I Love You. I Love You. I Love You.

I spoke with my husband on the phone tonight, and he kept telling me again and again that he loved me. He said it too much.

I am suspicious of my husband for saying "I love you," too much.

I am crazy.

Good night.

Hi Crazy. I'm Crazy. Nice To Meet You.

Junky battles from the celebrity world.

A Brief Voyage Into The Land Of Idiocy.

So last night, we agreed that we'd meet in a parking lot after my meeting, and we'd drive together to his parents' house. He'd borrowed their car, and we needed to return it. The place where my meeting is held is halfway to his folks' place, so it made sense to travel together.

He has my phone, as I've had his turned off since he can't pay the bill. (Yay, big codependent victory. Boo, big codependent sucker-ass move in letting him use my phone while I'm at work.) I get out of the meeting, and he isn't there. I wait. I pace. He's not there.

Some folks come out, and I borrow a phone. I call, and it rings and rings and rings. I know that paranoid Mr. Junky won't answer a number he doesn't know. I call again. I call his parents and ask, "Is he there?"

Of course he isn't there. I ask them to try to call him with their familiar number, and I thank the first person to loan me a phone. I stand, and fret, and sort of cry, and walk around, and look at the addicts coming out of the N.A. meeting and sort of hate them for what they probably do to their loved ones, and kind of scope them out to see if one of them would make a nice husband, and then more people come out who I know, and I borrow a phone again, and I call him, and he doesn't pick up, and I call his parents, and he's not there and he didn't pick up.

By this point, there's a giant knot in my stomach. How long will it take me to learn not to trust him with my stuff, with plans, with anything?

I leave, but stop at a gas station pay phone to try his folks one more time. They'd spoken to him, and he was on his way to their house. I drove on to their house to meet him.

The crisis was small, and it had nothing to do with drugs...however, it had everything to do with selfishness, thoughtlessness, and his seeming inability to ever, ever, ever have his shit together. We never said that we'd meet at his parents'. We were going to meet in the parking lot. It was very clear. He changed his mind, probably, because he was late or eating dinner or jerking off or watching tv, and decided that he'd just meet me at his parents, without considering that there'd be no way for me to know that he was just driving out there.

I was telling a friend about this little episode, and I said that as long as he's not committing felonies or doing heroin, he feels like he's doing really well. It's frustrating, though, when the bar has been dropped so low. Yes, he wasn't doing heroin, and I thank God for that, but he was driving me nuts and being really selfish and stupid and inconsiderate.

Also, because of his heroin and felony behavior in the past, when he is disappeared for any amount of time, I get pretty sure that he is doing heroin or felonies. At least for a moment, I am terrified and heartbroken. The fact that I'm even writing about this briefest and stupidest lapse into the land of idiocy indicates that things are going well between us, that he's doing well and I'm doing well...however, I'm still waiting for the turning point, when things go bad...when he's gone, not answering, unresponsive, and when I either won't see him again because he's dead or in jail or when I do see him again, he's all mushy faced and droopy eyed and awful.

I can tell things are better.

I can tell things are better because reading the post about my husband acting like a drug addict makes me feel guilty.

Isn't that funny?

My Sponsor Is Magic.

I'm not just saying it because she might read this. She really is magic. And while I'm sure she's endowed with the magical hoohah that makes all codependents magic, she is also magic in that her voice can soothe a raging junky's wife.

She just kind of laughs, and says, "I'm sure he's not in jail. I'll come get you if he is. You're supposed to be doing whatever you'd be doing anyway."

BUT WHAT I'D BE DOING IS SITTING ON THE COUCH WITH MY HEAD IN HIS LAP!

(sob, sob)

"Well, I used to clean the house when I was worrying about things. Is there something you can do to keep you mind occupied until he gets back?"

She has magical voice super powers. I hope that through working the steps, one day I will also acquire this power. So far, however, my kung fu is not very strong in this area.

He wasn't gone for long, but he doesn't have a phone anymore, and I know he's feeling pretty desperate about money. I'd imagined him in jail, or dead, or on the ground with cops pointing guns at him. I didn't like that one bit.