I ride the same bus to the methadone clinic a few times a week. At first I thought the driver was sorta cute (god I’m a sucker for boys with glasses). I tried a few polite hellos, they were met with blank stares/borderline glares. No biggie. Considering how annoying riding the bus can be, I can’t imagine driving one forty hours a week. One day advertising reps for a new energy drink were handing out free samples. I grabbed an extra one and offered it to bus driver man (It was sealed, packaged etc and I explained where I got it so as not to appear crazy.) His response was to ogle me in horror as if I were offering him a dead puppy. Again, oh well, I tried whatever more energy for me!

This brings us to today. As per my obsession with recovery books I enter the bus clutching a book entitled “Party Girl”. (Fiction but excellent. Plus Jerry Stahl, the author of “Permanent Midnight” dug it…so you don’t have to take my word for it!) Out of nowhere busdriver man points to my book cover and says, I kid you not, “I bet YOU’RE a real party girl he he. Reading up on it to get some tips?” Seriously? This is really the first thing he’s gonna say to me? It took all my strength not to respond “Nope, not me! Just on my way to the good old methadone clinic!” I mumbled something vaguely acquiescent and walked WAAAAY to the back to sit down. Then I spent my bus ride wondering what exactly a party girl is, and how on earth I look like one.


{August 17, 2011}   Being Here Now

Just finished an AMAZING book by Noah Levine called Dharma Punx. It’s about a junkie/gutter punk from Santa Cruz (now why on earth would I empathize with that?) who finds himself (or salvation if you go in for all that jazz) through meditation and Buddhist practice.

I love recovery autobiographies. Actually, books, films, trashy Lifetime network movies…anything to do with someone spiraling into the hell of their own creation. My usual pattern is to read voraciously during the juicy parts-I sucked dick for crack, got stuck in my neighbor’s dog door while stealing a vcr, crashed my car with a bottle of JD in my lap and vomited on the good samaritan attempting to pull me from the flaming wreckage- you know, the good stuff. Once the book’s hero is on the road to recovery however, I schlog through the rest of the reading like it’s homework. (Fun Kate Fact #47: I almost NEVER not finish a book. I guess its one of the only areas of my life I am excellent at followthrough.)

This book was different. Drugs were never the main focus, the punk rock scene was. The feeling of homecoming you get when something is really, really right he found through music. So did I. He lost it through anger, fear, and drugs. So did I. Noah begins to use meditation and undertakes a massive spiritual quest to square his outsides with his insides- to be both a punk, and at peace. At least according to his version of events, he succeeds. I hope to follow.

“All of this is to say:wake up! Look at your own life and see what is true about yourself. Freedom is available, the trick is to stop looking out there for it and to sit down, shut up and see for yourself that your truest nature, however deeply buried or obscured, is closer to love than anythign else.” Noah Levine

et cetera