Fun: enjoyable; amusing; playful, often noisy, activity.
Guy at Starbucks took my order today and then said, overly brightly: "So what are you going to do that's fun today?"
That question always takes me by surprise. I feel like I'm supposed to come up with some really whimsical thing, like dressing up as a clown or skipping down a country lane, singing "La la la la."
"I'm going to shoot heroin," I said, turning quickly away. That shut him up, the nosy fucker.
I hate the concept of fun almost as much as I hate the concept of happiness. I'm not opposed to happy fun things, mind you, just that I have a personality that chases it to my own severe detriment. I'm Teutonic, for god's sake - we accomplish things, we engage in satisfying activities that have a purpose and a conclusion. We don't plan "fun" days.
And this is why I drank.
Wednesday, July 29, 2015
Monday, July 27, 2015
Seinfeld or The Simpson's: Guideposts for my Life
I went to a meeting for many years in The Old City that included among its members a woman that I could not stand (Ed. Note: I considered some kind of euphemism for "could not stand" but could not stand is what I could not do. Reminds me of an old Seinfeld episode where the loser George character was grilling Jerry about a woman that could not stand George; Jerry told George that she didn't like him. George: "Really? She doesn't like me? What did she say, exactly?" Jerry: "I DO NOT LIKE HIM.")
Anyway, when this woman shared - an event as certain as the sun rising in the morning irregardless of the size of the meeting - usually about things that had nothing to do with alcoholism or recovery from alcoholism, I would get up, enter the men's bathroom, and stand in there until the muted sound of her voice droning on and on about nothing ceased. There were some curious moments in this small bathroom when people who actually . . . you know . . . wanted to pee came in and saw me standing there. "How ya doin,'" I'd say, as they washed up.
Little Westside Jonny called me on it one day. I was surprised that he had noticed.
"I know what you're doing," he said. "I think you should stay in your seat and try to listen."
So if he noticed then other people noticed, too. So there I was - with some decent sobriety - judging the holy shit out of some poor woman who needed my support more than my disapprobation. I was setting one hell of a bad example. I justified this, to a certain degree, by invoking the knowledge that this woman annoyed most of the other members - just as some of the folks in my regular morning meeting here in Vacation City annoy the people who left.
The point is this: if I'm new, clueless about meeting policy and procedure, about how things are "supposed" to go, and I see old-timers grumbling about the behavior of other members I'm going to clam up, probably unsure what the problem is, exactly. All I would feel would be a sense of disapproval. People know when judging is going on. People aren't stupid.
I attended the old morning meeting this morning and I could almost feel a palpable sense of relief that the unhappy members were not present. A few new meeting secretaries were in place; I heard from people who rarely spoke; the meeting was marginally smaller but at a size that I think encourages more interaction from more people - bigger isn't always better. And I bet the people who left are happy, too, that the policies and procedures of the new meeting is to their liking.
Again, I say: more meetings, we need more meetings.
Anyway, when this woman shared - an event as certain as the sun rising in the morning irregardless of the size of the meeting - usually about things that had nothing to do with alcoholism or recovery from alcoholism, I would get up, enter the men's bathroom, and stand in there until the muted sound of her voice droning on and on about nothing ceased. There were some curious moments in this small bathroom when people who actually . . . you know . . . wanted to pee came in and saw me standing there. "How ya doin,'" I'd say, as they washed up.
Little Westside Jonny called me on it one day. I was surprised that he had noticed.
"I know what you're doing," he said. "I think you should stay in your seat and try to listen."
So if he noticed then other people noticed, too. So there I was - with some decent sobriety - judging the holy shit out of some poor woman who needed my support more than my disapprobation. I was setting one hell of a bad example. I justified this, to a certain degree, by invoking the knowledge that this woman annoyed most of the other members - just as some of the folks in my regular morning meeting here in Vacation City annoy the people who left.
The point is this: if I'm new, clueless about meeting policy and procedure, about how things are "supposed" to go, and I see old-timers grumbling about the behavior of other members I'm going to clam up, probably unsure what the problem is, exactly. All I would feel would be a sense of disapproval. People know when judging is going on. People aren't stupid.
I attended the old morning meeting this morning and I could almost feel a palpable sense of relief that the unhappy members were not present. A few new meeting secretaries were in place; I heard from people who rarely spoke; the meeting was marginally smaller but at a size that I think encourages more interaction from more people - bigger isn't always better. And I bet the people who left are happy, too, that the policies and procedures of the new meeting is to their liking.
Again, I say: more meetings, we need more meetings.
Sunday, July 26, 2015
Post Pondering
Ponder: To consider (something) carefully and thoroughly; to chew over, to mull over.
I am done with the new meeting pondering. It is doing me no good unless being irritated or judgmental or prickly is something I find helpful. Most meetings start when a few people have a resentment and a coffee pot, and this is the case here. The people who leave are generally irritated at the people who stay which irritates the people who stay. The people who leave seem surprised at this and then irritated that the people who stay are judging them unfairly, believing that their departure is none of the people who stay's business. While this is nominally true it still shouldn't be a surprise to an individual who rejects a group of people wholesale that the rejected people don't enjoy this. If I don't like you it isn't any of your business. If I say to your face: "I don't like you," it still isn't any of your business but I can hardly be surprised if you suggest, with some fervor, that I go do something to myself which is anatomically impossible.
Everybody's a little irritated and most of us will get over it. Sounds like The Fellowship in all of it's glory.
I am done with the new meeting pondering. It is doing me no good unless being irritated or judgmental or prickly is something I find helpful. Most meetings start when a few people have a resentment and a coffee pot, and this is the case here. The people who leave are generally irritated at the people who stay which irritates the people who stay. The people who leave seem surprised at this and then irritated that the people who stay are judging them unfairly, believing that their departure is none of the people who stay's business. While this is nominally true it still shouldn't be a surprise to an individual who rejects a group of people wholesale that the rejected people don't enjoy this. If I don't like you it isn't any of your business. If I say to your face: "I don't like you," it still isn't any of your business but I can hardly be surprised if you suggest, with some fervor, that I go do something to myself which is anatomically impossible.
Everybody's a little irritated and most of us will get over it. Sounds like The Fellowship in all of it's glory.
Friday, July 24, 2015
A Resentment and a Coffee Pot
I muse a lot on what our literature suggests are the three big tar-pits of self that can get me in trouble: money, sex, and pride. The first two are pretty self-explanatory and not at all subtle, but that pride can sneak up and bite me in the ass when I least expect it. Just as soon as I think I'm not overly concerned about my place in society, my right to be right, I get an uncomfortable reminder at how much it pisses me off when I think I'm being undervalued and ignored, that my opinion is not being accepted as THE opinion. Being disrespected, the street boys say.
One of my early morning meetings has, after an inordinately long period of bitching by some of the members, finally fractured into two groups. While I mostly agree with the complaints of the malcontents, the reasons for their departure, I confess to not being affected as deeply, partially because I'm not a daily attendee of this group. I don't know how anyone goes to the same meeting at the same time on the same day for years and years - I'm ready to bring out the flame-thrower and scorch half the people in the groups I've been attending once a week for a couple of months. Moreover, I think The Fellowship should be a little messy, a little irritating. I'm all dressed up in my little hat and little thrift-shop suit jacket today, all nice and clean and somewhat presentable, forgetting, of course, what a total ass I must have been when I was getting started.
I have felt a creeping irritation at the fleeing members. I find myself talking to some of them when they're not actually . . . you know . . . there. I decided not to go to the new meetings until I decided to go to one of them. It was fine - I have a lot of friends there, people I care about, people I'm going to remain friends with even though we don't see eye-to-eye on the solution to this particular conundrum. Really, the best thing for the recovery community is to have as many meetings available as possible; the more convenient it is to spread the word the better for the still suffering alcoholic. As a general rule I like 20 or 25 attendees in my meetings - not so big that I can't get a word in edgewise if I have something to say - which is always - but not so small that I'm compelled to talk if I don't want to - which is never.
I went to the original meeting today, somewhat reduced in size. We're working through The Traditions at this meeting and the first couple focus on unity and the group conscience. Talk about god sending a message, loud and clear. One guy brought up the "elephant in the room," thinking out loud that he wants to be careful that he doesn't develop a resentment over the defection, that it's a good thing in the long run. His pique is a natural reaction, I think, to a bunch of people saying that they don't like something that you like so they're going to take their ball and go home. I was told about the new meeting beforehand but some of these members weren't - the natural reaction ego-wise being that they imagine that they were deliberately left out.
I know that I was sick of being around people who were unhappy. The old meeting is smaller but more relaxed. I don't feel like there's a bunch of judging going on anymore. I can't imagine that this tension wasn't palpable in some way. I stuck to this because I liked being around happy people. You know, if I try some Indonesian Samosa sauce and I don't like it then I can try some other kind of sauce. It makes more sense to me than continuing to eat the samosa sauce and bitching about how much I don't like it.
One of my early morning meetings has, after an inordinately long period of bitching by some of the members, finally fractured into two groups. While I mostly agree with the complaints of the malcontents, the reasons for their departure, I confess to not being affected as deeply, partially because I'm not a daily attendee of this group. I don't know how anyone goes to the same meeting at the same time on the same day for years and years - I'm ready to bring out the flame-thrower and scorch half the people in the groups I've been attending once a week for a couple of months. Moreover, I think The Fellowship should be a little messy, a little irritating. I'm all dressed up in my little hat and little thrift-shop suit jacket today, all nice and clean and somewhat presentable, forgetting, of course, what a total ass I must have been when I was getting started.
I have felt a creeping irritation at the fleeing members. I find myself talking to some of them when they're not actually . . . you know . . . there. I decided not to go to the new meetings until I decided to go to one of them. It was fine - I have a lot of friends there, people I care about, people I'm going to remain friends with even though we don't see eye-to-eye on the solution to this particular conundrum. Really, the best thing for the recovery community is to have as many meetings available as possible; the more convenient it is to spread the word the better for the still suffering alcoholic. As a general rule I like 20 or 25 attendees in my meetings - not so big that I can't get a word in edgewise if I have something to say - which is always - but not so small that I'm compelled to talk if I don't want to - which is never.
I went to the original meeting today, somewhat reduced in size. We're working through The Traditions at this meeting and the first couple focus on unity and the group conscience. Talk about god sending a message, loud and clear. One guy brought up the "elephant in the room," thinking out loud that he wants to be careful that he doesn't develop a resentment over the defection, that it's a good thing in the long run. His pique is a natural reaction, I think, to a bunch of people saying that they don't like something that you like so they're going to take their ball and go home. I was told about the new meeting beforehand but some of these members weren't - the natural reaction ego-wise being that they imagine that they were deliberately left out.
I know that I was sick of being around people who were unhappy. The old meeting is smaller but more relaxed. I don't feel like there's a bunch of judging going on anymore. I can't imagine that this tension wasn't palpable in some way. I stuck to this because I liked being around happy people. You know, if I try some Indonesian Samosa sauce and I don't like it then I can try some other kind of sauce. It makes more sense to me than continuing to eat the samosa sauce and bitching about how much I don't like it.
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
Fox, Spirit Guide
I was on an uphill segment of this latest hike when up and over the next crest came a little, low-to-the-ground dog, trotting down the middle of the trail at a good pace, looking right at me. It's not uncommon to pass the occasional hiker who has brought along their animal and my experience has been that they're invariably well-behaved - the dogs, that is, the people can be assholes. As a general rule I'm not afraid of dogs, anyhow. As a more specific rule I'm even less afraid of little dogs when I'm carrying my hiking pole, adorned at the top with a big, wood gripping handle, or "little dog thrasher," if you will.
He cruises down the trail, looking me in the eye, before making a hard turn right and disappearing without a rustle into the heavy brush lining the trail, flashing the unmistakable profile of what was actually a small fox. I'm not a goofy spiritual guy but I really dug seeing this dude blow by me, just out doing his thing, hunting or looking for a lady fox or trying to get away from a boy fox, maybe taking a stroll, I don't know. It's why I get out into the middle of nowhere. It helps me quiet my mind. There is nothing to hear but the sounds of nature and my boots scuffing the ground, maybe the muted curses of someone who has taken an embarrassing tumble.
Here's what my shaman whispered into my ear: "There are various species of fox, but they all share the extreme cleverness and cunning that paved the way for the expression "sly as a fox." Fox urges us to develop the art of camouflage, invisibility, and shape shifting. Fox's power lies in not being able to outrun the hounds, but to know in advance when they will be out hunting. They then use their ability to camouflage. When we learn to detach from our surroundings and to use all our sense to be observant, we will also be able to anticipate and create the future. Fox can show you that your actions may be too obvious and the need to learn to be more discreet. Fox is a wise, potent teacher for those who choose to live conscious and deliberate lives. Those with fox as a spirit guide are frequently smart and witty but must remember to keep their crafty and clever demeanor balanced or it could backfire."
There was a LOT going on in that few seconds on the trail.
He cruises down the trail, looking me in the eye, before making a hard turn right and disappearing without a rustle into the heavy brush lining the trail, flashing the unmistakable profile of what was actually a small fox. I'm not a goofy spiritual guy but I really dug seeing this dude blow by me, just out doing his thing, hunting or looking for a lady fox or trying to get away from a boy fox, maybe taking a stroll, I don't know. It's why I get out into the middle of nowhere. It helps me quiet my mind. There is nothing to hear but the sounds of nature and my boots scuffing the ground, maybe the muted curses of someone who has taken an embarrassing tumble.
Here's what my shaman whispered into my ear: "There are various species of fox, but they all share the extreme cleverness and cunning that paved the way for the expression "sly as a fox." Fox urges us to develop the art of camouflage, invisibility, and shape shifting. Fox's power lies in not being able to outrun the hounds, but to know in advance when they will be out hunting. They then use their ability to camouflage. When we learn to detach from our surroundings and to use all our sense to be observant, we will also be able to anticipate and create the future. Fox can show you that your actions may be too obvious and the need to learn to be more discreet. Fox is a wise, potent teacher for those who choose to live conscious and deliberate lives. Those with fox as a spirit guide are frequently smart and witty but must remember to keep their crafty and clever demeanor balanced or it could backfire."
There was a LOT going on in that few seconds on the trail.
Saturday, July 18, 2015
Boom Boom Down Goes The Seaweed
I took one of my solo hikes this week. It does me good to wander around in the hills surrounding Vacation City until my legs start to give out and my feet hurt, something that is happening earlier and earlier in the hike, I'm afraid. I like being in nature and I like the fact that the physical exercise clears my head. Because the terrain is not suitable for agriculture or housing I'm able to leave every one else behind very quickly even though I live in a hugely populated area. It's not unusual if I don't see another person for 3 or 4 hours. It's nice to stop for a minute, catch my breath, and hear only the sounds of nature. It's not so nice, chicken-shit that I am, to imagine a bear or mountain lion taking me out or to mistake a bird rustling in the bushes for a big rattlesnake. I'm acutely aware that by far the most dangerous part of my day is the drive out to the trails. It just isn't a good day for me unless I have something stupid to worry about.
SuperK isn't exactly thrilled when I do this, although she puts up with it. I wasn't much of an athlete when I was young and things have only gone down hill since then, so there's a very real possibility of me twisting or wrenching something a long way from any help. I'm worried about rabid coyotes when I should be worried about breaking my leg and spending a night in the bush. This was my first hike since the hike right before this one, the hike where I took a fairly nasty spill. The trail I was on that time, of course, was the flattest, un-rockiest trail in the area except for one short spot where I had to do some ascending and then, by default, if I wanted to get back to my car, which I did, some descending. I was carefully, carefully, making my way down a steep section, using my hiking poles, feet turned perpendicular to the slope for maximum grip - all of my previous falls have been in the going down part when I patch-out on lose gravel or dirt - mincing, really, as opposed to manly hiking, when I took a long step down, planted my foot on a big rock, which turned and skedaddled down the hill, leaving me in a bad spot. I fell hard in the gravel, banging my arm on a boulder, before coming to rest on my . . . you know . . . ass. I took a breath, checked for broken bones, inspected the alarming amount of bright, red blood on my left arm and left leg, and struggled to my feet. Really what I had done was abraded skin on rock so I had a ton of little cuts - it looked pretty impressive but wasn't anything serious.
I'm always surprised at how fast these kinds of things happen and how weird it is being in the event, vaguely aware that it could be bad. There's a pause in reality where my mind becomes hyper-aware of what is going on and what the outcome could be. That whole slow-motion thing is real. And every time I come out the other end of something scary physically, in one piece, my old love-affair with my physical ass is rekindled. I'm a little more careful about everything. A day and a half in the jury pool had the same effect - it makes me appreciate how quickly a bit of hurry or inattention when I'm driving a couple of tons of glass and steel can have catastrophic consequences.
I was somewhat worried that SuperK might try to put her foot down on the solo hiking but like the married couple we are, it took her a couple of days to even notice my wounds, at first thinking that I had spilled jelly down my forearm. The abrading process had produced a long, very red wound - it didn't hurt, it wasn't anything serious, and that part of my injury healed quickly, but it was kind of gruesome looking for a short stint.
"Huh," she said, or some such thing. She's aware that I'm going to do what I want to do in matters not directly affecting other people. It was a good response. I respected it and thought it was, if anything, funny. And as you can see it didn't stop me from going out by myself again.
SuperK isn't exactly thrilled when I do this, although she puts up with it. I wasn't much of an athlete when I was young and things have only gone down hill since then, so there's a very real possibility of me twisting or wrenching something a long way from any help. I'm worried about rabid coyotes when I should be worried about breaking my leg and spending a night in the bush. This was my first hike since the hike right before this one, the hike where I took a fairly nasty spill. The trail I was on that time, of course, was the flattest, un-rockiest trail in the area except for one short spot where I had to do some ascending and then, by default, if I wanted to get back to my car, which I did, some descending. I was carefully, carefully, making my way down a steep section, using my hiking poles, feet turned perpendicular to the slope for maximum grip - all of my previous falls have been in the going down part when I patch-out on lose gravel or dirt - mincing, really, as opposed to manly hiking, when I took a long step down, planted my foot on a big rock, which turned and skedaddled down the hill, leaving me in a bad spot. I fell hard in the gravel, banging my arm on a boulder, before coming to rest on my . . . you know . . . ass. I took a breath, checked for broken bones, inspected the alarming amount of bright, red blood on my left arm and left leg, and struggled to my feet. Really what I had done was abraded skin on rock so I had a ton of little cuts - it looked pretty impressive but wasn't anything serious.
I'm always surprised at how fast these kinds of things happen and how weird it is being in the event, vaguely aware that it could be bad. There's a pause in reality where my mind becomes hyper-aware of what is going on and what the outcome could be. That whole slow-motion thing is real. And every time I come out the other end of something scary physically, in one piece, my old love-affair with my physical ass is rekindled. I'm a little more careful about everything. A day and a half in the jury pool had the same effect - it makes me appreciate how quickly a bit of hurry or inattention when I'm driving a couple of tons of glass and steel can have catastrophic consequences.
I was somewhat worried that SuperK might try to put her foot down on the solo hiking but like the married couple we are, it took her a couple of days to even notice my wounds, at first thinking that I had spilled jelly down my forearm. The abrading process had produced a long, very red wound - it didn't hurt, it wasn't anything serious, and that part of my injury healed quickly, but it was kind of gruesome looking for a short stint.
"Huh," she said, or some such thing. She's aware that I'm going to do what I want to do in matters not directly affecting other people. It was a good response. I respected it and thought it was, if anything, funny. And as you can see it didn't stop me from going out by myself again.
Friday, July 17, 2015
Seaweed
Malcontent: A person who is not satisfied with current conditions; a discontented person.
A group of discontented members has broken away from one of my morning meetings, after an extended period of bitching about it, and started a new meeting - at the exact same time as the old meeting, ironically enough. I started to use the word "malcontents" but opted to use what I thought was the kinder, gentler "dis-" prefix instead, finding out after the fact that they basically mean the same thing. Anyway, I'm not opposed to this move at all. The original group is too big, in my opinion, which tends to favor the more aggressive, confident members as well as the blowhards who simply like the sound of their voices, the lonely hearts who may or may not be alcoholics but obviously love the opportunity to talk at length about themselves before a mostly attentive, polite audience, and the occasional deranged individual who should be in a supervised setting taking the appropriate psychoactive medicine indicated to quiet down the demons in their heads that are running the show. The group, located in an urban environment, home to the homeless and mentally ill, is a little messy, in other words.
Imagine that - a messy meeting full of alcoholics.
The breakaway group has siphoned off a bunch of the older members. I get it, I do - it can be hard listening to people talk who don't have a very polished message. And if you're new you're probably going to wallow in The Problem instead of gravitating toward The Solution. I had so much shit going on that I needed to get off my chest when I was getting started that it was hard to see anything positive, solution-oriented, in the world. I'm sure I wasn't the preferred speaker for many of the older members. I'd love for each share to be wise and profound, full of nuance and understanding. I'd also prefer to be driving a Ferrari instead of my current car, currenlty worth about 17% of a used Ferrari engine.
I went to the original meeting today. Attendance was down about 25% and it was a GREAT meeting. I had to laugh at the topic for this book study: Tradition One, group unity. Frankly, I felt a sense of release that the judgmental, irritated folks had gone elsewhere - I would cringe when one of the less-polished people would begin to talk, feeling the disapprobation begin to rain down from the rafters. I got to hear a bunch of people talk who didn't normally share and I didn't have to listen to any of the missing old-timers who can get preachy and teachy some of the time.
That being said I'm definitely going to add the new group into my regular rotation. I do like to hear from solid members with a lot of experience. Just not all the time and not at the expense of the new folks. If I don't hear any good solution stuff my Program will suffer and if I don't hear the rawness oozing from the new people my Program will suffer, too.
I'll be interested in seeing how the new group shakes out. Sometimes we overestimate our opinion, believing that the way we feel is the way everyone feels. Many years ago a similar splintering occurred and some malcontents took their ball and went somewhere else to play. That meeting is still in existence and it is still a fraction of the size of the original group.
Little of this, little of that.
A group of discontented members has broken away from one of my morning meetings, after an extended period of bitching about it, and started a new meeting - at the exact same time as the old meeting, ironically enough. I started to use the word "malcontents" but opted to use what I thought was the kinder, gentler "dis-" prefix instead, finding out after the fact that they basically mean the same thing. Anyway, I'm not opposed to this move at all. The original group is too big, in my opinion, which tends to favor the more aggressive, confident members as well as the blowhards who simply like the sound of their voices, the lonely hearts who may or may not be alcoholics but obviously love the opportunity to talk at length about themselves before a mostly attentive, polite audience, and the occasional deranged individual who should be in a supervised setting taking the appropriate psychoactive medicine indicated to quiet down the demons in their heads that are running the show. The group, located in an urban environment, home to the homeless and mentally ill, is a little messy, in other words.
Imagine that - a messy meeting full of alcoholics.
The breakaway group has siphoned off a bunch of the older members. I get it, I do - it can be hard listening to people talk who don't have a very polished message. And if you're new you're probably going to wallow in The Problem instead of gravitating toward The Solution. I had so much shit going on that I needed to get off my chest when I was getting started that it was hard to see anything positive, solution-oriented, in the world. I'm sure I wasn't the preferred speaker for many of the older members. I'd love for each share to be wise and profound, full of nuance and understanding. I'd also prefer to be driving a Ferrari instead of my current car, currenlty worth about 17% of a used Ferrari engine.
I went to the original meeting today. Attendance was down about 25% and it was a GREAT meeting. I had to laugh at the topic for this book study: Tradition One, group unity. Frankly, I felt a sense of release that the judgmental, irritated folks had gone elsewhere - I would cringe when one of the less-polished people would begin to talk, feeling the disapprobation begin to rain down from the rafters. I got to hear a bunch of people talk who didn't normally share and I didn't have to listen to any of the missing old-timers who can get preachy and teachy some of the time.
That being said I'm definitely going to add the new group into my regular rotation. I do like to hear from solid members with a lot of experience. Just not all the time and not at the expense of the new folks. If I don't hear any good solution stuff my Program will suffer and if I don't hear the rawness oozing from the new people my Program will suffer, too.
I'll be interested in seeing how the new group shakes out. Sometimes we overestimate our opinion, believing that the way we feel is the way everyone feels. Many years ago a similar splintering occurred and some malcontents took their ball and went somewhere else to play. That meeting is still in existence and it is still a fraction of the size of the original group.
Little of this, little of that.
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Sorry About That
Responsible: Answerable for an act performed or for its consequences; accountable.
There's a lot of stuff in our literature about taking responsibility for our actions. I'm not big on this action. This is not one of my favorite actions. I'm much more willing to look at you and your behavior, to try to find fault in what you've done or left undone. It is definitely easier to pour over the boring minutia of someone else's life than to look at the instances where I may have behaved badly.
Apologize: To acknowledge some fault or offence, with expression of regret for it, by way of amends.
SuperK accuses me of never apologizing. I tell her that this is because I never do anything wrong. She is not impressed with this assertion, believing it to be profoundly untrue. Part of it, I think, is my hyper-competitive nature - I'm always trying to "win," whatever that means. I am very qualified to find instances where she has behaved badly. People get married just so they can have someone at arm's length to blame for everything they don't want to take responsibility for.
I did NOT apologize for never apologizing.
There's a lot of stuff in our literature about taking responsibility for our actions. I'm not big on this action. This is not one of my favorite actions. I'm much more willing to look at you and your behavior, to try to find fault in what you've done or left undone. It is definitely easier to pour over the boring minutia of someone else's life than to look at the instances where I may have behaved badly.
Apologize: To acknowledge some fault or offence, with expression of regret for it, by way of amends.
SuperK accuses me of never apologizing. I tell her that this is because I never do anything wrong. She is not impressed with this assertion, believing it to be profoundly untrue. Part of it, I think, is my hyper-competitive nature - I'm always trying to "win," whatever that means. I am very qualified to find instances where she has behaved badly. People get married just so they can have someone at arm's length to blame for everything they don't want to take responsibility for.
I did NOT apologize for never apologizing.
Monday, July 13, 2015
Gated Community
Sometimes my wife doesn't lock the windows in our trailer house - not often, but sometimes. We've lived in some big cities and we've lived downtown in a few of these big cities so, as a general rule, we're pretty good at keeping an eye on our shit; not paranoid about it but warily vigilant. People tending toward mayhem look for easy targets. Today we live in this tightly packed trailer park where the management closes a fence at night - prompting one of my smart-ass Program buddies to quip that I live in a "gated community," my retort being that it's really there to keep the residents from getting disoriented and wandering onto the freeway at night - and it's a community where we all kind of look out for each other so there's not much chance of anything sinister happening.
That has not stopped me from mentioning this to SuperK. I like to make mountains out of molehills. She has mostly complied and that's more than I would do for one of her requests, I'm sorry to say. The other day I came home from swimming and she walked around the corner exclaiming: "Where have you been?"
"At the pool," I said, a bit confused.
She pointed at the front door which was standing wide open. Not unlocked. Not ajar. Completely, totally wide open. I had been gone for 3 or 4 hours.
I have not revisited the whole lock-the-window thing.
That has not stopped me from mentioning this to SuperK. I like to make mountains out of molehills. She has mostly complied and that's more than I would do for one of her requests, I'm sorry to say. The other day I came home from swimming and she walked around the corner exclaiming: "Where have you been?"
"At the pool," I said, a bit confused.
She pointed at the front door which was standing wide open. Not unlocked. Not ajar. Completely, totally wide open. I had been gone for 3 or 4 hours.
I have not revisited the whole lock-the-window thing.
Friday, July 10, 2015
Problem People
Problem: A difficulty that has to be resolved or dealt with. (Ed. Note: Unless you're an active alcoholic at which point it becomes something to avoid, bury, or run from, screaming into the night).
Book study this morning. Rarely have I attended a bad book study meeting. Here's some stuff . . .
"If our circumstances happened to be good, we no longer dreaded a change for the worse, for we had learned that these troubles could be turned into great values." I like to think of this as the concept of The Other Shoe Must Surely Drop. First of all, what happens when the first shoe drops? And why is that shoe an OK shoe and the second shoe is the portent of some disaster? A question for a wiser man, I think. Anyway, the point is that if things were really, really going well for me then I was inevitably thrown into a deep depression, quaking in dread that The End Was Near. Who lives like that? I was almost happier when my life was a disaster because I could say to myself: "Well, that was inevitable and I deserved it anyway." If I was miserable what could you do to me? If I was happy you could snatch it away.
Early on in our Fellowship a bunch of doctors and psychologists made an exhaustive study of some alcoholics to see if they could come up with common personality traits. "They finally came up with a conclusion that shocked the members of that time. These distinguished men had the nerve to say that most of the alcoholics under investigation were still childish, emotionally sensitive, and grandiose."
Well, that sounds like a whole lot of work to come up with an obvious conclusion. It apparently pissed off our early members who were probably easily pissed off.
"We have been talking about problems because we are problem people who have found a way up and out, and who wish to share our knowledge of that way with all who can use it."
OK, that I can use.
Book study this morning. Rarely have I attended a bad book study meeting. Here's some stuff . . .
"If our circumstances happened to be good, we no longer dreaded a change for the worse, for we had learned that these troubles could be turned into great values." I like to think of this as the concept of The Other Shoe Must Surely Drop. First of all, what happens when the first shoe drops? And why is that shoe an OK shoe and the second shoe is the portent of some disaster? A question for a wiser man, I think. Anyway, the point is that if things were really, really going well for me then I was inevitably thrown into a deep depression, quaking in dread that The End Was Near. Who lives like that? I was almost happier when my life was a disaster because I could say to myself: "Well, that was inevitable and I deserved it anyway." If I was miserable what could you do to me? If I was happy you could snatch it away.
Early on in our Fellowship a bunch of doctors and psychologists made an exhaustive study of some alcoholics to see if they could come up with common personality traits. "They finally came up with a conclusion that shocked the members of that time. These distinguished men had the nerve to say that most of the alcoholics under investigation were still childish, emotionally sensitive, and grandiose."
Well, that sounds like a whole lot of work to come up with an obvious conclusion. It apparently pissed off our early members who were probably easily pissed off.
"We have been talking about problems because we are problem people who have found a way up and out, and who wish to share our knowledge of that way with all who can use it."
OK, that I can use.
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Those Damn Books
". . . we discovered the best source of emotional stability to be God Himself. If we really depended upon God, we couldn't very well play God to our fellows nor would we feel the urge wholly to rely on human protection and care."
I'm going to do what now? Turn my life and my will over to a formless entity that I can't taste or see or hear, that I can't provide with an exhaustive list of detailed demands that, if fulfilled, would provide me with a boundless, limitless happiness?
Who comes up with this stuff?
I'm going to do what now? Turn my life and my will over to a formless entity that I can't taste or see or hear, that I can't provide with an exhaustive list of detailed demands that, if fulfilled, would provide me with a boundless, limitless happiness?
Who comes up with this stuff?
The Rural Juror
My jury summons prompted the standard Seaweed response to an unwanted task: "Oh, crap. Why me?" Implied in that comment is that I'd be very comfortable if it was you - anybody but me. The next indicated step was to try to figure out how to evade the responsibility. This, apparently, is very common as the actual summons sent to me listed all of my potential excuses - along with many more that I hadn't thought of - and the corresponding reasons why they weren't going to be accepted. Even the judge mentioned, wearily, that he was sure all most no one wanted to be there, potential jurors in a 5 day civil trial.
I'd say that this is probably common in the very prosperous country where I reside but I bet it's very common in most wealthy places. I know I spend a huge amount of time bitching about taxes and regulations that affect me and rules that I have to follow that make absolutely no sense and the stupidity of all of our duly elected representatives but the minute you ask me to donate a little bit of my time to be a part of the most important piece of our judicial system then I'm vexed, extremely vexed, that I'll have to miss all of my important . . . you know . . . lolling in the sun.
But here's the thing: once the proceedings got going I was totally, completely impressed with the patience and professionalism of the judge, the lawyers, and - most of all - the potential jurors. People really stepped up to the plate and did their best. I thought I'd hear all kinds of whining excuses but what came out was a ton of honesty, caring, and a desire by almost everyone to do their best. I thought people really cared. I was damn proud.
One of my coping mechanisms is to imagine the Worst Case Scenario - in this case a potential 5 day trial - and then figure out how to deal with it. I decided that I had already made it through Day 1 and that the remaining days hewed to a schedule of 10-12 and then 1:30-4. I mean, not exactly grueling. I was OK with it. I was ready to serve.
Never got called. I've seriously thought about going over and watching the trial for a day or so. I should be locked up.
I'd say that this is probably common in the very prosperous country where I reside but I bet it's very common in most wealthy places. I know I spend a huge amount of time bitching about taxes and regulations that affect me and rules that I have to follow that make absolutely no sense and the stupidity of all of our duly elected representatives but the minute you ask me to donate a little bit of my time to be a part of the most important piece of our judicial system then I'm vexed, extremely vexed, that I'll have to miss all of my important . . . you know . . . lolling in the sun.
But here's the thing: once the proceedings got going I was totally, completely impressed with the patience and professionalism of the judge, the lawyers, and - most of all - the potential jurors. People really stepped up to the plate and did their best. I thought I'd hear all kinds of whining excuses but what came out was a ton of honesty, caring, and a desire by almost everyone to do their best. I thought people really cared. I was damn proud.
One of my coping mechanisms is to imagine the Worst Case Scenario - in this case a potential 5 day trial - and then figure out how to deal with it. I decided that I had already made it through Day 1 and that the remaining days hewed to a schedule of 10-12 and then 1:30-4. I mean, not exactly grueling. I was OK with it. I was ready to serve.
Never got called. I've seriously thought about going over and watching the trial for a day or so. I should be locked up.
Tuesday, July 7, 2015
Time Takes Time
A friend of mine recently lost her only brother to a drug overdose - he was a young guy when he ODed. Recently her sponsor told her that she should be moving on as far as her grief and depression is concerned. I would never get between someone and her sponsor - who knows far, far better than I do - but I take some mild exception to this comment. I get the sponsor's point - after all alcoholics are pretty good at wallowing in misery and self-pity.
That being it's a mistake to think everyone can be put in a neat little box as far as grief is concerned. There are a million different kinds of people who have experienced a million different kinds of loss. To assume that it's going to take a fixed amount of time to heal is ridiculous. It's going to take as much time as it takes.
I was one of those people who didn't feel very much grief right away. I had been hoping for Ken to die - as had he - and I was happy that my ailing mother died quickly and painlessly - avoiding her greatest fear: The Nursing Home. I sort of enjoyed her funeral, catching up with old friends and neighbors, many of whom I hadn't seen for years. Denial, I guess is the first of the five stages of grief. Now I'm kind of treading water, not drowning but not getting closer to dry ground very quickly, either.
So be it.
That being it's a mistake to think everyone can be put in a neat little box as far as grief is concerned. There are a million different kinds of people who have experienced a million different kinds of loss. To assume that it's going to take a fixed amount of time to heal is ridiculous. It's going to take as much time as it takes.
I was one of those people who didn't feel very much grief right away. I had been hoping for Ken to die - as had he - and I was happy that my ailing mother died quickly and painlessly - avoiding her greatest fear: The Nursing Home. I sort of enjoyed her funeral, catching up with old friends and neighbors, many of whom I hadn't seen for years. Denial, I guess is the first of the five stages of grief. Now I'm kind of treading water, not drowning but not getting closer to dry ground very quickly, either.
So be it.
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Some Fava Beans and a Nice Chianti
I favor the term "Free-Floating Anxiety," or as Little Westside Jonny might phrase it: "I'm prone to anxiety." This has all been exacerbated by the twin deaths. Should you wonder what FFA means or feels like ponder the following . . .
I have jury duty this week, a civic function that no one, including me, looks forward to doing. Most of us see a few days of boredom but I see weeks of potential terror. I'm sure I'm going to be chosen for a capital murder case where some sociopathic psychopath gang member - gang leader - has dismembered a rival, cut out his liver, and eaten it with some fava beans and a good Chianti. To make this free-floatingness a little worse the old woman who lives behind me has started to blast her TV for a few hours each night starting at about 10PM, my bedtime. Because she lives in a particularly old trailer home - excuse me: manufactured home - and because my bed is 15 feet from her flimsy bedroom wall I'm picking up this muffled Spanish dialogue as soon as The TV springs to life. Now, mind you, if I turn on a fan I don't think I can hear anything but I'm starting to imagine that I hear something, even over the roar of the fan. SuperK looks at me like I'm losing it - I'm the guy who can go out like a light sitting up in a cramped airplane seat, the guy who's last house was on a terrifically busy street, ambulances and motorcycles and the like roaring up and down it 24 hours a day. But this gentle mumbling has become a real problem.
I try not to talk to much to real earth people. I can see them pull out their cell phones and start to dial 911.
I have jury duty this week, a civic function that no one, including me, looks forward to doing. Most of us see a few days of boredom but I see weeks of potential terror. I'm sure I'm going to be chosen for a capital murder case where some sociopathic psychopath gang member - gang leader - has dismembered a rival, cut out his liver, and eaten it with some fava beans and a good Chianti. To make this free-floatingness a little worse the old woman who lives behind me has started to blast her TV for a few hours each night starting at about 10PM, my bedtime. Because she lives in a particularly old trailer home - excuse me: manufactured home - and because my bed is 15 feet from her flimsy bedroom wall I'm picking up this muffled Spanish dialogue as soon as The TV springs to life. Now, mind you, if I turn on a fan I don't think I can hear anything but I'm starting to imagine that I hear something, even over the roar of the fan. SuperK looks at me like I'm losing it - I'm the guy who can go out like a light sitting up in a cramped airplane seat, the guy who's last house was on a terrifically busy street, ambulances and motorcycles and the like roaring up and down it 24 hours a day. But this gentle mumbling has become a real problem.
I try not to talk to much to real earth people. I can see them pull out their cell phones and start to dial 911.
Friday, July 3, 2015
Seaweed: Bush-League Pinch-Hitter
Power: Ability to affect or influence; control or coercion.
Try everything and THEN ask for help from my higher power. That is so completely hilarious in its brilliance that I can't see straight.
"We began to get over the idea that the Higher Power was a sort of bush-league pinch hitter, to be called upon only in an emergency. The notion that we would still live our own lives, God helping a little now and then, began to evaporate."
A pinch-hitter is usually a baseball player that isn't good enough to be on the starting team, someone who comes in to bat once for a really terrible hitter. And the bush-leagues are the really crappy leagues ("a low-ranking or inferior level among groups, professions, organizations, etc"). So the implication is - if I understand it correctly, dubious as that may be - that I consider my higher power to be an inferior, secondary substitute playing in an inferior, low-ranking league. That sounds about right for me. That sounds just about right.
I got a long way to go . . .
Try everything and THEN ask for help from my higher power. That is so completely hilarious in its brilliance that I can't see straight.
"We began to get over the idea that the Higher Power was a sort of bush-league pinch hitter, to be called upon only in an emergency. The notion that we would still live our own lives, God helping a little now and then, began to evaporate."
A pinch-hitter is usually a baseball player that isn't good enough to be on the starting team, someone who comes in to bat once for a really terrible hitter. And the bush-leagues are the really crappy leagues ("a low-ranking or inferior level among groups, professions, organizations, etc"). So the implication is - if I understand it correctly, dubious as that may be - that I consider my higher power to be an inferior, secondary substitute playing in an inferior, low-ranking league. That sounds about right for me. That sounds just about right.
I got a long way to go . . .
Thursday, July 2, 2015
There's a Point Here Somewhere
I do try to listen, I really do. It's hard to discern this because I always seem to be talking and it's usually about myself. The message I'm perceiving right now is that helping someone else instead of thinking about myself might be a wise plan. Pshaw, I say.
There was a blip in my life once when I wasn't feeling very good and Ken suggested that reaching out to someone less fortunate than me might be helpful. I protested, maintaining that I didn't think I had anything to give at that point.
"Maybe that's when you most need to reach out," he said.
(Ed. Note: a guy just stopped by my table here at he overpriced specialty coffee shop, where I'm lolling in the sun - he's a sad, sad case, someone I know from my morning meeting before we had to ban him from the group because he kept disappearing into the interior of the church, hiding out, an action frowned upon by the church staff who would bump into him from time to time. His face and arms are covered with what I assume must be meth sores. He rambled on in a marginally coherent fashion for a bit. Apparently he's a sharp guy when he's on his anti-psychotic medicine which he clearly is not).
There's my service work presented to me on a silver platter. I've always been nice to him and he recognizes me although I don't think anything I say is sinking in very deeply.
Anyway, when I'm off my game my main impulse is to go off alone and think, and not about someone else, I'll tell you that. My M.O. is not to think about how I can be of service. I'm here to be the one being serviced.
One of my buddies last night shared about how he first has to try everything - absolutely everything - before he's willing to let go of whatever is bothering him.
Man, oh, man.
"Be the change you want to be in the world." Gandhi
There was a blip in my life once when I wasn't feeling very good and Ken suggested that reaching out to someone less fortunate than me might be helpful. I protested, maintaining that I didn't think I had anything to give at that point.
"Maybe that's when you most need to reach out," he said.
(Ed. Note: a guy just stopped by my table here at he overpriced specialty coffee shop, where I'm lolling in the sun - he's a sad, sad case, someone I know from my morning meeting before we had to ban him from the group because he kept disappearing into the interior of the church, hiding out, an action frowned upon by the church staff who would bump into him from time to time. His face and arms are covered with what I assume must be meth sores. He rambled on in a marginally coherent fashion for a bit. Apparently he's a sharp guy when he's on his anti-psychotic medicine which he clearly is not).
There's my service work presented to me on a silver platter. I've always been nice to him and he recognizes me although I don't think anything I say is sinking in very deeply.
Anyway, when I'm off my game my main impulse is to go off alone and think, and not about someone else, I'll tell you that. My M.O. is not to think about how I can be of service. I'm here to be the one being serviced.
One of my buddies last night shared about how he first has to try everything - absolutely everything - before he's willing to let go of whatever is bothering him.
Man, oh, man.
"Be the change you want to be in the world." Gandhi
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
PO'd
So I pitched a bitch and didn't go to my men's meeting to protest the selection of current reading material. I'm sure I showed them. I'm sure they could barely manage to hold a meeting with me absent. I'm sure they didn't know what to do without me because it is . . . no doubt about it . . . all about me.
I opted instead for a different men's meeting near my house, one that I had tried before and found personally to be a poor fit. Nothing the matter with the meeting, mind you, just didn't scratch my itch for a variety of mundane reasons. I walk in, sit down, eye the very young secretary approaching. He introduces himself; asks if I've new to the meeting; asks if I'm new to The Fellowship, which pisses me off even though it's an excellent and entirely appropriate question. I'm pissed off when I go to a meeting and no one asks these questions. You can see I'm pissed off fairly easily when everything's going my way so I've really go my finger on the trigger right now.
Then he asked if I wanted to lead the meeting which also pissed me off - I hate people who wait until the meeting is about to start to find a leader, believing it to show a certain amount of laziness on the part of the secretary. I ignore the fact that many of my friends like this technique, believe that off-the-cuff remarks come from the heart and not from the head - alcoholics don't like too much time to think about things. I ask for one of our Books to help me select a topic - it's better to hear the wisdom of our founders than the wisdom of Seaweed. They don't have any literature available - pissing me off - although they agree to let me use one of the new books that they have for sale, somewhat begrudgingly, I thought. Maybe they thought I was going to share and then take off with the book at the cookie break. I'd be more likely to take off with a couple of bags of cookies.
Because I'm a little anxious and shut-down right now I talked about the two deaths that I believe are still affecting my mood, the low-grade depression hanging over my head like a little storm cloud. The funny thing about losing my sponsor is that Ken is exactly the guy I'd call to say I'm upset over losing my sponsor. I did say that I had a Vacation City sponsor, admitting that because I don't have the depth and strength of a connection with him that I did with Ken that it's harder to pick up the phone and call. The section I read out of The Book talked about the fact that most of our problems are of our own making, that we act like directors of a play who want to control the sets, the lighting, the music, the performers, and that everything would be OK if people did what we wanted.
So what did people want to talk about? How to find a sponsor. I'm often amazed at the disconnect between what I say in a meeting and what people hear. When I think I'm tearing it up nobody says boo; when I stumble around, trying to collect my thoughts, I seem to hit a nerve. This turn of events, of course, really pissed me off. Why weren't these actors reading from my script? I tried to open my mind, to hear what people were actually saying instead of what I wanted to hear, and realized that there were 5 or 6 guys at the meeting who had announced less than 30 days of sobriety. Of course - my message was meant to spark a conversation about how to accomplish the difficult task of asking someone to be a sponsor instead of one revolving around the fact that someone who should know better isn't reaching out for help. It also made me realize that I need to ramp up the effort and get some more phone numbers instead of criticizing the people who I'm not calling anyway.
That kind of pissed me off.
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