Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Letter from the desert

Hello friends (or whatever you people are),

First off, if anyone cares, I apologize for my abscence. I was MIA. After Otto died, things got nuts (things being me). Hubby saw no other solution than force me to what he called a 'countryside retreat, almost a spa, honey' in the desert in fucking fly-over country. Fine, I was semi-aware that I needed a minor make-over in the addiction area, but a whole f*ing eight weeks? I'm sorry I curse so much, it's against everything I ever believed in and I picked it up at boot camp (operation rehab), but it will wear off soon once I'm back. Using the f-word was sadly the only way I got anyone to listen to me. There was only one person there that I could bond with, a British model who makes a pretty decent living by looking doped up (she still didn't see a point in quitting, it'd just cost her gigs). The only thing we had in common was that we were hot, rich and considered euro trash by the rest of them.. oh, and that we'd dated the same polo player. I've never been much for comparing odd, sexual activities w other girls though, so the friendship quickly came to a halt.

Hubby came to visit once. He looked miserable, but as did I (there was noone to do my hair around). He said the supervisor said I'd made small, tiny baby steps in the right direction and I could tell he was pleased.
"This bodes well, hopefully we get a new fresh start".
He'd brought Casablanca, my favorite movie, and anytime I felt depressed I had the soothing voice of Ingrid Bergman close by. That worked, until during a therapy session, it came up she has the same accent my mom had, and that I must subconsciously miss her. I despise any freudian mom/dad bullshit and gave away my dvd player to a midwestern housewife with pot issues down the hall (see how pathetic? Rehab has lost all the glamour, and I'm not going back).

Anyway, I'm assumingly 'cured' from addiction, and am at the airport on my way back to Manhattan now. The flight is delayed and as I've read every magazine in the store, I turned to the net and realized I need to get back on here if I want to get back to my old life too. This will be the only thing in my old life my shrink said worth continuing ('it's therapeutic'), so I'll please her at the same time. How convinient.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

welcome back. i look forward to hearing more of your druggie stories as i seriously doubt you can do without. you'll be back in rehab again, but don't let that stop you from posting!

Anonymous said...

I think its funny as hell that you implicate Kate Moss in your story:

"A British model who makes a pretty decent living by looking doped up."

Holy shit, that's funny.

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Anonymous said...

Come on, don't go so long between posts! I don't appreciate cliffhangers.
Remember, this is good therapy.

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