Formless Masses and Great Confusion and Other Wonders

Chaos: Any great confusion or disorder (see "confusion").

In the realm of the Earth People, chaos is not the general goal. Earth People prefer to avoid chaos; alcoholics nurture it. We are in our element when the entire building is crashing down around us. Earth People flee in terror; alcoholics take a seat, dodging the occasional flaming timber, and throw some more gasoline on the fire. Our lives have been so marked with great disorder that we have kind of grown used to it. We still gravitate toward great disorder, even in sobriety. We can't help it. We're chaos junkies.

Confusion: Suggests an indiscriminate mixing or throwing together of things so that it is difficult to distinguish the individual elements or parts.

SuperK and I like to garden (by "garden" I mean "grow a variety of plants, flowers, and vegetables as food for the deer, rabbits, chipmunks, and squirrels that inhabit my incredibly urban yard"). My preference would be to have everything in neat little rows, organized by color and height, planted so that there would be an orderly progression of blooming. This is because I'm a control freak. I need to make everything buckle under to my demands.

SuperK prefers a style that we affectionately call Chaos Gardening. She buries shit in the ground and sees what comes up. Stuff is growing all over the place. Some areas look neglected and some are a riot of plant life. "If it blooms it stays," she says, when I point out that a particular corner of the garden is, in reality, weeds. This is my legacy. This is my reality.

"When God began creating the heavens and the earth, the earth was at first a shapeless, chaotic mass, with the Spirit of God brooding over the dark vapors."

That's what I'm talking about.

The Frighteners

Frightened: Implies a sudden, usually temporary seizure of fear.

I was talking with my friend Jack last night about the trials and tribulations of being self-employed. The best thing is that no one gets to tell you what to do. The worst thing is that no one sends you a paycheck. In the straight commission world that we inhabit this is called "eating what you kill," which is a strange turn of the phrase for a vegetarian. You should see me stalking the deadly turnip in my back yard, dressed in full camouflage, face blacked out, crossbow at the ready. Those turnips haven't gotten a chance against a fearsome vegetable hunter like me. Carrots, rutabagas, parsnips, none of the root vegetables stand a chance.

We were laughing about how easy it is to project doom and failure and how difficult it is to believe that things will work out well. This despite the fact that most things work out just fine and, when they don't, we handle it OK. We learn from setbacks. We get stronger. Is this a curse of the average alcoholic, this certainty that we are going to die a horrible death tomorrow? Or are other sinister forces at work?

I don't watch the news too much any more. I think most news organizations peddle fear. Right now the crisis du jour is swine flu. Apparently 25 or 30 people in the United States -- out of a population of 300 million - have contracted this disease. My cheap desk calculator doesn't have enough decimal points to tell you what vanishingly small, statistically insignificant percentage this works out to be. What did I glimpse on the national news on a major network last night? Graphics of the states where people have contracted swine flu, with blood pouring out of them and fire consuming them and animated Satans spearing infected humans and roasting them on ovens stoked with hell's brimstone.

It's not all us.

Fantasy and Reality

Testify: To profess or proclaim publicly, as one's belief.

I listened to a lead recently given by a friend of mine. As a general rule I'm not a big fan of listening to one person talk for the better part of an hour, unless it's me. I can listen to myself talk for hours and hours so I'm assuming that every one else is just as interested. This is why I talk to myself so much. It's very interesting.

Part of the problem is that most people aren't nearly as interesting to others as they are to themselves. And I'm guessing that given the amount of bullshit and misdirection and exaggeration that I reel out when I'm talking that everyone else does the same thing, which probably isn't true. The main obstacle for me, of course, is that I just don't have a very long attention span any more. All of that Colt 45 must have burned out a lot of crucial circuitry.

That being said it is fascinating to me watching the light come on in some one's eyes when they unravel the entire thread of their drinking before a group of people. I remember the first time I shared "what it was like." I always considered myself a High Bottom Drunk. I liked to tell people stories of my tragic exploits when I was drinking. I dressed them up, made them funny and clever. You can do that with one story. But after 50 or 60 tragic exploits in a row it starts to get depressing. I had a lot of good reasons to stop drinking. What I said to the cop when he was arresting me for a DWI was funny; sitting in a jail cell, sick and frightened, was not funny. No way to make that funny.

I had an image of myself and the world had an image of me. Their image was more accurate. I saw myself as the captain of a big yacht. There I was on the bridge, drink in hand, cigarette dangling from my lips, hat tilted at a jaunty angle, enjoying the company of the supermodels and rock stars partying with me. The world saw an ashen and sickly guy in a ball cap sitting in a row boat which was slowly disappearing beneath the waves. The boat was on fire, pirates were boarding it from the rear, and it was really a slab of waterlogged cardboard and not a boat at all.

I Wouldn't Change a Thing

Change; Denotes a making or becoming distinctly different and implies either a radical transmutation of character or replacement with something else.

There sure are a lot of ways to look at change. I don't like any of them. The idea of change is not comforting to many of us. We like things just the way they are, even if they totally suck. My experience is that I would rather sit in my own muck than get up and move somewhere else. I like where I am. My muck and I have an understanding. The muck gets in my eyes and hair and mouth and makes me totally miserable and I'm OK with that. I'm used to it. It's amazing the amount of abuse I'll take because I'm afraid that I may end up somewhere even worse.

The only constant in life is change. The only thing that I have to change about myself is everything. There are a whole lot of irritating sayings about making things different. My sponsor reminds me that change saved my life a while back. I wouldn't be where I am today if I hadn't made that big change and quit drinking.

I assume that if things change they will change for the worse. My experience is that, with well thought out change made with the counsel of people who know me well, good things happen. Of course things didn't work out well when I was drinking. I made foolish decisions -- stupid decisions -- based on selfish motives. I was impetuous and short-sighted and narrow-minded, eager to benefit myself, unconcerned about the well-being of others.

The times, they are a'changin.'

Complications

Complication: A complicated condition or structure; complex, involved, or confused relationship of parts.

I love to make things difficult. I can make anything really, really complicated. My specialty is to complicate simple things. I don't believe that simple is good. Anybody can do simple. It takes a profound mind to sweep away the detritus of a thing and discover its true inner essence. It takes a specialness that people like me have in abundance.

They say AA is a simple program for complicated people. That's why we avoid long suggestions. One day at a time. Let go and let god. Live and let live. If we go longer than five words then some idiot starts in with the analyzing and the explaining and the modifications. Don't drink, go to meetings, read the book. There's not much wiggle room there. I can't misinterpret those instructions. Those instructions are idiot proof.

I don't know why I spend so much time thinking about things that have no relevance in the Big Scheme of Things and so little time appreciating all of the simple gifts that are really important.

I'm going to go look at the flowers in my front yard.

Stuff.

Stuff: Worthless objects; refuse; junk; foolish or worthless ideas, words, etc.; nonsense.

No good deed goes unpunished. Isn't that an old saying? Maybe it's no good dead goes unrewarded. That sounds like bullshit, too. I've done some good stuff over the years and haven't received any earthly rewards. I keep an Excel spread sheet listing all of the times I've done nice things that weren't properly reciprocated. I keep score. I don't do nice things just for the sake of being nice. Tit for tat. Tick tack toe.


So I call a local half way house for men recovering from drugs and alcohol and offer to donate some furniture that has been collecting dust and mouse droppings in my basement for a long time. I'm too cheap to give anything away. I think I may need it some day. The director accepts my magnanimous offer to get rid of a bunch of crap that should have been put out on the curb years ago. He sends out a couple of guys in a pickup truck. One of the items was a large TV cluttering up the back bedroom on the second floor of my house.

While these guys were big boys they probably weren't in very good shape. What did I expect? They're trying to kick drugs and alcohol, not train for the Olympics. The TV made the trip from floor two to floor one in a barely controlled manner. I should be grateful they didn't drop the thing and let it bounce all the way down. Suffice it to say my walls and wood floors didn't fare too well.

After they left I sat in the stairwell assessing the damage, upset. My stuff got messed up. Now my dining room ceiling has a huge, circular stained area with paint flaking off, courtesy of a leak in a bathroom upstairs. I haven't fixed the leak, preferring to just turn off the water to that bathroom instead. And I haven't gotten anywhere near that water damaged ceiling. That would require a ladder and tools and effort. I just don't look at it anymore.

I called Shorty, who rushed over with a bunch of tools to repair the damaged stairs, which was way too damaged to easily fix. Guys trying to help other guys fix things is the total pinnacle of guy-like action. Nothing ever gets fixed -- there's just a lot of huffing and puffing and flashing of implements. The important thing is I picked up the 1000 lb phone and made the call. I'm writing about it. I called my sponsor. The unimportant thing that had the potential to upset me for days is mostly gone, although my eyes are drawn to the damage like nobody's business.

I try to never get upset about stuff.

Rules Do Not Apply to Me

Exempt: Freed from a rule, obligation, etc. which binds others.

On Monday night I went to an AA meeting. I got there a little later than normal and, unbeknown to me, parked firmly in the middle of a bus stop, which apparently does not fall into the category of permissible legal behavior. The City of Cincinnati, which permits drivers to move up and down my busy street at speeds far exceeding the posted limit all day long and with no threat of repercussions, graced my windshield with a parking ticket. A $50 parking ticket.

My initial inclination was to call the mayor and raise Cain. My arguments were sound. It was raining. It was darkish. Do buses even run that late at night? It's a fancy schmancy part of town and I've never seen anyone, ever catch a bus at that location, unless it was some rich person's maid. I was going to an AA meeting, for god's sake, to seek a cure for a deadly disease. I MADE A MISTAKE!

Luckily for me, I ran through an exercise that I subject lesser mortals to when they are bitching about something they can't change. Was I in a bus stop? Yes. Is it legal to park in a bus stop? No.

Closed case. Pay the ticket. You are not special. The bureaucracy isn't cutting you any slack because you're a good guy. You have to obey the rules just like everyone else.

Several years ago I was in my college town and parked on a street that had in the ensuing years changed to permit only parking. I practically ran over the No Parking sign but still didn't see it. I walked around for 20 minutes to look at all the bushes that I used to throw up in and returned to my car, which had been ticketed. The traffic guy got me not five minutes after I parked. This was obviously a money making exercise for them.

I paid the ticket. I also have refused to buy anything in that large town that I visit for business since. No gas, no meals or hotels, not a fucking cup of coffee.

Does that sound like a resentment? I'm really not angry about it. I thought their rules were unfair. I didn't try to change their rules or ignore their intent. They got $50 from me for a mistake. I'm sure I would have paid twice that in taxes over the years.

I'm a man of principles. Twisted, sick principles but I'm honorable about them.

Pulling a Long Face

I've kind of been out of sorts the last few days, and for no reason that I can discern. I got up on the wrong side of the bed, so to speak, whatever that means. If I got up on the wrong side of my bed it would entail crawling over the still sleeping SuperK, which would be unwise on my part. If I got up on the wrong side of the bed I'd have claw marks on me today and would definitely have something to be out of sorts about. Claw marks, bite marks, and other open wounds mess with my serenity.

I never cease being surprised at how uncomfortable it makes me to feel at all uncomfortable. I prepare myself for feeling uncomfortable with all kinds of coping techniques and then when it happens again, as it inevitably does, I feel like yelling: well, let's say I feel like yelling a very bad word. Suffice it to say it's a very bad word.

I feel a little better already. No, no, wait, that's the coffee kicking in.

Then I spring into action. I try to figure out why I'm feeling bad and what I can do to stop feeling bad and -- this is a very important -- who to blame for feeling bad. It never occurs to me to assume that sometimes people just don't feel that great and that it isn't going to last forever.

Little: Small in amount, number, or degree; not much; short in duration or distance; brief; not long.

There are some special skills that come along with being an alcoholic. One of the best is the ability to change something trivial into something quite significant. We are like magicians prancing and dancing around a darkened stage with dramatic music swelling in the background. We put a cover over a small problem, and Shazam! with a big flash of light and some billowing smoke we sweep the cover off to reveal a huge, complicated problem involving many people and institutions. If we were good we would be able to miniaturize the problem again. But we're not very good. We cut the pretty lady in half then say: "Shit. What now?" We walk away leaving someone else to figure it out.

Two steps to contented serenity. 1. Don't sweat the small stuff. 2. It's all small stuff.

An elephant is a mouse built to government specifications.

Brothers and Sisters, I Implore You!

Religion: Belief in a divine or superhuman power or powers to be obeyed and worshipped as the creator(s) or ruler(s) of the universe.

I recently attended a meeting where we had a typically lively discussion debating the difference between religion and spirituality. Not surprisingly, there were a lot of people staking out claims at each end of the spectrum. There's a large group of people who have had bad experiences with organized religion, and they can be vocal about it. Religion is a pretty big target if you're inclined to be cynical. My personal impression is that the vast majority of people who attend religious services are good people with good hearts trying to make a difference in a difficult world.

Regrettably, these folks don't make the news very often. We do get a steady diet of fundamentalist radicals committing violence or hypocritical preachers in $2000 suits asking for money with great emotion. A lot of wrongs have taken place under the watch of religion over the years. If you've had a bad experience it's pretty easy to pounce on these feelings. I'm an alcoholic after all. I'm much, much, much better at detecting small flaws than acknowledging obvious advantages.

I cringe when I hear someone say that they are "recovering " from a particular sect or denomination. We need to keep in mind that there are people who wander in with a strong religious faith and active alcoholism. Most of us know priests and rabbis in recovery, people who couldn't stop drinking even though they possessed deep and profound faith. We need to be careful when we take pot shots at any official group. We can't risk alienating anyone.

Most of us stroll in looking for any excuse to stroll right back on out. We need to be careful not to give anyone that excuse.

Horseface Steve in the Pool

I swam next to a guy today who was moving a lot faster than I was, which isn't hard to do. He also didn't take as many breaks to catch his breath as I did. In addition, he started before me and was still going at it when I finished up. "I bet I look better in a swimsuit than he does," I thought. That theory proved baseless. I don't look better in a swimsuit than anyone. As you can imagine, I pretty much hated him at that point.


I climb into the hot tub when I'm finished in the hopes that I'll be able to get out of bed the next day. I could see that the water was murkier than usual which indicates that the maintenance guys had just added chlorine. My new best friend followed me into the tub, probably to flaunt his win in the bathing suit competition, then starts making a lot of dramatic coughing and horking and sneezing noises.

"This is terrible," he said.

I tossed out a quick blow off line: "Yeah, better living through chemicals, I guess."

He wasn't done with me yet. "I don't know how you can stand it," he said, implying that my coarse genetic structure and Luddite-like intelligence enabled me to take abuse that his delicate sensibilities couldn't tolerate.

"Must be all that LSD I did in college," I said.

He stopped and gave me an appraising look. "Really," he said. "Nice," he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

While I enjoyed the entire exchange very much, it made me remember how careful I need to be with my anonymity in some situations, although this was not one of them. A lot of people have no idea what an alcoholic is.

The View, Long

Long: Extending to what is distance in time or space; far-reaching.

As I stagger haltingly through my day, crashing through windows and running into walls, I am often surprised at how my work in The Program has given me the ability to see things from different perspectives. It used to be that the only perspective I had was the one two inches from my face. I lived in the vacuum of Horseface Steve. There was nothing in my consciousness that didn't pertain to me. I was like a snail or a slug. If I saw some food, I slithered closer. If I detected an unwelcome stimulus, I slithered elsewhere. I didn't pay any attention to the greater consequences of my slithering. I slithered toward something or away from something. I took The Short View.

Today I see, sometimes, The Big Picture. Or at least I perceive that my Higher Power has painted a Big Picture that includes me. When something happens that I find unpleasant, I understand that it will all work out in the long run. That doesn't absolve me of taking some action or learning some acceptance, but it does remove a lot of the panic. I know that I'm going to be taken care of. I try to take The Long View.

All I'm trying to say is that before I start to blindly slither, I check out the direction of my slithering.

On My Kiester Praising Easter

Easter: Originally, name of pagan vernal festival almost coincident in date with paschal festival of the church.

I went to church this Sunday. Mostly I went to make my mother happy on Easter Sunday, one of The Big Two along with Christmas if you're going to go to church. Attending a church service doesn't elicit any strong response from me one way or the other any more. I think it's a little boring, frankly, and have a hard time paying attention. I usually close my eyes and meditate which is probably not a bad way to spend time in church. I think about Easter itself, a weird combination of Christian lore and pagan celebration of the coming of Spring and fertility rites. Why do you think the prolific and fecund bunny was chosen as a symbol for this particular holiday?

Anyway, Easter service is often quite long. In fact, and I say this with all seriousness, this may have been the longest church service I have ever attended. There was singing and processions and welcoming of new members and a children's message and offering of prayers to the Forgotten Orphans of Foreign Wars and stuff like that. I spent some time whispering to my little niece, trying to tempt her with outrageous sums of money to walk up to the front of the church and suggest that the pastor speed things up. She declined, although the cash clearly had her attention. I started my bribe at $50 and went to $100, at which point my brother in law showed some interest. I would have paid it, too. At one point I offered to make the perp walk myself, but she was only offering two dollars, which seemed a little skimpy. It did pass the time.


This year it wasn't so bad. I try to take to heart the spiritual principle of putting the well-being of others before my own. I'm not good at it, but I do give it a shot from time to time. I see, in The Program and in the general public, that people who think of others are happier than selfish people like me. It goes against my core instincts to think of other people. It's not natural. It has only come through practice.

I have to admit that I felt better about myself.

Mental Gymnastics

Mental: 1. Done by, or carried on in, the mind.

2. Diseased in mind; mentally ill.


I spend a lot of time conducting furious arguments with bitter rivals in my mind. I'm a brilliant debater when I'm all by myself. Sometimes I just think the arguments and sometimes I mutter them out loud. Occasionally I speak quite clearly, which usually gets SuperK's attention. This is regrettable because I'm not arguing with her, unless I am, at which point I don't want her to hear what I'm saying. Obviously, I don't recommend any of these techniques as a productive way to spend your time.

When I argue with people who aren't actually present I almost always win. The people who aren't there are helpless before the onslaught of my unassailable logic and rapier wit. Currently I'm slicing THE COMPANY and THE BLOWHARD to shreds. I am totally dissecting their ass. If they were actually here they would be pretty unhappy about it. As they are not, in fact, anywhere near my present location they probably aren't too cowed by my brilliance. I haven't started in on THE JACKALS yet but they have been served.

I guess I'm getting it out of my system. I need to make sure that I get it out as quickly as possible. I don't need to marinate in my irritation for a long stretch of time.

Just Rolling Along

I thought about writing some more about THE COMPANY and THE JACKALS today. Mostly I wanted to write about my new territory manager who has some nominal authority over what I do. He surely has the power to make my life uncomfortable, which he will do if it will make his life more comfortable, which seems to be his main goal in life. See? It isn't just alcoholics who engage in the self-centered pursuit of power, sex, and money.

Regrettably I hear the annoying voice of my sponsor in the background, endlessly droning on about "principles before personalities." When I finally asked him what that phrase meant, he said: "Don't talk about people behind their backs." I really want to talk about this guy behind his back; in fact, I did just that while explaining my rationale for not talking about people behind their backs. I want to tell everyone how frustrating the conference call was yesterday, a sentiment shared by the other people on the call, which makes it even more tempting for me to gossip. If I don't like how someone behaves and other people feel the same way, my comfortable sense of smug superiority is overwhelming.

The truth of the matter is that everything is going to be OK. I know this. I did some writing and I talked to my sponsor and a few other program friends, and I got it out of my system. Keeping stuff bottled up really is toxic. I'm not that upset. I've had a nice 10 year run where I've liked my job, been happy with my income, and had a lot of colleagues that I enjoyed working with. That's pretty amazing in this era of rapid change and short-sighted greed. It hardly seems fair for me to raise a big ruckus over how unfairly I'm being treated.

I went to my jail meeting last night with two friends, and we had a Big Book meeting with some guys who really have something to complain about. I listened closely when The Promises were read, marveling at how many of them are part of my life today. My buddies and I went out for dinner afterward and talked about recovery and life in general. Shorty got stuck with a bigger part of the check than he should have, which greatly increased my enjoyment of the evening.

"We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace."

Jackals and Liars and Flowers in Spring

Today I got THE CALL about my sales territory. I knew that THE CALL was coming. I had a premonition and uncanny foresight. I could see into the future. My crystal ball was white hot and on target. I knew it was going to happen, and I still lost my temper. I can't even imagine what an ass I must have been when I was drinking given my talent for acting like an ass today.

Anyway, THE COMPANY has decided that my territory is too large so they are going to lop off part of it and feed it to another sales group, hereafter referred to as THE JACKALS. For 10 years I performed at a high level for THE COMPANY, meeting or exceeding whatever ridiculous and illusory sales target that they assigned to me. They showed their gratitude by paying me, which is really all the gratitude that I needed. It would have been nice if someone would have called and said: "Hey, good job. Thanks. How did you do it?" or something along those lines. I don't think my ego is a rampaging buffalo any more but it still rampages from time to time. More of a rampaging squirrel or hedgehog. It rampages but without the force of a large buffalo. Hard for a rampaging hedgehog to do much damage.

Corporations are no longer too interested in people, in my opinion, preferring rather to blindly chase after short term profits, ignoring any possible long term structural damage to their organization. They are kind of like cocaine addicts. Profits feel so good they keep pressing the lever for another profit pellet. They would gnaw off their own foot to get another profit pellet, so they sure have no problem feeding me to the THE JACKALS. I think they hope that THE JACKALS have a hidden cache of profit pellets they can get at.

The guy that delivered the news danced around the topic like Leonard Bernstein conducting "Flight of The Bumblebees." He pretended to give me some options to stop the dismantling of my responsibility, when we both knew that the decision had been made. I let him hang himself for a while even though I like the guy. I knew he was lying; he knew I knew he was lying; but I didn't put a stop to it. If you know someone is lying the honorable thing is to just call them on it. I let an unpleasant piece of my personality take charge for a while. I remember doing all that lying when I was drinking, knowing all the while that I wasn't fooling anyone. It was not a good feeling. I think I may have mentioned that my main motivation for not lying isn't that I don't like to lie or I'm not good at it, but I so hate to caught lying.

Finally, I interrupted him and made him say: "The decision has already been made." In my opinion, THE COMPANY is not being too smart. They should either take the territory away immediately, like pulling off a band-aid affixed to arm hair, or they should send me some kind of guarantee that I will get paid for anything I work on before they pull off the band-aid. Dumb asses. What motivation do I have now to follow up on a project in Cleveland or Akron? Love of THE COMPANY? Love of THE JACKALS?

It's also pretty amazing how furious I get when someone is making a lousy decision. I understand why THE COMPANY is doing what they are doing but I'm pretty sure it's the wrong move. And because I do plenty of stupid things I have taken the time to write about this and call my sponsor and other friends to get their take on the matter. I don't want my love of money, ego, and sex blind me which they are wont to do.

And I have to laugh at how great I am at dispensing advice like "This too shall pass" or "Acceptance is the answer" when you are having troubles. If you want to give me that advice I'd suggest stepping back a couple of paces because I have been known to really swing for the fences when I'm being bedeviled and irritated.

I am so getting screwed.

Back to Me

I attended a meeting last night where a member talked about a job interview that she recently had. During the process of interviewing for the position she came to some conclusions about the scope of the work and the compensation package. She was eventually offered the job, which she very much wanted, only to find out that the employer had very different expectations about their agreement. She was disappointed and upset.

I have no idea what actually happened to my friend. I wasn't there. I have no reason to doubt this woman, whom I have known for a long time and believe is an honest and level-headed individual. I do know that personally I am so egocentric that I think everything is happening to me, that everybody makes decisions by first thinking about how it will affect me. This is so ludicrous as to be grounds to commit me, against my will, to the closest psych ward.

I spend a remarkably small amount of time thinking about other people yet labor under the illusion that they spend a huge amount of time thinking about me. Even good, kind, considerate people think about themselves most of the time. They aren't doing things to me. They aren't even thinking about me. They are thinking about themselves.

As part of my job responsibilities I talk to a lot of people about potential projects. Because I can't remember where I left the glass of water that I filled three minutes ago, I take very careful notes, and a lot of them. It is funny how often my follow up calls produce very different stories from my clients. I used to have to bite my tongue when I wanted to say something along the lines of: "Look, you lying SOB, that's not what you said two months ago." I thought they were lying to me with deliberate malice. It is, you will remember, all about me.

Today I realize that most people are making snap decisions based on what will make their lives easier at that moment. They aren't trying to hurt me. They are looking for the easy way out, a way that will cause them the least grief possible. And I have discovered that I do make the occasional mistake or I misunderstand someone or -- horror of horrors -- I say that I'm going to do something that I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm not going to do, hoping that the whole thing will just go away.

All about me.

Happy Enough

Content: Happy enough with what one has or is, not desiring something more or different.

I have no idea what that definition means. Actually, I know exactly what it means and I'm not too thrilled with this knowledge. It would make more sense to me if I could replace "happy enough" with "totally, ecstatically, euphorically happy." I don't like the word "enough." It implies that I have been sufficiently blessed, which doesn't seem right. Mostly I think I have been screwed out of my fair share.

And I have to chuckle at the concept of wanting something different. That is a characteristic of unhappy people everywhere and a particularly gruesome scourge to alcoholics. Most of the time, especially at the end, my drinking and drug use made things worse but I still wouldn't stop, always looking to change how I was feeling at a particular time. I wasn't even happy with good because I figured there was something I could change to feel great. Good was acceptable if I felt bad, but what if I was already feeling good? Then it was on to great.

I was sitting quietly this morning when a weird and unusual feeling swept over me. My heart started to race and I broke out into a cold, clammy sweat. I thought: "What is it, what is this sensation?" It dawned on me that I was feeling generally content. The world seemed to be floating along just out of reach, there but not affecting me. I could see things that I liked and some that I didn't, but they weren't running the show. They had lost the ability to hurt me.

It was kind of pleasant.

Chickens On Acid

Saturday morning I received an ominous sounding email from the guy who is my direct supervisor at work: "Call me Saturday. I have something I want to discuss with you." My immediate response is to start running around like a chicken on acid with its head chopped off, screaming that something terrible was about to happen to me. I never imagine that the news might be good or that it might not be about me. That's for optimists and considerate people, the scourge of the earth.

This man, who I have known for many years and consider a good friend, told me that he had been reassigned to an inside sales position. He was clearly relieved that he hadn't lost his job. My response to this, which I thought but didn't speak -- this is growth for me -- was: "Whew. Thank god I'm OK." When something bad happens to someone else, I'm glad it didn't happen to me. When something bad happens to me, I wonder why it couldn't have happened to someone else. I don't take the long view. I don't take the time to envision how what I think is bad news will some day turn out to be good news. I want the good news right now, even if it might not turn out well in the long run. I never pass up the opportunity for some immediate pleasure.

Unfortunately for me, it looks like the company is going to strip off part of the territory for which I'm responsible. The good news, I guess, is that I won't have to do as much driving. The bad news is I'm losing income. I had just stopped running around screaming that the sky was falling, finally catching my breath, when I obviously had to start running around again: "Shit! Damn! Poop! The sky is falling right on my head!"

This is kind of a trend with big corporations right now. Last year my sales quota was 50% higher than the year before. This is a ridiculous number, which I somehow met. The company shows its gratitude by raising my sales quota again -- sales quotas never, ever, ever go down, recession or not -- and then telling me there is no way I can achieve this result by myself. This was not totally unexpected. The advantage to being a chicken on acid with my head cut off is that I can't walk around with my head up my ass anymore. It has been cut off, you see.

It is nice taking the long view. I wasn't terribly upset, all of the chicken metaphors notwithstanding.

Hey, Hey, Mama

Yesterday I was moved to bitch about money, exhibiting what was no doubt a smug, self-congratulatory air of superiority about the topic. That's one of my favorite techniques: tell you what I do while subtly implying that you need to do the same, or risk doing it wrong. I realize that the suggested technique is to share my actions and coping mechanisms with others, leaving them free to accept what they like or to move on if they wish. To this I say: Gzzzzakkk! Do it my way.

Today I'm going to take on mothers. I listened to SuperK scream into the phone until she was hoarse talking to her mother, who refuses to wear a hearing aid because it makes everything too loud, which is kind of the point. At one point, chuckling malevolently at my wife's misfortune, I started poking around my compulsively organized refrigerator looking for something to eat -- an item made entirely of sugar would be best -- even though it was nearly dinner time and I wasn't hungry. I noticed a large puddle of a clear liquid on the top shelf, which had run down the inside wall and pooled underneath the vegetable crisper.

My mother had visited the day before bringing down a number of food items that I didn't want despite the fact that I said that I didn't want them. Apparently she had brought down a container of sliced pineapple soaked in sugar water -- I had adamantly refused the pineapple since I had purchased one the day before -- that had been overturned by someone rooting around in the refrigerator. Probably SuperK who has little respect for my compulsive organization. She sees an open spot and puts something in it.

The famous Horseface anger exploded to the surface in a flurry of whinnying and snorting and pawing at the dirt in my corral. I think I shouted a swear word. A bad swear word, but I can't be sure because the roar of the blood in my ears was deafening. It took me two minutes to clean it up. And my mother, who is one of the world's great women, loves me more than I can comprehend.

This stuff makes sense when I write it down. But in the heat of the moment it's not clear to me.

Preacher Horseface Strikes Again

Preach: To give moral or religious advice, especially in a tiresome manner; urge strongly or persistently.

As an organization AA takes pride in being totally self-sufficient. There is good reason for this. If we impose upon a church or a civic institution for a meeting space and don't pay any rent, we risk being susceptible to the pressures of outside influences. Let's say a church provides a large, comfortable room with a coffee maker and refuses to accept any rent money. It's usually the case that no ulterior motive exists, but there's no guarantee that this is so. Maybe the church hopes that the free room will convince the poor, deranged alcoholics to convert to their particular brand of faith. Maybe the community hall manager starts dropping hints about which candidate needs support during the next election. Possibilities like these may serve to keep people away. Most of us were looking for any excuse not to attend meetings.

So we take a collection and absolutely insist on paying our own freight. When I came into Alcoholics Anonymous in the mid eighties, it was customary to put a buck in the basket. Several years ago -- congratulating myself mightily -- I made the upgrade to two dollars, and hoped everyone noticed my largess. I smoked cigarettes when I was getting sober and paid 75 cents for a premium brand, which now cost about two thousand dollars at some convenience stores. Let's talk about the cost of a cup of coffee. I don't think we should be encouraging those of us who can afford it to put in the occasional two dollar bill. I think we should be putting in five dollars from time to time.

Last month the local intergroup in my area of the country ran a large deficit, which is pretty hard to believe.

First Is Number One

First: Ranking before all others; foremost in rank, quality, importance, etc.

There was a brand new guy at the meeting this morning. You figure that a person is at least somewhat motivated to show up for his first meeting at 7AM. That's prime hangover time for a lot of us. I didn't get up early to go someplace I didn't want to go to hear things I didn't want to hear from You People on a whim. I waited until I could eat a few aspirin and smoke a joint before I strolled in, which was not in the morning in the time zone that I was living in. People in The Program were the enemy when I was drinking and I needed to be good and ready. Hand to hand combat was a distinct possibility.

I don't think I have done anything in my life quite so momentous as to step into my first meeting. I did a lot of things that required a total lack of regard for my own well-being but nothing quite as brave as coming in to see You People. I had no idea what to expect. I didn't know if there were rules I had to follow, a time clock to punch, secret codes or handshakes to learn. I wasn't sure what was in the coffee pot.

I found myself laughing at some of the recollections. I remember hearing this: We have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that there is a solution. The bad news is that it's us. When I mentioned that I wasn't sure if I was an alcoholic, You People assured me that I would do until one came along. My first sponsor suggested this as a litmus test: Ask yourself if you have ever been to, or are now in, a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. If you can answer yes, you're probably an alcoholic.

People that don't have a drinking problem don't wonder if they have a drinking problem. They don't think about not drinking. They drink, or they don't drink. They don't plan it and they don't worry about not getting enough. I drank more alcohol before the parties and events that I drank way too much at.

I go to meetings today because I don't want to be the New Guy ever again.

Afraid of Fear

Scary: Easily frightened; very timid.

I attended a meeting last night where the topic was fear. A common topic at a meeting. We are by nature pretty fearful people. Our literature is filled with graphic descriptions of fear. It is characterized as an evil and corroding thread that has riddled the fabric of our existence. The suggestion is made that we are afraid that we won't get what we want and that what we have may be taken away from us. That covers just about everything when you think about it. I'm afraid when I don't have it and I'm afraid when I do have it. Maybe I'm not afraid during the nanosecond when the thing is transferred into my possession. I don't know. Even that seems a stretch.

During my Quiet Time this morning (by "quiet" I mean "less deafeningly loud than normal" -- quiet to most people means turning off the music entirely or playing something pleasant, like Yanni. To me it means slightly reducing the volume of Black Sabbath's Greatest Hits.) Where was I? Yes, while I was attempting to meditate I pondered the relative lack of fear in my life today. I get edgy about things but my being is no longer consumed with great suffocating waves of fear. When I was drinking fear was constantly playing in the background. It was at best a dull toothache. It never left me.

I'm not always happy today, and I get afraid about stuff like everyone else. We would hardly be human if we didn't worry about things. However, fear is not my master today (there's a great Black Sabbath album called "Master of Reality"). It's just that I have that bad boy locked down pretty tight. He doesn't have free rein in my head. He has partially subsidized rein -- it isn't an expensive rein that he has to purchase -- but I am in the game.

"Fear: this short word somehow touches about every aspect of our lives."