Life as a Spawner

I keep having these really awful, graphic nightmares, horror movie stuff.  There's always a lot of blood and visceral detail I won't get into. Stress much? You know, when the alcoholic goes through rehab, if you're like me, you go, "Oh things are going to be SO MUCH BETTER!" and then they discharge, and they are, and then you realize you live in the state I live in and you go, "Hey wait a minute, this isn't going to last - oh...man..." and BOOM everything goes to pot. Seriously.  Now, by no means was this anyone else's responsibility, but seriously, the recovery programs here are effed up.  You're still wrestling with the 'tude of, "I kin do et mahself," and really, sure, you can, if you want to drink your liver into a weapon of mass, blunt destruction (read: scarrify it).  But when you call ye auld rehab only to find out that the counselor that helped your husband was canned and so was the director of the place as expecte