Source: Band of Brothers
I’ve always thought I would make a good substance abuse counselor. I once signed up for classes at a place in the Bronx. You had to take a test and the top 10% would get in — it was free, so I ignored the angry, violent feelings tests cause me to have. I finished first and handed in my test. The teacher / guy giving the test raised an eyebrow and asked if I’d like to “look over my answers”. I glanced around the room of about twenty adults and saw they wouldn’t be done for quite some time but I was feeling a bit nauseated so I told him I was done. He had me wait while he graded my test. He cleared his throat and went over my test a second time. “I’m not supposed to say this but you’re in. You got a 100%.” (Take that, lysdexia, er, dyslexia.) I was told I would have to wait two weeks for the classes to start but during that time I found out I was pregnant. I told them I couldn’t take the spot.
The link above is to someone who is a substance abuse counselor. I chose this one because it reminded me of my ex — and why it didn’t work between us. My drug days ended when I became a parent. He’s living a continuous cycle of drugs, Rehab, back to drugs. He’s done the halfway house, the sober house, Rikers, impatient, out patient… you name it.