Walking on Broken Glass - Christa Allan [92]
I figured his five hours parlayed into my five hours. I could read, have lunch with Molly, grade papers, shop, read, hang out at CC's, read more. With the exception of paper-grading and the coffeehouse, which I generally paired anyway, most of these had involved alcohol. Sobriety was going to require rethinking all of these activities.
I knew the watch was safe in the safe (lesson on redundancy), so I didn’t mess with trying to figure out the combination. I calculated I had about four more hours before Carl would be home.
Rebecca had cautioned me about extremes, especially in early sobriety. Too much time could be just as dangerous as too little time. I needed to call Rebecca with my schedule for the day, which included the meetings I’d be attending. That was one of my post-Brookforest mandates from my new sponsor who told me, “I want to know what you’re doing and what you’re not doing. If I’m not home or I don’t answer my cell, leave a message. If not, I will haunt you.”
Five polite beeps. Coffee maker code for ready. Last week was my week of lasts at Brookforest. This would be my week of firsts. I was on my way to my first cup of coffee in my own kitchen. I found my usual coffee mug, a gift from my first Advanced Placement class. They’d pushed the envelope when they designed it, but they were so proud of themselves I had to laugh and, of course, accept. On one side, they’d written, “We survived this class,” and, fortunately, on the side facing me, “… with AP-ness.” My principal, who appreciated their cleverness, also told me he’d appreciate my not leaving it in the faculty lounge. I poured the coffee, but immediately experienced two sinking feelings. One was that I hadn’t made decaf, and the other was that the reason I needed to make decaf was sending me to the bathroom for my first morning sickness at home.
Four hours seemed like a much bigger chunk of time last week. Over an hour had passed, and all I’d accomplished was waking up, throwing up, and dressing up. I found decaf, made a fresh pot of coffee, and sat at the kitchen table to write my first “TO DO” list as a sober person.
1. Don’t drink.
2. Call Rebecca.
3. Don’t drink.
4. Call Molly.
5. Read today's meditations in The Promise of a New Day and Twenty-Four Hours a Day.
6. Carl?????????
7. Make appointment with Dr. Nolan for 2nd OB visit
8. Find/buy journal for 12 Step work
9. GO TO MEETING AT SERENITY AT 6:30. (Al-Anon mtg. @ that time)
10. See #1 and #3
When Carl called to tell me he was on his way home, I’d finished #1-5. Rebecca and I had arranged the place, time, and date for our lunch. Molly said she was on her way to an appointment, but she was “grateful and ecstatic” I was home. She said she’d call back in a few days, but she knew Carl and I needed time together. I’d purposely waited on #7 because I wanted to include Carl in the appointment with Dr. Nolan or at least offer him the chance to be there.
I slipped on my canvas sneakers, cleaned the coffee pot, and brushed on enough powder and blush to not look scary white. I hadn’t eaten breakfast, so I planned to ask Carl if he wanted to go out for lunch. We’d at least be forced to act civilly toward one another in a public environment. After last night, and especially with Carl having spent the night on the sofa, I had no idea which version of Carl would soon walk through the door.
My meditation today was, “I will accept my life and the paths it is taking, and trust that God is leading me where I need to be.” When I read that I thought of Robert Frost and “The Road Not Taken” and it occurred to me that perhaps Robert struggled with his paths and decisions as well: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”
God, if my path in life is