11/19/2025
My apartment basically staged a full-blown rebellion. Major things broke all at once, like they were coordinating a strike, and the property management company responded with the enthusiasm of someone hitting ‘snooze’ on a smoke alarm.
And listen… that sent me into a place.
A dark place.
A place where the little voice whispers, ‘You know what would make this easier? A drink.’
But instead of listening, I went full survival mode — meaning I became a feral raccoon in a cardigan, digging through emotional trash, filing complaints, sending emails that could peel paint, and defending my territory with sheer chaotic determination. I knew that taking my sobriety for granted could kill me and land me back at Day 0- self loathing, guilt and all that trash that goes with it.
And somehow, in all that dumpster-fire energy… I stayed sober.
Not out of perfection. Not out of ease.
But because this little emotionally-overcaffeinated raccoon deserves a safe den, not another reason to feel lost.
If you’re struggling too, here’s your reminder:
You can fight through the darkness — even if you have to bare your tiny raccoon teeth to do it- sort the trash.
