Day two of my 2nd stint in rehab, morning meditation

A counselor is making his way through the great room, to the podium in the center, when he stops directly in front of me. Somehow recognizes me from my IOP program there five years earlier. Good memory. I can’t imagine how many clients have come and gone (and come and gone and come and gone).

I remember him too and I am sleep deprived and substance free against my will. No mood for whatever sarcastic shit I’m about to hear.

“What the fuck are you doing back here, Kirsten? Not enough fun for you the first time around?” I feel like this is a stupid question that deserves a stupid answer.

“Can’t seem to quit fucking my life up. It’s this goddamn booze. You guys gonna fix me this time?”