Addicts who double as Circus Performers, or: As Monkey to the Organ Grinder, She danced the night Away

In recovery, particularly residential recovery facilities, there are certain “types” a person gets used to seeing again and again. There’s the agressive type, who will inevitably tell you, at one point or another that she used to do collections, has hidden bodies, and watched better than you die slow and painful deaths, so steer the fuck clear, thank you, kindly. (I’m proud to say this is usually my role…) Then there is the passive agressive type, this person will bottle up all kinds of emotions until they bubble up from her insides in a murderous rampage. Crazy Spice used to be my all time favorite for this role, but I’m afraid she has been de-throned by “Smile-to-your-face Hauls-ass-to-staff Immediately-when-you Turn-your-back” or SHIT Spice, for short. Later on, we shall get further into SHIT Spice, and how she has her own horrible little things about her, too, but for tonight, I’d like to focus on “Doing Undesirable-things-just-to Make-you-pay-attention-to-me Because-I’m-an-Idiot Spice” or D.U.M.B Spice for short.

DUMB Spice is one of these individuals who likes to pretend she knows all, has seen all, has done all, and therefore can tell you all, despite the fact she knows NOTHING about ANYTHING, and has a cerebral capacity unable to hold it’s own attention, let alone any vast amount of knowledge. DUMB Spice reminds me very much of an addict circus performer who has fallen from the high ropes a time or twenty too many. She is perpetually attempting to be the center of attention, and, when given the floor in group, thus gifting her with a captive audience, is clearly unable to stop talking under her own power. She rattled on for several minutes this morning about some stupidity or another LONG after she was finished speaking from the heart. Finally, in an effort to avoid leaping over the coffee table and wrestling her to the floor, I poked Mama Spice, (my BF in this place, and someone who reminds me so much of my Mama J it’s like having the world’s best blankie living with me) and we did our “bunny kissies” at each other.
Bunny Kissies are not anything drastic, rather they are when we kiss our pointer and middle fingers, and touch them to each other’s fingers, and then move our fingers like bunny ears.

DUMB Spice was horrified, however, as it was clear by our actions we weren’t hanging upon her every retarded word, and immediately said “That was rude.” Fortunately, as breaking her monologue to chastise us pushed the siloquay for idiots out of her mind, she had to relinquish the floor almost immediately thereafter, which made it all worth it. Once outside, however, DUMB had to explain herself to me in an effort, I assume, to invoke a heartfelt apology from me. (Clearly, no one has informed her that I am Agressive & Homicidal Spice, and would only apologize to the likes of her if I was allowed to wrap said lamentations in a quick shot to her head.) I listened to her attempts at sympathy for all of three seconds, (which I felt I deserved commendation for because it was three seconds longer than it would have normally taken me to give her a shot to her stupid blonde head…but, alas, not one soul came running out with a medal) and then cut her off by telling her I felt she was rude in what she’d said inside, and was not in the mood to listen to her  self-justification for such at the moment, thank you.

DUMB Spice was clearly shocked, evidenced by her wordlessness for a full four seconds, after which she did the only thing that could have possibly made my fists itch with desire for her head. She whined. “But I’m talking about my fee-eelings!!” DUMB Spice said, obviously expecting that I was going to slap my forehead in shame and yell “Your feelings?? Oh NO!! I’ve interupted you talking about your feelings??! Please, DUMB Spice, let me sit here at your feet so I can properly beg you for forgiveness for interupting your monologue about your feelings with a silly thing like telling you to shut the fuck up.”  Instead of saying any of those things, I simply regarded DUMB Spice coldly, now indulging in a full fledged fantasy about causing her serious bodily harm. I inhaled deeply upon my cigarette, “I don’t care.” I said, letting the smoke drift out of my words towards her. DUMB Spice got up and went inside, and inwardly, I couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of out and out glee.

Later this evening, DUMB Spice, clearly feeling that we hadn’t paid her attention in the last thirty seconds and needing that situation rectified, parked her baggy ass at the organ in the hallway and began to play loudly. Two individuals asked her nicely to stop, DUMB Spice ignored them both, in fact playing louder for each request to be quiet. “I think I’ll suddenly find myself with a burning urge to play the organ whilst DUMB Spice is watching one of her shows.” I said quietly to Mama Spice. Instantly, the organ grew silent. “Why would you say that??” Demanded DUMB, “Because I meant it?” I answered, wondering briefly if this was some manner of trick question. Why else would I have said it? Certainly not so I could bask in the glory of a conversation with this neanderthal. “That’s revenge!!!” DUMB Spice cried, as though I’d threatened to burn all the hair off of her head and rub her scalp with alcohol.

As an individual to whom revenge means cutting out a tongue, shaving off a finger, (or several), or shooting up a house, I couldn’t help but wonder what my friends in addiction would think of the collector bitch they knew suddenly standing up and playing the organ in a red faced revenge invoked fury. The image cheered me considerably. Rather than bothering with the formalities of listening to DUMB Spice’s certain hour long complaint about how I’d hurt her wittle feelings, I smiled gleefully at the mental image her whine had imprinted upon my mind, and walked away with her still balefully whinging at my backside as it waddled past.

Who the hell says you can’t have fun in recovery???  I’m having a fucking blast!

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~ by double2dee on April 7, 2009.

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