Jeepers creepers, where'd you get those sneakers?

Casual stroll, not so much. I normally use my lunch breaks to go on a run (a whole 4 blocks!) to the gym. Do a power workout with ESPN on mute and Snoop on blast. Run back (4 blocks AGAIN!), take a quick shower at work, and bask in my glory that I broke my lunch break habits of napping and movie watching. Today, I opted to go on a walk to people watch and appreciate how beautiful San Francisco looks in gloom. This was quickly interrupted 7 minutes in.

Enter Candi at the park, feeling a presence quickly approaching her back

Man: Ma'am ma'am...can I clean your shoes?!
Me: They're brand new. They don't need to be cleaned. [turn to walk away]
Man: Please let me ask you a question! My name is _____ and I'm from New Orleans. I don't lie. Do you know why?!
Me: No
Man: Because I got no alibi! Do you lie?!
Me: Hmm..mediocrely clever. No, I try not.

I am clearly drawing back; I don't want to engage. Personal space is violated. Song on my iPod now playing to a disconnected audience. Gloomy weather now menacing.

Man grabs Candi's right hand, bends down and starts touching her feet

Man: I know where you are going, and I don't lie. You are going to start walking with your left foot and then your right. Am I right?!
Me: Yes.
Man: Can I get a tip?! How about a hug?! Give me a hug?!
Me: Umm..No.

I try to pull my hand out of his. Drawing back is much more obvious and a woman starts yelling, "She said no! Get away from her!" Panic ensues. Please give me my hand back. Oh god, is he going to hurt me?? Quickly scan the park for witnesses that may need to be called upon later. Stupid fucking city, this never happens in Orange County. But nothing really happens there.

The tops of my toes still feel his pressure. The skin on my hand burns where it was touched. Invisible creepy crawly infectious germs embed my pores and spread on my clothes. Where has he been? What has his hand touched? While I am no longer on medication to deal with my daily wars on touch, I still have my battles.

I never said this was okay! An encounter far from threatening in terms of possibilities, but please PLEASE give me my personal space! I'm screaming in my head now, clawing and thrashing about, but to him exhibiting a calmness to not stir any alarm. If I show fear, it might make him angry and retaliate. I'm afraid he is going to put his hands around my neck like those fuckers did last year when I got jacked. "You want me to hit you, bitch?!?" He doesn't know how scared I am that this will happen again and I won't get out of it so lucky. Life adds another generous deposit to Bank of Paranoia.

Candi exits park, disturbed.

Gym tomorrow. Run my 4 blocks fast with Snoop and Em spitting lyrics that make me wish I had a gat, ready for urban battle. Nah...that would just get messy.

And your little dog too.

So much time was spent trying to come up with the most clever URL (my clever fellows, you stole my greatest www dot ideas), I fear I've lost my night's meager writing desire. I wanted to start this account long ago, but never thought I had a life point pivotal enough to ooze on paper or tap in binary code. The other day I was alarmed to think how much my ego has romanticized about such a moment. May I part the seas, will the moon to implode, and only then will I start eJournaling like the rest of society!

I do wish I started this 150 days ago, when I got sober. If you knew me prior to that day, to many, I'm sorry. If you met me after, well you missed quite a show! I have felt amazing in sobriety, working my steps like the good sober others of the 86'd variety. This week, however, I struggle. Step 7: Ask god to humbly remove my defects of character. I did not think I would have issues giving up _____, _____, and ______, but I do! They protect me when I'm insecure and scared. When I think I'm less than, I cling to my little defects like I once clung to various smoking apparati. And so, outside of Embarcadero bart, Zeus cracks me with a lightning bolt. In only 6 hours I had curbed multiple urges to dance with my defective devil. Realizing this, and that I did not act them out, I suddenly felt like a horse who had been broken. A disco ball with no luster, no shine. I felt boring, vulnerable, and goody goody.

Light another cigarette - mom hates them and dad suggests the California culture will ostracize me. Inhale, regain composure, and sneer at the dirty stray pigeon. There, feel better, Candi?

A little.

Sponsor says at these moments I should call her or pray. If I call her, she will tell me to pray. End picture is always supposed to be me giggling at my sneaky higher power. Slapping my forehead, "I should have known it was you all along!" Today I had no desire for such jovial eye openers. I want to practice my defects, roll and rot in them. Laugh and throw mud at passers by. It's my right to engage with some ill intent, some destruction. After all, I gave up booze and drugs. What else? If my defects are taken I will surely be exposed and naked, prone to evaporating into tiny little particles of purity. No thanks. It's the evil goo that holds me tight.

So back to my pranking higher power... I already did my second and third step so this god shit should be in the bag. But did I really embrace the idea? I still have no clear vision of what that is. In my beginning months of sobriety, I just nodded, followed, and took suggestions as though militant demands. Sponsor, yes sponsor! Anything to keep me out of bars where old friends would cheers me, while old girlfriends would judge me, and I would inevitably skip down a yellow brick road, arm 'n arm with the wicked witch, scaring the shit out of cowardly lions. Just for fun. I do not want to go back there. It was dark, it was mean, and I was too altered to care.

So my best thinking takes me here. Don't address it. Avoid it. Let's start that journal you've been thinking about. Ack. I suddenly feel like Doogie Houser. I need a life lesson closing while early 90's bee-boo-boo-bop-beep music plays over my keystrokes. But Vinnie never climbs through my bedroom window, and I am not a child doctor. Just a sober sally seventh stepping to insanity. Good one, god.