The Official Rick Bell Blog

Unorthodox Pagan - Excerpt #7

Clink.

Rhonda is coming over and it’s time to clean. Nothing escapes her prying eyes. Never did, never will. She’d love nothing more than to pull a bottle from the sofa cushions and wag it in my face.

That reminds me, did I check under the sofa? That gap between the bottom of the sofa and the floor is just perfect for sliding a half pint bottle in. Holy crap, there are three… make that four. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.

I remember that Saturday. Well, about as well as I remember any Saturday. Four trips to the Walgreen’s… or was it five?  I really meant to buy just one half pint; one half pint at a time, that’s my limit. Always has been. I’m no lush.

Just wanted to clear the morning fog and before heading out to the driving range. Didn’t quite make that trip; the TV got in the way of that little excursion. Vodka and television—the perfect combination to guarantee instant amnesia. Can’t remember was I was trying to forget. Probably the last 15 years—not much there worth holding on to.

My sock drawer! Don’t know why Rhonda would open the sock drawer, but she has that freakish sixth sense. If there is an empty to be found she’ll find it. Clink. Clink. Clink. Better check under my tee shirts. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.

Don’t know why I don’t just use a trash can when I drink… that’s a lie. I’m not toting a Hefty bag full of empties out to the trash cans behind the triplex. Freakin’ nosey neighbors. That’s all I need is for Mrs. Crowell to go poking around through my business. “Oh look, he’s a drunk and he’s go hemorrhoids.” That’s all I need. This bag is going straight to my trunk and then on to the dumpster behind of the Bank of America.

The bathroom! Breanne was over last week. Must have made six or seven trips to the bathroom that weekend. She’s like her mother, always sneaking up on me. The bathroom is the only safe spot for pulling a swig when she’s around. Hope she never goes looking for a toilette brush under the sink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.

That should do it… or maybe not. I’m sure I’m forgetting something… but what is it. Damn, I wish my memories had a little color; eight shades of gray is the best I can hope for.

Where could they be? I’ve already scoured the car. Is it me, or do half pints fit perfectly under the passenger side seat?

900 square feet. It shouldn’t be that hard to remember where I’ve stashed things. Probably should think about picking things up more often. Just too many piles for things to slip under. Who’s been here lately? Breanne, of course. Can’t remember any friends stopping by… can’t really remember any friends at all.

Oh yeah, mom and dad. That was a surprise. Trapped here an entire Sunday. Caught me early and stayed all day. Good thing I had to head out and ‘buy some potatoes’ for dinner. Kind of wish mom hadn’t found the nearly full sack of potatoes in the pantry while I was out. That was a little embarrassing. But it got me out of the house and let me do some shopping. A break from tradition if I remember—a full fifth of vodka made its way back from the store with me.

Where did I put that? Did I already throw that one away?

I know I thought about throwing it away. Dad was napping in the bedroom and mom was working the kitchen at full speed. I barely smuggled that one in. Mom tried to relieve me of all the groceries as I walked in the door. Fortunately, the morning cravings bred fast thinking. What was my excuse for hanging onto that one bag? Oh yeah, I claimed to have gotten a belt for my perfectly functional vacuum. Stashed the whole bag in the hall closet. I must have made 10 trips to the closet that day. Clunk.

OK. Bring it on Rhonda. You aren’t catching me today. We’re ready for inspection.

What am I thinking. She’s not getting here for another four hours. I can sneak in a quick one…

Unorthodox Pagan - Excerpt #6

(A very rough draft of something I am toying with...)

“Val, I want you to just slow everything down,” Victor implores softly. “Take three deep breaths and let your body relax deeper than it ever has before.”

My first deep breath nearly triggers a cough reflex. I am surprised to see just how tight and constricted regular breathing has become. Relaxed is not a state my body knows.

“Relax every muscle in your body,” Victor suggested. “The fight is over. Let your eyes close.”

The second deep breath comes a little easier. As I exhale, my eyes close and I feel the tightness in my chest begin to loosen.

“Now as you take in this last breath, hold it for the mental count of three. Then let is go with a deep sigh.”

As I take the third breath I make the decision to just let go and listen. One… I began to sink into the soft leather chair. Two… my neck and shoulders begin to go limp. Three… all the fight in me gathers into my chest and I let it go with a deep sigh.   I am ready to listen.

“Good... now continue to focus on your breathing as I talk to the real you… the real Val… and I’m going to talk to him right now.”

“Val, imagine you’ve just walked into your favorite sushi bar. You are the only one in the room, but a feast awaits you… a most unusual feast. There is sushi. You told me you love sushi. Sushi and sashimi of every variety—rainbow rolls, tempura rolls, yellowtail, salmon and tuna. And there are you favorite raw oysters, from bays up and down the coast.”

“You’re starving, so immediately you begin to eat. But from the onset something in the back of your mind tells you that something’s not right. Nothing is as fresh as it appears. The food is chilled, but maybe that wasn’t always the case.”

“But you are famished, so you ignore those thoughts and continue to eat. You can’t stop yourself. Though you suspect something is amiss you can’t stop yourself. You continue to gorge.”

“As you continue, your stomach starts to churn. You attempt to quell the churning by eating even more. Churn. Swallow. Churn. Shallow. Nothing you do stops the churning.”

“Then you notice it, a strong, overpowering fishy smell that in your haste to eat you ignored. As you inspect the food closer you realize that everything is spoiled. The feast was an illusion. You have gorged on spoiled, raw fish.”

“You race home. Nothing feels right. Your head begins to spin. You make it to your bed.”

“Sleep doesn’t come. Nothing you ate is sitting right. You realize the inevitable is coming.”

“Violently, you vomit onto your pillow. All the night’s gorging comes up bathed in bile. Finally, the vomiting stops. You are exhausted. You lay your head on your pillow… onto the vomit and close your eyes to sleep.”

The image is etched into my thoughts. Involuntarily my stomach twinges. I feel the slime on the pillow as if I’m actually there. I slump further into the chair feeling disgusted with myself.

“Val, this is what you are doing to yourself every day. The beers and the vodka are not what they appear. For you, alcohol is poison. You are drinking the excrement of live yeast cultures. You are drinking to the point of vomiting puke and blood, you might as well make yourself regurgitate every night and lay in a pool of your own filth.”

I cringe. The truth pains me. I know he speaks the truth. My old friend is not what it seems, maybe it was never a friend at all. But still every cell in my body cries out for more. I need a drink and I need it now.

The Recap...

So let's recap the last two weeks...

- Two weeks ago I go-live with the biggest project I have ever managed. It's successful, but I am drained from multiple sleepless nights.

- Three days later I rush my mother to the ER and she winds up having a pacemaker installed.

- I squeeze out one blog post

- I get explosive diarrhea coupled with a vicious cough

- A visitor to our house brings two cats... I am deathly allergic to cats

- A clerical error at the IRS results in me being served with 6 certified letters yesterday afternoon indicating that all my bank accounts are going to be levied

- My iPod battery runs out just as I enter the tanning bed last night.

- On my way to work today I stop at 7-11. The tab comes to $7.02. The clerk doesn't spot me the 2 cents. I walk out with 98 cents in change. I hate carrying change.

- I inadvertently tune into sports talk radio and learn the outcome of the Monday Night Football game I had Tivo'd last night because I was too sick to stay up late.

- My team lost... on one of the last plays of the game.

- I arrive to work and check email. All three of my fantasy football teams lost.

- I cough so violently in my office that I black out.

- During the blackout the ghosts of all my childhood pets appear to me. They question my lack of interest in them after the first two weeks of ownership. The kittens accuse me of throwing them repeatedly high into the air to see if they would always land on their feet... I vaguely recall some kitty nosebleeds. The guppies accuse me of deliberately euthanizing them with an overdose of water purifier... (I swear the little inner cap that limits the output to one drop at a time fell off on its own, but yes I did try to shortcut the whole process of cleaning the bowl.) The sheep accuse me of... oh, never mind... the sheep are bold face liars.

- I come to from the blackout and realize that I'm not wearing pants. As I try to make a dash for my car my executive sponsor catches me and beckons me into her office.

- We attempt to discuss the recent up tick in PeopleSoft security tickets though its obvious she wants to comment on my lack of Dockers. It's an awkward 15 minutes. I know the security ticket issue is important, but I can't prevent my mind from over analyzing why today, of all days, I chose to wear my Spiderman thong. I excuse myself as quickly as possible.

- After dashing into the nearest stairwell I realize that I left my car keys on my desk... next to the security access badge that would allow me access back onto my floor without circling around to the lobby.

- I exit the stairwell at the ground floor and enter the lobby. Using the only bit of misdirection training I remember from my mail order magician class I call the security guard's attention to a nonexistent pair of squirrels mating on the grass next to the entrance.

- As the guard cranes his neck to get a glimpse of funky squirrel love I dash into a waiting elevator... which makes it a full half floor up before coming to an abrupt stop.

- Two hours later I am finally pulled up through the escape hatch by a disarmingly attractive fireman named Pedro Rivera. All my coworkers are gathered around the elevator lobby to witness the extraction.

- As I stand next to the elevator door exposed to the world Pedro eyes me up and down until his eyes finally come to rest on the thin layer of cotton/polyester blend covering my most private of privates. "You know, we could use a man like you down at the fire station," Pedro whispers into my ear.

- Pedro brightens my day, I can finally blog again.

(Seriously, the past few weeks have been pretty challenging. I will start writing again soon.)

Think for Youself!

I’m not what you would call a bright person. While others around me tackle the big issues of the day—global warming, the Iraq conflict/civil war, and how best to provide 24/7 coverage and analysis of the four Bimbos of the Apocalypse (Britney, Lindsay, Paris and Nicole)—I am content to blog about coffee pots I have made tinkle in and where to place my iPod as I lay naked in a tanning bed. But as I launch into writing my first novel—Unorthodox Pagan—I have been trying to read up more to inspire semi-coherent writings and thoughts.

Coming off of three hellacious weeks where my writing output tailed off drastically, I decided to jump start the creative process with a trip to the local Borders. $54.37 later I was armed with four new paperbacks intended to fire my imagination. (Actually three books that I intended to plagiarize… make that study… and one grammar guide that I desperately need to peruse.

A good chunk of my Labor Day weekend was invested in a book by Steve Hindes called Think for Yourself! I figured $12.95 was a small price to pay to learn how to break free from the babble, bias and hype of US Magazine, The Daily Show and Entertainment Tonight that serves as the basis for most my opinions.

Overall I found myself enjoying the book immensely although early on I was put off a bit when Mr. Hindes dropped some pretentious, look-at-me-I-have-a-thesaurus adjectives. (I’m sorry, but it’s a little tiresome to have to log onto Dictionary.com to decipher a paragraph. Though admittedly dull, I’m thinking the majority of the population would not understand “cataleptic surfing of the Internet.” Come to find out, cataleptic refers to the loss of contact with their environment experienced by schizophrenics. As a diagnosed Bipolar I with psychotic episode I took exception to this. Never at the height of a manic episode would you find me YouTube-ing videos of a monkey peeing into his own mouth. I was too busy wrestling with the concept that I was the Holy Ghost and my purpose in life was to save the world from its impending demise.)

I sorry, but when writers write to impress rather than communicate it gives me a rash.

My real problem with the book came as I got about two-thirds of the way in. Keep in mind that the book was entitled Think for Yourself! I was expecting to learn how to spot non sequiturs, flawed syllogisms and rhetoric designed to obscure the truth. But as I approached page 132 I realized the book was a bit of a funnel in print.

At the start, we circled around the wide open top of the funnel. The discussion centered on making evidence-based decisions… let the reader decide what decisions to make. But as one swirled downward through the pages, the author narrowed his definition of what it meant to think for yourself. A more appropriate title would be Think Like Steve Hindes or Risk Being Labeled a Drooling Mouth Breather.

Unfortunately I had been sucked down the funnel. I was in the narrow tip and there was no escape. If I didn’t start thinking like Steve I might as well give up any pretense that I was a rational human being. I had found my Higher Power and He was a board certified family physician and lecturer in public policy from the University of Denver.

As I continued to read I realized that any thoughts I had about faith, hope or God were delusional to say the least. I could not escape his perfect logic. My cherished beliefs were beginning to topple.

Then Steve slipped. As he attacked religion (which was not unsettling as I have more than a few gripes with branded and marketed conceptions of God) he played the same old tired hand dealt by many before. How many people, in the name of religion, had done despicable thing? Inquisitions, witch burnings and wars… yeah, he might have a point there. Conversely, he implored, consider the avowed atheist that he characterized as a “very conscientious moralist.” Namely Friedrich Nietzsche.

What?!?

Are we talking about the same misogynist who said women should stay out of important decision making processes and instead prepare themselves to be the play things of his idealized warrior/leaders? Are we talking about the same great moralist whose favorite put down was labeling his German counterparts as Jews? (I assuming he meant this as a putdown even though he took the position that he was not an Anti-Semite… he just felt Germany had more than enough Jews and couldn’t “assimilate” any more. I feel the same way about Belgians. I’m tired of their my-waffles-are-perkier-than-yours smugness.)

Now I only have a minor in Philosophy from lowly Cal State Fullerton—which doesn’t even get me a 15% discount at Denny’s—but even I know that Nietzsche was no great moralist. He was a pathetic little invalid who daydreamed about his superman aristocrats governing pathetic little pawns like you and me. Here was a man who scoffed at the idea of loving your neighbor as it was a sign of weakness and fear. Why else would you have charity for another unless you were trying to appease him?

Thanks for the out Steve. I was you mindless puppet until page 132.  But you your flawed reasoning gave my naive delusions new life. Now I’m truly free to think for myself.