Rodney And Me.

During my morning Quiet Time I do a little praying, as long as it doesn't interfere with the furious, power driven arguments I'm having with bosses and spouses and other rivals who aren't actually there, or the wildly imaginative sexual fantasies I conjure up, or the speculation on whether to buy 2 or 3 Ferraris when I beat the 563 million to 1 odds and finally win the lottery that I have never actually bought a ticket for.
My Quiet Times are the envy of the recovery world.

"How does one have an effective Quiet Time?" my wide-eyed sponsees ask me.
"Sit at my knee, my son, and I will tell you," I say, with a twinkle in my eye.
Anyway, I try to restrict my prayers to simple requests that can't blow up in my face. I got tired of things blowing up in my face. I guess what I thought I was asking for wasn't what I was actually asking for because I never seemed to get what I wanted, what with all the willing and enthusiastic sexual partners and bloodied victims I was imagining. I missed some important instructions at some point. I probably wasn't listening when the process was explained to me.
I almost always ask god to help me be the best person I can be today. I figure even I can't screw up that request. There are many variations on this prayer depending on the length and quality of one's sobriety. Early on in my Quiet Time Quest I would say this simple prayer: "God, help me not act like a total ass today." I know I'm an ass; I just hope I'm not an ass all of the time. I strive to be a part time ass. I don't think it's going to get any better than that.
When I got to my hotel yesterday I was tired. I didn't feel like being friendly. I wanted people to Get Away From Me. I had a little trouble finding the place so being an atypical male (read: wuss) I actually stopped and called for directions. I spoke to Rodney. I was parked at a bank next to an auto parts store which was blocking my view of the hotel. It was pretty funny to get back on the highway and sail past my hotel, the one that I could have walked to from the bank parking lot. It's funny now, I mean. It wasn't funny yesterday. I said some bad words yesterday.
Anyway, I gave it my best shot with Rodney when I walked into the lobby, even though I didn't feel like it. Really, what do I care about Rodney? Rodney is not me; ergo, he is unimportant. Odd thing is when you are nice to people they respond. Rodney gave me a really nice room in his substandard hotel. So I made a point of walking by the desk whenever I left and waving at him: "Rodney!" maybe saying something mildly witty.


When I checked out today Rodney asked me how I was doing. I told him that I had slept well and he said he thought I looked much more rested than I had the day before. As I walked out the door he said: "Be careful on the roads out there. You're a treasure." I think he said treasure. Maybe he said: "You're a train wreck" or "You're having a seizure."


"Yes," I thought. "I am a treasure. I really am."