Ativan Withdrawal

Tripping Alone

Two or three times a year I go on a vacation by myself.  I am able to do this because I am married to the best husband in the world who takes care of the kids, dogs, cats, fish, kids and house for the time I’m gone.  It’s not a time he enjoys, but he sucks it up and faces his fear of our children because he realizes the alternative is far more terrifying.  The alternative is that I don’t go anywhere and I become a danger to myself and others- mostly others.  He is a smart man and really the best husband I have had so far.
I may have mentioned once or twice that the last year has been a little difficult.  I have managed to rid Sofie of mental illness, get Addie and Sofie into new schools, get Sofie on the Cheer Squad at her new school, and cure Peggy’s cancer.  The only thing I failed at is getting Don’s show picked up.  I tried, but he needs to be home to babysit anyway.  Having accomplished all this I felt I had earned a few days away.  I decided to go to Portland and I had visions of going to yoga, walking three miles a day, and eating a lot of vegan food to return home rested and healthy.  Six days before I was supposed to leave I began a taper off of my latest benzodiazepine addiction and two days before my back went out.  Also, I forgot to pack my  “lady pills”.  By my second day in Portland I was a hormonal walking hot flash in Ativan withdrawal, barely able to take three steps without my back going into spasms.  When I would leave the hotel I had to be really careful not to wander into traffic. It was 60 degrees outside and raining yet I was wearing a slip and flip- flops.  I really did look like a crazy person. In case you think this ruined my vacation and deterred me from having a good time, it did not.  I was not deterred!  I have had a really good time.  And, I have to tell you it is easier to feel like shit when you are not home taking care of kids.  It didn’t matter if my back went out or that I was hallucinating because I would just find another coffee shop, prop myself up against a wall so I wouldn’t fall over and have some more caffeine.
I love Portland.  I have seen two movies at The Living Room Theater, which I like to call The Smarty Pants Theater, and spent an entire afternoon at Powell’s Books.  I have shopped in a lot of really cute little stores, eaten VooDoo Donuts and Vintage Shopped my heart out.  The interesting thing about vintage stores is they are filled with a whole bunch of stuff my family used to have.  I was in one store today and the music they were playing was a hauntingly beautiful Scottish Medley.  All of a sudden it was 1966 and I was in my living room in Garden Grove.  (My parents listened to weird music.)  I even went to a consignment shop and while vintage stores have stuff my family used to own, consignment stores have clothes I used to own.  It was there realized a disturbing and rather expensive pattern in my life.  I spend a lot of money on clothes, give them away, and them buy them back ten years later at a fraction of the cost.  Hmm.  Anyway, today I bought a Snoopy T-shirt from the 70’s and an old T-shirt with Buddah on it.  I’m pretty sure this qualifies me to be a drummer in an Indie Rock Band.  I am that ironic.

Washington Park Rose Garden
I have to go now.  I am going to the Smarty Pants Theater to see a French film about police in the Child Protection Unit.  Sounds cheery, n’est-ce pas?  Au Revoir.