I did well yesterday. But I guess it all depends on what you decide is progress. I did smoke. Twice. But, as I was leaving, I was presented the choice to grab some shit to take back to the house, or to opt to exercise my control. I chose the latter.
It’s 5 in the morning and I wish I had something to smoke. However, it’s rather strange because don’t regret not bringing a small stash. Part of me is happy I stuck to my guns. It’s there. It’s not like it’s going anywhere. Control, baby, control.
What am I suppose to answer when you ask me if I’m still smoking?
You’ve threatened to leave me and take my child away. Yet, what have I done wrong? I smoke. I smoke and you don’t even know about it. I’m high just about all the time when I can. And yes, I’m around you sometimes.
But what have I done? I don’t know, it the last week two months I’ve gotten licensed by the state for financial planning; I’ve done everything you’ve asked when you needed help with baby, the household, the finances. I bonded with the baby. She knows me now. I just dropped an $11,000 check into the bank account, not counting the regular salary that is enough for the mortgage, car, student loans, and everything else. I have another $23,000 check coming. I rebalanced my portfolio (and am earning over 40% since the beginning of the year.) I’ve updated my life insurance policies.
How’s the smoking thing going? Well, do you want the truth or the lie? The lie, “oh, I’m handling” and “its going fine” makes you leave me alone. Even more, you tell me you’re proud of me. But, what is my alternative. Did you ever think of how the conversation would go if I answered with the truth? ”Not good at all. I’ve been trying to quit, got down to once a day. Even did a good job keeping it away from the house for a while. Now it’s found its way back. I’ve been smoking 2-3 times a day sometimes. I even smoke out back. I’ll try again, but I don’t know if I can quit”. What kind of response would that have elicited?
I had to lie. It keeps the peace.
At the end of July my wife discovers my doctor’s note for medical marijuana. My dumbass left it in the car and she happened to find it. She asks why I have it and, “more importantly where’s the doctor so I can get him fired”. I explain to her that I’m tired of trying to call random people to connect in random places. I’m too old for that. But I assured her that it was expiring.
Then I renewed it in August.
In October, 2 weeks before the baby was born, she finds my stash and leaves it on the dining room table. When I get home she tells me there’s something on the table for me. I walk by and my face is stuck in the “Oh shit” mode. She starts crying and confronts me on lying to her (she found my bubbler and I told her I was holding it for a friend); then proceeds to let me know that the baby will not grow up in such a household and that she has no problem taking her and leaving.
