature of Adrenaline Sports Published on March 15, 2008 by Steven Kotler in The Playing Field)
New RED BULL VIDEO… http://www.redbullusa.com/cs/Satellite/en_US/Video/mcconkey-movie-trailer-021243183377378 (typical over hyped Red Bull production)
And thanks to whomever keeps putting RED BULL magazines in my letterbox and all the free Red bull Chronical collections. Whomever is sending me those – You rule.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!——> http://shanemcconkey.org/laugh/ <——– !!!!!!!!!!!!!!