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Ass Kicking: Carrie Style

     My girlfriend and I nearly broke up.  I think you can tell by my past entries that I am incredibly in love with her.  Why this nearly happened is still a mystery to me.  Girls can be so confusing sometimes.  My past may have been a bit checkered, but I swear to you that I was making good progress: My meth lab was bringing in plenty of money; I stayed away from all public schools as a condition of my probation; and police never found any of my prints on the car I left burning by the bridge on Carolina Beach Road following that little “job” I did for the Gambinos last week.

     You’d think a girl would give a guy a break.  After all, men truly are works in progress.

     Seriously, what she really said was that my mood swings were getting to be too much.  Being the stand-up guy that I am, I realized that I needed to do something different, so I tried a mood merry-go-round instead.  Carrie temporarily pulled the plug on things before I had a chance to get to the Ferris wheel.  I hear from my bi-polar friends that the highs and lows are a real bitch, so maybe it’s a good thing I never got that far.

     I think Carrie would have pulled her hair out if I had.  And I like Carrie with hair.  She’s really, really cute.

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    I have to say nothing forces you to confront your worst emotional issues like having your ass thrown out of the house.  That’s what Carrie did to me.  I would have been fine, too, if that was the only thing she threw out, but my girl’s pretty thorough when she sets her mind to something, so the rest of me went with it.

     Except the cat. 

     She stayed and I had to forage in dumpsters until an animal control officer caught me and nearly had me neutered.  I was pretty comfortable at the animal shelter until a yipping Chihuahua got into my business and I realized I was going to have to do some pretty bizarre things to survive in a place like that.  I’m not about to sniff another animal’s touch-me-nots.

     That’s what’s called a paraphilia, and I don’t have one of those.  Depression, maybe.  Mood spectrum disorder, possibly.  But animal fetish?

     Hell no.

     Plus there was an unusually large dog that kept giving me the come-hither eye, and I don’t ever want to be a St. Bernard’s bitch.

     Where I actually ended up temporarily was a homeless shelter.  Carrie told me the time apart would give me plenty of time to reflect on my attitude.  And really, I did. 

     I discovered I had an attitude against being homeless.

     In about 0.8 seconds I figured out that the homeless life isn’t for me.  The shelters don’t come equipped with amenities I’m accustomed to.  For one their moscato d’Asti tasted an awful lot like punch and the sleeping accommodations included a bunkmate and wino named Zeek.  He snored.  And smelled.  At home my sleeping accommodation was Carrie.  I was able to put my arm around her.  Zeek looked like he was too bristly to spoon with, and Carrie never smelled.

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     Things got to the point where I decided I had to leave the homeless shelter and go find a large box somewhere to sleep in.  That little decision nearly landed me in jail.  I’m pretty tall and need a box with lots of legroom.  I finally found one and some guy started carting the thing off.  We had words.

     How was I supposed to know he was delivering a refrigerator?

     I am happy to report that I’m no longer homeless.  What I am is something in between.  Carrie had a good reason to experience a meltdown.  Unfortunately that was what it took to get me to wake up.  Part of the problem with depression and mood spectrum disorders is that when you’re in the middle of one you don’t notice it.  It’s like driving a car in an earthquake.  You just think the road’s a bit rough—only earthquakes are caused by tectonic faults slipping and quakes in relationships result from behavior.  And when you’re the one causing the ground to move, people tend to react negatively.

     I’ve done a lot of work to extinguish the behaviors that nearly caused a disastrous rift to form between Carrie and me, but a lot more remains to be done.  I am trying to heal old wounds within my family and to atone for my poor showing with Carrie’s.  When two people love one another and are committed to making a relationship work, anything is possible.  But work is the operative word.  And that’s what I’m doing—working my way one step at a time, moment-by-moment, back home to those I love.  Carrie has the light on for me, and I know that one cold night I will finally see it, gleaming in the darkness like a beacon of love welcoming me back.

     Sweetie, I’m on my way.

     Thank you so much, Carrie.

     I love you.

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