We All Have Something To Say

Diverse: Different; dissimilar; varied.

One of the real strengths of The Fellowship is that a tremendously diverse group of people is thrown together to try to solve a common problem which is killing us dead -- sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, but with a ruthless efficiency. we are people with every imaginable opinion and belief. We are people who would not ordinarily mix. Recovering alcoholics are like survivors of a shipwreck, drifting in a lifeboat in the Sargasso Sea -- no one is worried about making sure that the Democrats outnumber the Republicans. We're just trying to keep the sharks out of the boat.

As a Drunk, I used to sit in bars surrounded by people who thought and acted like I did, which was clearly not one of my better ideas, and this from someone with a long and storied history of making really lousy decisions. We solved the world's problems. We couldn't believe the stupidity of anyone who didn't share our views. We would occasionally break bones patting ourselves on the back for our brilliance and insight. Then I would go outside and fall asleep in my car, in January, with the windows open. That's the guy I want to have making decisions that affect all of the people in the free world -- the guy passed out in the back booth of a crummy bar.

The Program has taught me to listen.

Go Ahead -- Try to Stump Me

Answer: A solution to a problem.

I have finally reached a stage in my Advanced Sobriety where I have all of the answers. There is no situation, occurrence, happenstance, or conundrum that I do not have the ability to solve, all by myself, with no help from anyone. Moreover, my solutions are now invariably correct. I answer quickly and with assurance. I never waver in my judgment. I walk into my future boldly, with a strong gait, a steady purpose, and a spine of steel. I ask myself: Who knows better than me?

I trip immediately and fall on my face, dropping my cup of coffee and breaking my nose. In a flash of insight, which I am doomed to repeat every day, like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, it comes to me: Oh, yeah, everyone knows better than me.

My basic instincts have gone awry. My decision making machinery is infested with rats and termites and has picked up a nasty computer virus called The Evil Hand of Doom, which originated somewhere in the former Czech Republic. I now try to base my decision making on this simple bit of advice: if I want to do something, then I probably shouldn't do it, and if I don't want to do something, then it's probably something that I should do.

I have found it most helpful to check out my thinking with other people.

I'd Advise Against It

Advise: Implies the making of recommendations as to a course of action by someone with actual or supposed knowledge, experience, etc.

It has come to my attention that people are not interested in my advice, despite the fact that I am a Senior Advisor. As one who knows everything there is to know, who is never wrong and always right, who can immediately find the solution to the most difficult problem, who can divine the correct course of action for every man, woman and child -- I find this vexing.

I'm the Answer Man. Just ask me - I'll tell you. I can answer any question as long as you aren't interested in the truth or concerned with wisdom and sound judgement. Actually, I'm the Wrong Answer Man. I don't have a clue. I can't go from A to B. I can't find the on switch. But that has never stopped me from trying to run the world.

In sobriety I have learned never to give advice to someone who doesn't ask for it. Each of us is free to live our lives how we choose. When someone tells me what they have already done, I figure they aren't looking for my advice. I figure they would have called before they did what they have already done if they wanted to hear what I had to say. Even then I don't think they want to know.

That's alright. We're nothing more than children trying to grow up. My early mentors tried to keep me in the vicinity of the right path and then let me wander off on my own. I learned a lot of lessons by sticking a metal fork into a live electrical outlet.

ZZZTTT.

You Have No Idea

Winston Churchill once said: "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself." I have no personal knowledge that he said this, of course. Someone else might have said it. Who would take this comment seriously if, say, Alice Cooper had said it? Maybe he didn't say anything like this at all. Maybe he said: "If one more thing goes wrong, I am going to FREAK OUT!" No way his political handlers would have let that comment circulate among the liberal, elite media. And I may be misquoting him. Years of drugs and alcohol did a number on my short term memory and also on my long term memory. And on my ability to perform simple arithmetic at times.

The point I started out trying to make is that such a sentiment would be fine for someone facing the kinds of problems that he was facing. What did Churchill have to worry about? An evil Nazi regime bent on a global hegemony, the aerial blitz on London, thousands and thousands of his countrymen dying in a brutal war?

To that I say: Pshaw. To that I say: Open up my closet of Fears and feast your eyes on the menagerie of horror living there. Winston Churchill would have run screaming into the night. He would have wished for the good old days when the German Luftwaffe was raining down death and destruction on his city. Our final memories of Winston would have been a doddering old man peering out of a security window in the local sanitarium.

"If you had the problems that I have, you would drink, too."
Horseface Steve -- circa late summer 1986

Next: On the first subsequent occasion: as, when we next meet.

I have had a hankerin' lately to question some of the core beliefs and founding principles of Twelve Step recovery. While your average non-professional shouldn't attempt this, it is quite reasonable for some one of my massive intellect, profound insights, and uncanny ability to cut through all of the flak and fog of life. I see life as it is. The mystery of existence is no mystery to me. I can reveal the wonders of the universe with a wave of my hand.

Which leads me to cast a skeptical eye on the concept of "doing the next right thing." I would prefer to do the next ten - the next fifty - right things all at once and get them out of the way. Then I can concentrate on doing what I want to do, whether or not these are right things or not. I want to see in the future. I don't want to waste my time doing little, unimportant things that may not get me what I want as quickly as I want it, which is quickly indeed. It would be more efficient for me to be able to skip any small actions that don't lead to the desired outcome.

I want to do the "final right thing." That way I can behave as atrociously as possible and still end up smelling like a rose.

Are You Quaking in Your Boots?

One of our beloved promises alleges that "fear of people and economic insecurity will leave us." This seems highly improbable to most of us. This is a big matzoh ball to swallow. Lack of fear? No more fear? I'm all about the fear. If you take the fear out of my life I'd deflate like a helium balloon. I'd disintegrate into a dry, powdery dust that would blow away in the wind.



I have spent years and years nurturing and feeding every possible kind of fear, anxiety, and unease and am actually uncomfortable with the idea of giving it up. Alcoholics don't like change. I prefer sitting in boiling hot sewage to getting up and going somewhere else. I'm kind of used to the sewage smell and the toxic vapors. My skin has toughened up and the wounds have scabbed over. I'm worried that I may be a little chilly if I get up. I've convinced myself that I like the sewage life. Anybody can sit in a warm tub of clean water -- it takes a tough son of a bitch to handle hot sewage.


While I have never been able to eliminate all of the fear in my life, I have amped down the volume. I am not overwhelmed with fear. I'm underwhelmed with it, maybe, but it isn't the master of my reality any more. Sure, I have to do battle with the occasional wave of apprehension or agitation. I have qualms. I sink into a blue funk of dismay, dread, and panic. I get the creeps and the cold shivers.

But it's a lot, lot better than it used to be.

Mob Rule

Meditation: Solemn reflection on sacred matters as a devotional act; deep, continued thought; reflection.

My mind is like a huge gymnasium filled with insane people screaming at the top of their lungs, barely in control of their faculties. They are screaming for revenge, murder, justice. They want more sex. They are hungry and thirsty and tired. They have been treated poorly and they know who is to blame and they are out to exact payment for these slights and insults. They don't think. They never think. They wake up screaming and they scream all day until they fall asleep, exhausted, and have terrible, awful nightmares. This is why they wake up screaming.

Meditation is like trying to get everyone to settle down. I have a comfortable chair in a quiet room. I sit down and close my eyes and try to silence the fury of this murderous mob. It's almost never a fair fight. Maybe once or twice have I gotten the entire gym to play nice. Most of the time the mob is in control. Sometimes I get a section or two to calm down. But it's a big crowd and they're pretty worked up.

My Higher Power hands out a lot of gold stars and smiley faces for any effort whatsoever. God knows this is hard. A lot of good things come from the effort.

Good Is Hard

Anyway, before I got sidetracked analyzing my horrible distaste for honesty -- it is nothing but a bad piece of fish on a stale Kaiser roll -- I meant to say something about why I behave the way I do. The concept of honesty reared its ugly head because I was going to begin lying to explain how honest I was, when it's clear to everyone that I find "telling the truth" to be something for nuns and precious children dressed in adorable sundresses.

I wish I could report that on the rare occasions that I behave in an admirable and socially acceptable manner that I do so because, in my core, I know that this is how I should behave or that I enjoy behaving well. Nothing could be further from the truth. I find good behavior curious but unappealing. Why would I sit quietly in church, listening to a good sermon, when I could be doing bong hits and drinking warm beer and watching Petticoat Junction?

The fact of the matter is that I have learned that good behavior today makes for a happy Horseface tomorrow. Bad behavior is like sipping on a weak poison. Imperceptibly, I get sicker and sicker. I don't die right away but eventually I wish that I had.

I Am Not A Liar

Liar: A person who states that something is true which he knows is untrue; person who tells lies.

Sometimes, when I'm thinking, which is something that I should never do, something which should be banned by the government and condemned by Papal fiat, something which runs counter to all known laws of man and beast, I wonder why I try to act well. Sometimes I even try to get honest with myself. This is pretty rare because it's a lot easier to lie about things that make me uncomfortable than to try to get at their root causes, because then I would have to face some hard facts and make some difficult changes. I prefer quick solutions and half measures to any kind of work. This is especially true when the work involves correcting some character defect which makes me happy, like gluttony or lust or anger.


On a side note, I hosted a surprise birthday party for my wife a few months back. I had to perform some quite extensive lying to accomplish this and was pleased to see how easily I regained my ability to look someone right in the eye and say something that isn't true. Years of drinking permit most of us to develop into proficient liars. I believe that I could pass a lie detector test. Some stupid machine operated by a run of the mill flunky wouldn't pose much of a threat to a liar like me. I would have been a good spy. I would have been a great politician.

I've forgotten what I started out to say this morning. Maybe it'll come back to me.

I'd Like To Order Some Better Promises, Please

Promise: Indication, as of a successful prospect or future; basis for expectation.

I remember the first time I heard about the famous Promises. I was sitting in a meeting, still off-gassing a toxic stew of alcohol fumes and THC residue. The fatty white matter in my brain was releasing all kinds of trace chemicals from the illegal street drugs and illegally procured legal medication that I had taken to ease all of my ills and chase away all of my demons. Funny story about LSD: it actually produces more demons than it vanquishes. We should have more government oversight on the folks marketing these chemicals. There is a lot of deceptive advertising going on in this field.

I licked my chops and prepared to feast on the certainty of fast Italian sports cars, fast Italian models, and the awesome, absolute power to crush anyone who stood in my way. Money! Power!! Sex!!! These concepts were being presented to me as promises. Not Horseface type promises, which were usually delivered in an attempt to escape some misery or obtain some chemical well-being, but real, honest-to-God promises from people purporting to live a spiritual lifestyle.

Imagine my horror to discover a lot of what I considered flimsy platitudes. Freedom from fear? Peace of mind? A sense of well-being? Not what I was looking for. I thought that I had the key to those things, and his name was Jack Daniels. I was hoping for tangible stuff. I wanted to put my hands all over these Promises and party with them all night long.

Obviously I was a meeting last night where we talked about gratitude.

Mauve With Envy

Envy: A feeling of discontent and ill will because of another's advantages, possessions, etc; resentful dislike of another who has something desirable.

It has been reported that envy is the only one of the Seven Deadly Sins that doesn't bring the sinner any specific benefit. At least I get a brief release of endorphins when I scream irrationally at a blameless person who isn't doing something that I want them to do. At least I get a momentary rush of excitement when I buy something that I don't really want and will tire of quickly. Maybe my neighbor will be sick with envy when he sees my new thing before I put it in the basement and head out to waste money on something else that I think I want but really could care less about. This eighth piece of pizza will be totally worth it.

I get envious when I see someone else with something I really want. Shit, I get envious when it's something I don't want and couldn't care less about. I have been known to cast an envious eye when I see a woman with a nice outfit on. You would think that lust might be the sin of choice here, but I can't help wondering how I would look with that skirt set on. "Horseface, you are going to kill tonight at the opera in that cocktail dress."

I wonder why people get green with envy? Why green, when there are so many other colors to choose from? Maybe it's because money is green. But where does that leave people in Europe and other countries that don't rely on green based currency? Am I to assume that only Americans get envious?

St. Elsewhere

Else: In a different time, place, or manner; differently; otherwise.

I'm certain that today I would be happy if I had Something Else. The things that I have are not the right things. I'm in the wrong relationships, I was born into the wrong family, and I think that I have someone else's stuff. I was actually in line to get George Clooney's face but he elbowed his way ahead of me when the faces were being passed out. He thinks he's so hot -- see how many movie deals he could get if he had a big horse face.

I have a particularly sharp eye when it comes to evaluating other people's stuff. I'm sure if I had what you had that I would be happy. How did I get stuck with these crappy things? I want to be somewhere else. I want to be someone else. And in a great twist of cruel fate, when I get something that I desperately want, I can't figure out what the big attraction was. Then I spend my time sitting around bitching about how wonderful it used to be.

The goal, of course, is to be happy with what I have, which is more than I deserve in light of my atrocious behavior.

Crystal Ball, Crystal Ball, Tell Me What You See

Forward: Moving toward a point in front; onward; advancing; toward the future.

Sometimes I just have to start moving forward. This is not always to my liking. I usually prefer hunkering down and holding on to the gains that I have made, even if they are painful or poisonous. The scorpion in my shorts is kind of an old friend at this point -- I'm comfortable with the pain. I know what to expect. I'm worried that if I have to evict the creature that something worse will move in. The fear of the new tenant terrifies me more than the occasional scorpion laceration.

And I'm not adverse to moving back into the past, as I have already been there and know what to expect. It can't be any worse than it already was and that didn't kill me. I spend a lot of time reliving old slights and trying to reconstruct burned bridges. I regret what might have been. While to a person of sound psychological fiber this may seem a pointless exercise, it makes sense to me.

My experience is that most things don't work out that badly. I'm obligated to stay sober and to grow spiritually, and then I have to put one foot in front of the other and get moving. I have not been successful in predicting outcomes. Things have surprising twists and turns. If I wait for the right moment to move, I never accomplish anything.

There is no guarantee of success.

Due Diligence

Coast: To behave aimlessly; not make any serious effort; to continue in motion on momentum after propelling power has stopped.

Today I am going to rest on my laurels. I'm tired of all of the energy I have to expend to stay sober. Certainly my past accomplishments will guarantee future success. I may just retire from The Fellowship. I've been at this long enough that I'm ready to be promoted into a position of Senior Leadership where underlings and lackeys do all of the work for me. I want access to a secret old timers club.

I'm a smart guy. No doubt about it. I bet all of the knowledge I have accumulated about my disease will stand me in good stead. And if that isn't enough -- and I'm sure that it is -- I can fall back on my tremendous willpower. If I want something, I go after it and I get it, unless it takes too much work or a lot of time, then I throw in the towel and watch TV.

Recovery involves a lot of trudging. It involves a lot of repetition. I'm not very good at steady, patient effort. I

Quiet! I'm Thinking.

Think: To keep continually in the mind; be obsessed with.

I have been thinking a lot lately about thinking. I'm a great thinker. It's a lot easier thinking about doing something than actually doing something, especially if the required action is at all unpleasant or difficult. So I sit and think. I weigh options. I mull over possibilities. I have long arguments with bitter enemies, confounding them with my brilliant logic. I convince everyone that my point of view is correct. Everyone comes to accept my way of thinking.

I have a wonderful ability of convincing myself that whatever I want to believe is, in fact, true. I am not usually deterred by the facts. Facts are play-doh to someone with my intellect. I can mold the facts to my liking. I can make a square peg fit in a round hole. I have a lot of powerful hammers. I am skilled at pounding. You better believe that those fucking square pegs go where I want them to go.

On the surface I appear to be a run of the mill horse-faced guy with a pleasant, somewhat vacant look on my face. This unremarkable exterior masks a much more sinister interior. The scene inside is nightmarish. It's Charlie and The Chocolate factory on steroids, right after the oompah-loompahs have taken LSD and gotten off of their anti-psychotic medication. It is not for the faint of heart.

What Do You Have in Your Box of Goodies?

Satisfactory: Satisfying; fulfilling all needs, expectations, wishes, desires, requirements, etc.

The big trick is figuring out how to be happy with what you have. It isn't as easy as it sounds. Actually, it doesn't even sound that easy. It sounds like a parlor trick performed by a desperately clever magician. It sounds like one of those impenetrable mental exercises. What would happen if an unstoppable force ran into an immovable object? How loud is too loud when one is listening to Black Sabbath?

I'm happy with what you have. Your stuff looks great. I'm not much interested in what I have. I'm very, very interested in what I don't have. I'm sure that I would be much happier if I had something else. How did I end up with all this crappy stuff, anyhow? This lousy job, these unsatisfying relationships, this dysfunctional family?

I get something, and I want something else. I'm bored immediately. I can't believe how much money I just spent for this thing I don't even like. I can't believe I quit my last job to take this awful job that I have now.

The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.

Selfish is the Way To Go

Selfish: Having such regard for one's won interests and advantage that the happiness and welfare of others become of less concern than is considered right or just; too much concerned with one's own welfare.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be self-centered. Not as much time as I spend acting in a totally self-absorbed fashion, but still it adds up to a pretty significant block of time. I like to think about myself. It's my favorite topic. I am astounded to find out that other people don't spend all of their free time thinking about me. It could be helpful to me if they did. Maybe they could come up with creative solutions to the problems that I cause myself with my bad decisions and poor behavior.

The path to success for me has been to pretend like I care what is going on in someone else's life, even though I don't. I put a lot of stock in acting. I try to avoid the thinking thing. My thinker is on the fritz. The wiring up there has not been installed by a licensed electrician. I can't find the source of that loud buzzing, crackling noise that I hear from time to time. I can only assume it is not going to be good news. I pretend it doesn't exist. When my car makes an unusual sound, I turn up the radio.

When I behave well, I find that my thinking changes. I start to care about all of those people that I don't care about

Anger Infuriates Me

Anger: A feeling that may result from injury, mistreatment, opposition, etc.; it usually shows itself in a desire to hit out at something or someone else; wrath; indignation; rage; ire.

I'm not sure that I was aware that there was any other kind of feeling except for rage, wrath, and ire before I got into recovery. I had a passing acquaintance with depression but even in my parboiled state I knew that was the result of beating myself with my own Club of Anger. I have always subscribed to the theory that the best defense is a good offense, so when I don't feel good I take it out on someone else. It's your fault. It is a lot easier to scream furiously at one of my many clueless victims than to accept that my frustration with my own shortcomings is the real source of my problems.

I don't believe it's healthy for me to pretend that anger doesn't exist. It's a human emotion that we all have. I am done, however, with stuffing my rage deep down inside where the sun doesn't shine. Serenity now -- insanity later.

My anger is like nuclear fission. It can provide power for millions of people or it can wipe Turkestan off of the map. It's going to keep fissioning away. The trick is to quit pushing the Launch button.