God Takes Care of Babies and Fools...

Recovery (n.)

Webster defines it as the process of combating a disorder (such as alcoholism) or a REAL perceived problem.

Dictionary.com lists a definition of a different sort: Regaining in substance in a useable form, as from waste.

Google (who seems to have an answer for everything) described RECOVERY as "the action or process of regaining possession or control of something stolen or lost."

Obviously, it's just that simple. So simple, even a 5th grader could deduce that the word recovery represents some form of fixing, a healing (if you will), of something once thought damaged or irrepairable.

Is that what I was?  Was I damaged?  Was something inside of me irrepairable?

What started out as a night with the boys ended in a blur of flashing lights, handcuffs, and a violent seizure on the floor of the Athens-Clarke County Jail...

Gasping for air from a condition dormant only until extreme anxiety engulfs my entire being, I could remember flapping around on the floor like a fish out of water, hoping to completely pass out before they could open the holding cell.  Losing complete consciousness...hell, dying or the perception thereof, could have been the only means of me leaving that place.  And for a brief second, dying on that floor didn't seem so bad.

I, ladies and gentlemen, have the uncanny ability to drink far more than the normal person my size (5'8, 175 lbs) and still function like a"normal" human being.  Walk.  Talk.  Drive.  All the typical functions of what is perceived to be "regular."  However, on two seperate occassions, I have been convicted of driving under the influnce in the state of Georgia--earning the distinct label of a habitual offender.

Habitual (adj.)

Regular, usual...

I had made a habit of drinking and getting behind the wheel of my vehicle, as many of you who are reading this blog have done, knowing that you take pride in being able to "hold you liquor" enough to get you safely home without having to worry about any harm coming to you or others.  And I thought the same thing.  I could hold it...and very well indeed.  Yet, I had taken my fairshare of chances, rolling the dice of life--finally rolling another snake eyes.

The old folks say God takes care of babies and fools; and at age 28, I was disqualified from the "baby" category, yet I was playing the role of the "fool" quite well.

I hadn't killed anyone, or even injured anyone the night of the incident (at least physically), and my job was still safe as I had informed my employer of the situation.  It was the shame and shackles connected to an upcoming jail sentence, followed by a drug treatment program stint, that really set the stage for what was to come...