Yesterday I was a coup d’ something. I told my mom at the end of it that it was the most productive day I could remember. Not the most productive in my life, mind you, but that I remember, which, arguably—considering how bad my memory is—isn’t saying much. I got everything done, I told her, in one day. And it was Wednesday, my skyscraper day. After weeks of feeling triumphant if I got two separate things done in the same day—and that wasn’t that long ago—I was stoked!

And today I was tired. Man, was I tired!

I got up, walked the dog, helped Mom make and eat eggs benedict, went with her to take river rocks out of the dry bed of the Salt River, turned around because we saw no-trespassing signs, and went to bed again mid-morning to sleep three and a half hours before having to walk the dog again and make my movie date with Mom and her friend.

Hanging out with two Mormon women is a far cry from hanging out with crack whores and hustlers, no doubt, but it was golden. They’re two of the sweetest women on earth, and I wouldn’t think of turning down their invitation. Mexican food after the Mormon movie, then ice cream at Flor de Michoacan, and I’m back home ready for bed again. In fifteen minutes, I’ll watch The Andy Griffith Show with Mom (yes, I’m a bonafide mama’s boy these days, but I love that show and she does, too, and watching it is an evening ritual we treasure, okay?), and that’s it.

Yes, I did everything yesterday:

• interpersonal contact and communication (sent a couple emails)
• music (practiced bongos for 30 minutes)
• finances (activated my new bank and credit cards)
• writing (blog entry)
• development (HTML/CSS tweaks, fixes, and additions here)
• health (cardio and abs at the gym)
• recreation (an hour at the dog park&hellipwith Buddy, no less)
• education (obedience training for Buddy and me—not sure who needs it more)

And today, I did nothing. Except for this post. It’s the one inviolable, sacred, bare-minimum, must-do to-do I have right now. Crucial to my self-prescribed recovery program is daily reflection on the subject and some sort of public accountability, and I meet those requirements by writing on the web. It’s like group therapy only the group is potentially much larger and the static/interference/blither-blather much smaller.

Anyway, I’m a bobble head on the rollercoaster of recovery; it’s two hills up and one hill down. I kicked ass yesterday—my own ass. Felt good then, but not today. I’m bushed! Downright tuckered out. Feeling like I might by on the edge of falling sick, even.