Nine Kinds of Hell

Being married to a drug addict is nine kinds of hell. Even one who is supposedly recovering.

Right now, I am so angry, I am trembly.

My recovering addict husband has relapsed. Proof? All circumstantial. But our cell phone records show that he called a known pill dealer at 3:30 and 4:00 this morning. He was unreachable for about 8 hours. Finally, he called and asked where I was. (He had asked me to be at his place about dark.) I asked him why I couldn't reach him. He said he fell asleep. Wrong answer. I had campus police check on whether his car was in the lot. He wasn't home. He hung up on me.

I want out.

I stayed with him for the sake of our daughter. She is grown now. I stayed while he was in rehab, and I lived with his parents while I worked two jobs to make it possible for him to go to school. I'm done.

It's all very sad.

Ciao.

The Good American

Like a truly patriotic American, on this morning-after, I am trying to find the good qualities in President-elect Obama, even though he was not the man I felt best qualified to lead the United States. For one, He is an outstanding public speaker, with much more polish and finess than John McCain. We need those qualities to repair our battered national image in the rest of the world.

Right now, that's all I can think of. Perhaps others ideas will come to me.

Arrivederci.