One Day at a Time

Pulling into the last parking spot in the second row of grocery getters, I notice the klank of wine bottles in the woman's grocery cart as she passes us. I know he hears them. He notices everything. I steer us towards the far entrance so that the liquor department is as far away as possible. As we walk in, we're blasted with the smell of $5 coffee from the Starbucks. I know his thirst for even small drugs, such as caffeine, is overwhelming. As we stroll through the produce, I imagine how I would deal if we faced someone he needed to make amends with ... would I walk away and allow him to work this step or would I stand there in the awkward moment? I qualify myself as a true codependent as I answer my own dilemma: I would stay so that I could make sure he made his amends and so that I would know exactly what happened. I play this role so well.
We both notice the Stolich vodka sale display in the soda aisle, so I make some random comment in hopes of distracting both of us. I'm quickly reminded of the display as we pick up the gallon of orange juice ... I've never even seen him drink screwdrivers before, but the thought is still there. Though I hate that he smokes, I buy him a carton of cigarettes simply because I would rather he smoke than relapse again ... and I can't trust him with any amount of money to buy a carton on his own. By the time we're walking out the doors, I'm considering all the places I could hide my debit card when we returned home. At last night's meeting one woman reminded me that, "they act crazy and we feel crazy." Apparently, Hy Vee exacerbates this insane feeling.