Pissy Seaweed

So I lived through and survived what was quite literally the worst six month period I have endured in sobriety with the exception of my first six months.  I felt like I was being fed through an emotional meat-grinder, a psychological wood-chipper, a mental sausage-maker.  I stayed the course because I believed I would come out the other side.  I knew I would survive. 

Remember: What doesn't kill you can still fuck you up pretty good.

Part of my epiphany has been an ever-increasing sense that I'm at peace with the past.  I've been pretty peaceful as far as my past is concerned but the meat-grinder, wood-chipper, sausage-maker period helped me to look at a lot of relationships - with people, with places, with The Dead - that were troublesome, in ways that I didn't fully grasp.  There were some endings, some remembrances, some rekindlings.   I often forget to appreciate the helpful nature of pain, motivating me to do the work to get better.

Remember: It's always the darkest right before it goes totally black.

Here I am in lovely Vacation City, with a lovely life and a lovely group of friends who are DRIVING ME CRAZY at the moment.

Remember: When you shut the door on an old way of life you're kind of stuck on the other side of the door that you just shut, maybe impulsively, a little irritated even, so make sure you want to be in the next room before you exit the room that you're currently in.  It may be a perfectly good room.  The grass is not always greener in the next room.  There may very well be no grass at all in there.

I had a Pissy Seaweed moment today.  In most of my old recovery life the phone was a big tool that I used every day.  I had lots of guys that I called and a bunch of them called me regularly, too.  I made more calls than I received but that's OK - that's part of who I am: Phone Guy.  I will say that people returned my calls without exception.  I'm an ex-salesman who has absolutely no patience with people not returning my calls - I put up with that bullshit from prospects and I'm not going to put up with it from friends.

Vacation City is not a phone city.  Maybe people don't use the phone as much as they used to.  Maybe they use the phone a lot but they aren't calling me.  Maybe they say: "Jesus Christ, when is that guy going to get the message and quit calling me?"  It's not unusual to leave a voice message and get a text in return.  People seem to be comfortable with not returning calls. Texting is sort of bullshit in my book - it's fine for letting someone know you're going to be late or to add something to a shopping list but it's a bullshit form of higher communication.  

Remember: The light you see at the end of the tunnel might be the locomotive coming at you.

So I got some minor resentments working right now, directed at people who aren't behaving badly at all.

Remember: Don't go to a football game and bitch that they're not playing baseball.

I have this little group of friends that kind of hangs out together as a little group.  I call them but they don't call me and are a little dicey about returning received phone calls.  They like to do things face-to-face.  So do I but not all the time and you still gotta return phone calls, for chrissake.  So at the meeting this morning they approached me about going to dinner tonight, including one guy who texted a response to a phone call I made last week so he was already on a low-grade, minor shit list of mine.  They all live near downtown and I live on the eastern periphery so most of the time we eat dinner downtown, but tonight we decided to eat at a really nice little Japanese restaurant right down the road from me.  

(Ed Note: in the interest of not being caught lying I do have to say that we're talking about a ten minute drive instead of a twenty minute drive.  Not a significant chunk of time for people like me who literally don't have anything important to do).

"I don't mind being called a liar when I'm lying or about to lie or just finished lying but NOT WHEN I'M TELLING THE TRUTH!"  Homer S.

During the course of the day the location of dinner was changed to accommodate one of the guys who lives and works downtown, the new location being downtown.  Well, this pissed me off unduly and I passed on the meal, like the small, petty, churlish child that I am.  My history to screw myself - either by foregoing something pleasure or ladling something undesirable onto my plate - just to make some vague point that no one picks up on anyhow, unable to comprehend that I'd pitch a bitch over something so insignificant, but at least I'm listening to my own twisted inner self, goddammit!

It's hard to believe that I've made a ton of progress in not being as intolerant, impatient, aggressive, and prone to fits of anger that I used to be.  I'm better now than I've ever been!

"It angries up my fists!"  Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel