Advanced Sobriety Syndrome

2012-02-14T00:31:00.000-05:00

Type A

The theory describes a Type A individual as ambitious, aggressive, business-like, controlling, highly competitive, preoccupied with his or her status, time-conscious, arrogant and tightly-wound. People with Type A personalities are often high-achieving "workaholics" who multi-task, push themselves with deadlines, and hate both delays and ambivalence. -- (Ed. note: lifted verbatim from Wikipedia).

I had coffee today with Tom Bon Jovi. He's another of my many friends with a Type A personality and luckily for him, he knows this. While there may be a few people possessing the laid-back Type B personality in The Rooms I don't run into them very often. I do see a hell of a lot of hard charging people. Personally, I confused being too stoned to get off the couch with being laid back. There is nothing even remotely laid back about Little Stevie Seaweed.

"No, you were drunk," my first sponsor said, typically not mincing words. "Didn't you say you got into a lot of fights when you were playing sports?" he asked, doubtfully eyeing my skinny frame.

"I did," I maintained. "Well, shoving matches would be a better description." I paused. "Well, I really glared at a lot of people. They had to know I was pissed."

"Laid back people don't get into fights," he pointed out. "That's kind of counter to the whole spirit of being laid back."

We Type A's do get a lot done but we're not too relaxed doing it. Today I recognize this about myself. I don't try to change the person that I am. I try to change how I behave. I believe that what The Program has done for me is to allow who I really am to come out. I don't fight it anymore. I don't sit around very well. It's who I am.

Who is Nuts, Exactly?

2012-02-12T21:34:00.000-05:00

So I spoke to my mother again yesterday. I'm trying to be a good son by calling a few times a week. SuperK thinks I'm nuts for calling that often. She thinks I'm nuts about a lot of other things, too, but that's a topic for another day, probably tomorrow. The calls never go that well. My father hasn't spoken to me on the phone for a year -- he doesn't like to talk on the phone -- and my mother seems to labor through the conversations, somewhat. I'm not entirely sure why I call. I don't enjoy it and I'm not sure that they do, either.

There's a good episode of "Seinfeld" where George reveals that he writes down notes containing several topics before his weekly call to his parents. One of his topics, for instance, is why Bosco is an under-appreciated drink. Eventually, his parents admit that they hate the phone calls -- they lie about other engagements to avoid talking to him and even move to Florida to escape his hectoring.

I started writing letters to my folks about 10 months ago. I'll add a few paragraphs every other day or so about nothing in particular. They really seem to like these. I guess I should be writing letters and giving them a break with the phone calls that no one seems to enjoy. I guess this is another instance of me deciding how the universe should make sense and then getting upset when other people don't buy into my construction.

Anyway, I'm going to share a few snippets from yesterday's call. I add these not as a criticism but to demonstrate to myself that some of what I am was installed by others and then reinforced vigorously for years and years. That and because it really is criticism, which I enjoy so much; my saying it's not criticism doesn't make it so. I can tell the cops I only had two beers but that doesn't change the facts.

My parents are worried about the flu so they're not leaving the house to avoid any possible contact with the virus. There's something reasonable in this -- they are pretty old and the flu can be dangerous to the elderly. But it seems so over the top. How long does the flu season last? 4 or 5 months? That's a long time to avoid human contact. To me that sounds like saying: "I'm not going to drive because I could have an accident" or "I'm not going to eat anything because I could choke."

The really revealing comment was my mother sharing that a good friend of theirs goes to Florida every winter and stays with her son who has a small sailboat. There's snow on the ground in The Old City and I think the temperature dropped into the single digits last night so I remarked that a trip like that sounded pretty nice. I'd go down and stay with the guy, for god's sake.

"I don't know," my mother said doubtfully. "A storm could come up and you could be swept overboard." It reminds me of the time I told her about some hiking I was going to do and she recounted a story of someone getting mauled by a bear, somewhere else, a long time ago. Whenever I travel she trots out a ready to go list of tragedies that have struck unprepared tourists like a crack of lightning.

Be afraid.

Little Stevie Seaweed

2012-02-10T23:50:00.001-05:00

Seaweed: Any sea plant or plants; especially, any marine alga.

I'm getting a little tired of the nickname "Horseface Steve." I'm definitely not tired of "SuperK," however. That is an outstanding nickname, although around the house she's usually "Princess Kristina" or "Champagne Kris" or something like that.

I digress. I'm talking about someone other than myself and I have little or no patience for that. "What's the point?" I wonder. The trouble with Horseface is that some of my many, many, MANY girlfriends are starting to object to the negative connotations of having a face that resembles a horse. And I haven't cut my hair in a year so I don't know too many horses with a lot of unruly gray hair.

"You don't have a Horseface!" one of my girlfriends said. "You're very handsome!" The reason I have so many girlfriends is that SuperK sends my posts to some of her friends. Otherwise, I have about zero girlfriends, which is roughly the number, more or less, I had when I was drinking.

"Why thank you," I said to this woman, who is very attractive, as I blushed alluringly, a lovely, subtle shade of pink, which really makes my age spots sparkly.

"No," she continued, "It's more of a mule face. Or . . . what is the result of a horse mating with a mule . . . a burro!" she added brightly.

Anyway, when I was a little boy -- an actual little boy in people years and not a little boy trapped in 75 inches of overwrought man body -- some bully called me "Little Stevie Seaweed" as a taunt of some kind. It bugged me so I told my parents who thought it was hilarious which totally pissed me off.

I'm going to try it on for size.

Envious Steve

2012-02-10T12:32:00.003-05:00

Glutton: A person who eats too much; also, a furry northern animal related to the marten and weasel, but longer; the American version is called wolverine.

Gluttony: The habit or act of eating too much.

Temperance: Moderate in one's action, speech, etc.; self-restraint; characterized by moderation or restraint, as things, actions, etc.

All of the definitions for the 7 Deadly Sins have a lot of nuance except for this one. A person who eats too much -- there's not too much to interpret in that definition.

Some people -- well, all people, actually -- said that I was a glutton for punishment when I was drinking. That makes it sound like gluttony is an overly large appetite for anything, even pain.

Temperanace seems to imply a sense of moderation. It's also a great name for a girl if you want to have a child who is going to be teased until she develops an eating disorder. I guess it wouldn't be as bad as being named Chastity. Since the girls get the Virtues maybe the boys should get the vices.

How cool would it be if my name was Sloth or Envy?

Re- Sentment

2012-02-10T12:28:00.004-05:00

Resent: To feel or show displeasure and indignation at (some act, remark, etc.) or toward (a person), from a sense of being injured or offended.

"However, what actually happens is that your own body generated such harmful chemistry that you experience pain, increased heart beat, tension, change of facial expression, loss of appetite, deprivation of sleep, and appear very unpleasant to others. You go through the same things you wish for your enemy."
So saith the Minor Buddha.

"Resentment is the Number One offender. It destroys more alcoholics than anything else." BB of AA

Apparently, this resentment thing is pretty important. I'll ponder that as I move through the day feeling put upon because the weather isn't to my liking.

2012-02-10T12:16:00.000-05:00

Solve: To find or provide a satisfactory solution for (a problem).

I realize I've been droning on and on a bit about solving problems rather than the problems themselves. You don't know how unbelievable it is for me to talk about The Solution so I'm really making sure that I run with this riff. It's almost unprecedented for me to think past the problem. Most unnatural.

I return to my stint in Chicago where the meetings were all based on a Step. A service position such as chairperson lasted for 12 weeks - you were expected to start at Step 1 and move through to Step 12, including all of the Steps in between and doing them in order. You were not permitted to skip any Steps or take them out whenever you felt like it. It's important to do them as suggested.

It reminds me of a Monty Python bit based on proper use of the Holy Hand Grenade, which is tossed on a count of 3 after the Holy Pin is pulled.

"First, shall thou count to the number 3

4 shall thou not count to,

Nor shall thou count to the number 2, unless thou then proceedeth to the number 3.

5 is right out!

Once the number 3, being the third number has been reached . . ."

Anyway, I need that kind of instruction when it comes to something as easy as starting at Step 1 and moving through the Steps one by one until I get to Step 12. You'd think that wouldn't be so but there it is.

The point is that I had to take whatever one of my legion of problems that was currently eating my lunch and figure out where in the week's Step that the solution was.

It's dark and wet here in The New City this winter. A few people have recommended Full Spectrum Lighting which is supposed to help with the mood swings that some of us (me being the only one I'm interested in) suffer during the winter. So I shell out $50 and plug in this light. They all have names like "Happy Light" and "So You're Fucking Depressed Because It's Winter? Light." It appears to be a hugely overpriced, ordinary lamp. It appears to be worth about $7. There were a lot of $7 lights there with names like "Desk Lamp" that looked to be able to do roughly the same thing.

Really? This is the answer?

I'm using it. What do I know anyway?

Shot Down in Flames

2012-02-09T00:23:00.000-05:00

Suspicion: The act or an instance of suspecting; believing of something bad, wrong, harmful, etc. with little or no supporting evidence.

Shot down in flames,
I've been shot down in flames.
Ain't it a shame?
To be shot down in flames. AC/DC

I've had the Coffee Lady on my mind lately; I'm trying to work out in my head what that incident has taught me. First of all, I do enjoy the satisfaction I get when I do something nice for someone with no hope of any return reward. In the past I never gave anyone anything unless I was pretty sure something was coming back my way.

Who am I kidding, in the past? Yeah, right.

Anyway, one of the weird facts of my life is that when I try to give and not focus so much on getting I feel better. It doesn't look good on an accounting spread sheet -- give up something, not get anything in return. I'd go out of business in a hurry. But it works. Go figure. It must be some of that kooky karma.

Part of my reflections, regrettably, focuses on the self-righteous satisfaction I get from giving when others are not. I think it makes me feel better than they are.

Jerry Seinfeld: "You're better than they are!"
George Costanza (enthusiastically): "Yeah, who do they think they are? I'm better than they are. (Pausing.) Who am I kidding? I'm not better than anyone."

One of the things that used to plague me was this sense that people were taking advantage of me. I'd look at a panhandler and think: lazy, or a drunk who's going to take the money and buy drugs or alcohol, or a con artist who owns a Jaguar (Ed. note: this was actually stated by a distant relative). And while that may occasionally be the case it's also true that I was refusing help to a lot of people who truly needed it to make sure - to make totally, completely sure -- that no one was gaming the system to my disadvantage. So today more often than not I shell out a dollar. I don't care where it ends up. My god has showered me with many more one dollars than I need to be a productive member of society so I can give one of them to someone else from time to time.

It's just very freeing.

Screwed Again

2012-02-07T19:36:00.000-05:00

Screw: To extort or practice extortion on: as, he screwed me out of money.

I've decided to add a short gratitude list to my quiet time in the morning. I've just figured out that this might be beneficial to my emotional and spiritual well-being. I guess 25 years of resisting this practice to no good effect is proof enough. I've made my point. I've shown you that my way is better.

It does help, of course, the gratitude thing. It helps to counteract my tendency to look on the dark side of things, to feel put upon, abused, and under-appreciated. I was chuckling to myself this morning about how I can banish the darkness by shining the bright flashlight of optimism into the gloomy corners of my soul, and how I can take a good thought and make it ridiculous by overloading it with emotionally frothy metaphors.

For instance, I can ponder my taxes and grouse about how they are way too high. I can make the situation worse by considering that there are people who make MORE money than me and that pay LESS taxes. Surely, this isn't fair. Now that I'm worked up about how many people are screwing me I can add the cherry to my misery sundae with the knowledge that fully 20% of the taxes that are owed by people and corporations simply aren't paid. I'm paying for deadbeats. My tax bill would be reduced by a fifth if everyone played by the rules.

Or . . . I can be grateful that I have the money to pay my taxes; that I've earned money that can be taxed; that I live in a wonderful place where my taxes help pay for all kinds of services and facilities that benefit me. The bright side of things, in other words.

Naahh.

$1.65

2012-02-06T21:01:00.000-05:00

The basket came to me first at this morning's meeting. I had a five dollar bill in my hand so I passed the basket on to the next person. I'm obscenely generous, for a cheap guy who hates to give up any money for any cause whatsoever, good or not, but I wanted a little change for my five. After the basket went around the room I grabbed it again before the secretary added up the contributions used to help the group pay for rent, coffee, utilities, and the like.

There was $3 in the basket. There were 20 or 25 people at the meeting.

I try to keep my opinions to myself even though they're the absolute definition of truth . I try not to be self-righteous and judgmental, I really do, but it's just so damn satisfying to let myself feel superior to other people. This particular clubhouse is a little less glitzy than most so I know not everybody can afford to contribute. And I realize that I have some extra money so I feel a responsibility to contribute a bit more. I feel it's a nice way to pay back all of the people who were carrying the freight when I was getting started in recovery. Still, that $3 irritated me. There was more than one cup of Starbucks at this meeting.

My friend Shorty says I should be putting in TEN bucks each meeting. He wonders if I've seen what a beer costs these days. It pissed me off so I imagine that he's hit the nail on the head.

SuperK and I took a long walk this afternoon and ended up at a coffee shop. A lady who appeared to be carrying all of her earthly possessions in a few bags asked me if I could spare a buck for a cup of coffee. I fished out a dollar.

She paused. "Can I get a cup of coffee for a dollar?"

"Here," I said, standing up. "Give me back the dollar and I'll go get you a cup of coffee."

She handed the crumpled bill over wordlessly. I went inside and ordered her a cup of coffee. I was feeling particularly self-righteous, but not generous or guilty or kind enough to do anything but order her the smallest, cheapest drink available. She was sitting in the middle of her bags on the curb when I came back out and gave her the cup of coffee, and she mumbled her thanks. Her voice was low, husky and it was hard to understand what she was saying. She might have been sick or she might have had some kind of problem with her throat.

We sat outside for 45 minutes and watched this poor soul ask dozens of people for a dollar. Nobody gave her anything. Nobody, not one dollar. One guy stopped. "I'm sorry?" he said, leaning in. She asked again for a dollar. He shook his head, no, I can't understand you, and leaned closer. She asked again. "Oh, I'm sorry, I can't," he said, walking away.

What did he think she was asking for? The time? The weather forecast? The exchange rate of the drachma measured against the Swiss franc? It seemed a casually dismissive dismissal to me. Why stop? I didn't like it. It felt patronizing. "Pardon me, but do you know whether the moon is waxing gibbous in Buenos Aires tonight, my good man?"

When SuperK and I got up to leave she asked me for a dollar.

"I bought you the cup of coffee," I said, not unkindly, although, in retrospect, unnecessarily. Was I looking for a second thank-you, from a homeless woman, on a street curb? God, I hope not.

"Oh, yeah," she said. I don't think she remembered that I bought her the coffee. There were a lot of faces flashing by this woman, and a lot of nice cars in the parking lot of the store selling ridiculously overpriced cups of coffee. It didn't feel right. It made me think how I overvalue so many things and undervalue so many others. I want to be a Big Man On Campus but I don't want to do the little things, unnoticed, that make the world a better place.

$1.65. That's how much the coffee cost. WAY more than a dollar.

60 Cent

2012-02-04T22:03:00.000-05:00

I was at the grocery store this week with my little cloth shopping bags. These are de rigueur in the New City. You may drive 10 miles to the store in your SUV and buy a roast that required more energy to produce than five or six hundred paper bags, but you may not forget your little cloth bag. The store, no doubt out of the goodness of its little heart, reminds you on the cart corrals: "Don't forget your bag!" I didn't.

Anyway, I had several 2 liter bottles of soda which I told the clerk that she could leave in the cart. I prefer struggling with them individually. Occasionally I drop one and cause a big mess because that's part of my allure as a husband.

"Do you want me to bag this?" she said, indicating a half gallon jug of milk.

"No, that's OK," I replied. "But I will need the cat litter bagged."

"All right," she said, glancing away. The cat litter was in a bag approximately 5 times as large as the grocery bag. The only way it would fit in there would be if you burnt all of the cat litter in a very hot fire, collected the ashes, threw half of the ashes away, then put them in the grocery bag. The cat litter wasn't going in my little cloth bag.

"I'm kidding, of course," I said, feeling a little bad.

She looked at me. "I was pretty sure you were but you wouldn't believe the things people ask me to do."

Really? I should have inquired as to what exactly people were asking her to do. I think I was afraid of what the answer might be.

We chatted a minute as she finished up. I watched as she rummaged around in her register and then scanned a coupon, money coming off my bill.

She leaned over. "I gave you the senior citizen coupon on the milk since you're funny," she said.

"Funny ha ha, or funny peculiar?" I asked. Maybe she thought I was a senior citizen, what with the wrinkles and gray hair and everything.

How much effort does it take to make a little effort with people, to acknowledge that they exist? Pretty much, apparently.

HappyFace Steve (Yeah, right)

2012-02-03T12:19:00.000-05:00

Happy: Favored by circumstances; lucky; fortunate.

"You know what the problem with you is?" asked SuperK, unbidden.

I'm never comfortable when the conversation starts with this kind of comment, which it does more often than you might think. Probably not, actually. You probably think this is a very common way for our conversations to start. I'll say this, grasshopper, it happens about 10% of the number of times it used to happen. Lest this paints SuperK in a negative light, let's remember that it happens about 0.072% of the times that it should happen given my atrocious behavior. I think the 90% drop she has managed is very generous.

"You want to be happy all of the time," she said.
"Well, yeah," I replied. "After 23 years this is news? Who have you been living with, exactly? I mean, are you kidding me?"

Here are things I have trouble with; a lot of trouble with: Tolerance, Patience, and Expectations. These three things are like the Three Stooges of Horseface Steve. They're the names I would have given to my three hypothetical daughters. They're the backfield of the 1975 undefeated Miami Dolphins or the linebackers patrolling the Pittsburgh Steelers defense.

I like being happy.

Easy

2012-02-02T21:07:00.000-05:00

"Here we ask god for inspiration, an intuitive thought or a decision. We relax and take it easy. We don't struggle. We are often surprised how the right answers come after we have tried this for a while." P87 Alcoholics Anonymous

" . . . suddenly the solution is there. It just pops out of the deep mind and you say, 'Ah ha!' and the whole thing is solved. This sort of intuition can only occur when you disengage the logic circuits from the problem and give the deep mind the opportunity to cook up the solution." Minor Buddha

Easy: Free from trouble, anxiety, pain, etc.

It's funny how resistant I am to letting life unfold at its own speed. I'm in there with power tools and big wrenches and steel crow bars and the jaws of life trying to make it happen right now at this minute. I am not the most patient guy in the world. In fact, I may be the least patient guy in the world.

Everything works out. Everything is going to be OK.

Instinctually Yours, Naturally

2012-02-01T21:14:00.001-05:00

Instinct: An inborn tendency to behave in a way characteristic of a species; natural, unacquired mode of response to stimuli.

I choose to continue speaking on the subject of worry. I suppose I could choose to talk at length and in depth on a subject such as happiness but that would indicate a level of maturity to which I can only aspire. We are, after all, Problem People.

Anyway, I wonder if alcoholics worry about things more than the average bear. As a group we sure seem to worry a lot. That's bad enough but we seem to worry about a lot of pretty minor stuff. I'm guessing that there are other people who worry as much (or more!?) without turning to drink but we have it down pretty good. We know what we're doing when we worry about things.

It makes me think of the relationship between the mind and the gut. I mean, all of our emotions, as I understand the concept, are installed as kind of a buffer zone between being alive and getting killed, in the original sense. You know, see a saber-toothed tiger: get scared, run away or pick up a good chucking rock, that kind of thing. I can't just ignore them; the emotions, that is, not the tigers which are extinct and eminently ignorable. The emotions are original equipment and once installed it's not possible to remove them. I need to pay attention to them when they come up instead of pretending they're not there. You know, act like an ass in front of a lot of people at work in a near black out, then act the next day as if nothing unusual had happened the night before along the lines of break-dancing on the buffet table.

"Why do I have shrimp cocktail sauce all over my clothes?" we think, the next morning. "Uh-oh. I better not bring this up at work."

Worry Redux

2012-01-31T00:31:00.000-05:00

Worry: To feel distressed in the mind; be anxious, troubled, or uneasy.

Trust the process. Very few things last forever and I'm not one of them and nothing I'm feeling at the moment is on that list, either. Honestly, very few things last longer than an hour or so.

Here's my history. Get bored and change something or change everything. Hate the change, regret the change, second-guess the change. Romanticize the thing before it changed and demonize the new thing. Decide that the answer is more change. Yeah, and I wonder why I had to drink to cope with the world.

That being said I do love change. Change makes the world go round.

As I was worrying away yesterday I flashed back to some time in the past when I had been worrying about something that never came to pass, and I was overwhelmed for a minute by a sadness, a floating sense of loss, about how much of my life has been trashed by useless worry. It has to be months and months. I bet it has been years.

Biting and Tearing With My Teeth

2012-01-29T22:50:00.000-05:00

Worry: To harass or treat roughly with or as with continual biting or tearing with the teeth; as, the dog was worrying the old shoe. (Ed. note: The origin of this word is based on the root wyrgan, to strangle, injure).

So I've been worrying away over an issue that shouldn't be worrying me in the slightest. I know this intellectually but can't transfer the knowledge from my head into my gut, where the worry has built a nice house and seems to be settling in for the long haul. Sometimes I think we have to let our emotions do what they're going to do for a while. That's why they're emotions, after all. They're not always strongly synced up with the intellect. None of us can brush off a trauma such as the death of a loved one or ignore the thrill of a big promotion simply by exerting the conscious will.

That's all well and good. The problem is that sometimes this disconnect seeps down into things that should be disconnected upon with great prejudice.

2012-01-29T00:06:00.000-05:00

Justify: To free from blame; declare guiltless; acquit; absolve.

Wow. When I justify my behavior I see that I'm simply declaring that I'm not at fault. For anything. I notice with some chagrin that the definition doesn't specify whether or not the behavior is proper, appropriate, or legal, either. Apparently all I have to do is state that I'm blameless to be a good Justifier. I declare I'm without guilt. Sweet.

And make no bones about it -- I'm a world-class Justifier. When I want to do something I can come up with a thousand reasons why I should be able to do it. It doesn't matter how egregious this behavior might be. This is why we have the Inventory Steps. Steps 4 & 5 ask that we take a really serious, honest look at our part in things -- instead of covering up the facts with layers and layers of justification -- and then share it with another human being. Steps 8 & 9 ask us to go to the offended parties -- people, employers, government agencies, the list is usually long and varied -- and clean up our side of the street. We are not permitted to take our brooms over to the other side of the street even though we can see it is much, much filthier than our side of the street. We don't get to say: "I'll admit my part when you admit your part. Here's the #*!! broom."

When the company that I was working for fired me a few months back I understood the firing guy -- who took 45 seconds to can me after 15 years of continuous service, as he sat on a plane taxiing to take off -- to say that I would be paid through a certain date. While I was expecting the firing to come at some point it was still a punch in the gut. In retrospect I'm pretty happy he was quick about it because stuff has a way of coming out of my mouth that should definitely stay in my mouth but often doesn't. I shouldn't even be thinking this stuff let alone saying it. But the circumstances of the firing were a little insulting. A blow to my ego. It would have been nice to be treated with a little more dignity.

Anyway, the follow up letter that a colleague of the firing guy sent me indicated my termination would be effective at a slightly later date. I didn't point this out to the firing guy, who I was still pretty pissed at, because the later date was more to my liking. And honestly, I was kind of stunned during the firing process and wasn't sure that I had heard the date correctly so I figured I'd let it slide because, obviously, the longer they send me money the happier I am, with money being the root of all happiness and everything. Also, I figured they owed me this seeing as they had treated me so abysmally over the years with all of the opportunities and nice commission checks and everything.

Let the justification begin in earnest. I took the extra check.

A few weeks ago a lackey of either the firing guy or the letter gal contacted me to verify my new address. I assumed they needed this to send out my tax forms although another check would have been appreciated as well. The next day I received a commission statement electronically and the day after that another check arrived.

I did not walk to the bank. I ran . . . repeat, ran . . . to the bank with this check. Technically, I guess, they can send me checks forever and ever if they want to. I do not think, however, that they want to. I'm guessing this is a big company where the left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing.

So, dear reader, what is my ethical obligation here? Please keep in mind that I was treated O so badly! and that I love money O so much! and that money makes me happy and solves all of the problems that have ever existed, that exist now, and that will exist in the future forever and ever, amen!

Similar Steve

2012-01-27T14:36:00.000-05:00

Similar: Nearly but not exactly the same or alike; having a general resemblance.

My new apartment is a nice neighborhood close to the downtown section of the New City where I've lived for over a year now so you have to wonder when I'm going to start calling it The City, although that sounds a little pompous. The downtown is also very nice, full of people and an active business community. In between is a four or five block area that is a little more transitional -- not rough or dangerous but more transient in nature, less established and scrubbed clean. This morning I walked the five blocks into this area to try a new meeting. I had heard this meeting was tougher than your average suburban meeting. Personally, I really didn't care; I wasn't sure how rowdy things could get at 7AM.

I'm generally careful to take the time to sum up my attitudes about a new meeting -- anything new to be honest about it -- before I even walk through the door: "I do not like this meeting. I do not like these people or the lame format. The meeting is too big (or too small), the room is too cold (or too hot, although is not a common complaint for me), and the chairs are too soft or . . . well, I better stop there. As a guy who is padding challenged in the rear area I never complain about soft chairs.

Anyway, I could see that this was not a meeting where I was going to make a lot of close friends. While I don't feel bad about myself when I go someplace where people have more stuff than me and I don't feel superior when the circumstances are reversed, I am realistic about the world. I can attend a meeting in Beverly Hills and be warmly welcomed but those people are never going to invite me over for dinner. Ditto for some rugged inner city neighborhood.

It was a great meeting, by the way. I really got a lot out of it. People said great stuff. I work hard today listening to the similarities and not the differences. I used to really focus on differences. It was a coping technique to help me justify all kinds of terrible behavior. Who of us hasn't said: "Well, I didn't get that bad" or, better yet "Sure, if I had all of your advantages I could get sober, too." Some of us use our money and privilege to buy our way out of difficult situation, extending our alcoholic misery. And The Rooms are full of legions of men and women who have been in prison or lived on the streets. Alcoholism is a great leveler of mankind.

Similarities. Not differences: similarities.

Wait? Dammit, I'm Going to Kill Something

2012-01-25T20:39:00.000-05:00

Patient: Calmly tolerating delay, confusion, inefficiency, etc.; able to wait calmly.

I CANNOT BELIEVE that I have never looked up the definition of this word. But I guess that's because I have only a passing notion of the concept of patience. If I were smarter than I am now, which wouldn't be much of an improvement, that's for sure, I'd have the word tattooed on my forehead, backwards, so that every time I look in the mirror, which is distressingly often for a special guy like me, I'd see "Patience" in living color. Assuming I used color inks for the tattoo, which I probably wouldn't seeing as I'm pretty cheap and my understanding is that color really drives up the cost of the tattoo. That and the fact that I pass out when I give blood, what with all of the sharp needles and piercing of the skin and everything so I'm assuming a needle stuck in my forehead would cause some pretty significant problems pretty quickly. Maybe I could use white-out.

Anyway, I have been thinking about my new home and everything that's wrong with it. I suppose I should probably be thinking about all of its great benefits but that sounds too weird to even consider, counterproductive, even, for someone like me who enjoys pain and anxiety so much; concentrating on the negative aspects, no matter how few and insignificant they might be, comes so naturally to me and gives me such great pleasure, apparently, because I do it so often and so well and with such undivided focus and attention. The point is that there are a few things I'd like to change about it -- that need to be changed -- and I want them changed RIGHT NOW! The reality is that these things aren't that important, really, and I'm making them much more important than they are. When I do that I become impatient and I try to force things through before the time is right.

I've always liked the expression "Do the legwork and leave the results up to your higher power." The advice is that I need to do the work -- that's my responsibility -- and then wait patiently for the results -- that's god's responsibility in our partnership. I'm the guy who takes the square peg, looks at the round hole, picks up the sledgehammer, and starts making that #@!! round peg fit in that #@!! square hole. When I start forcing things, pushing too hard, then I get a lot of problems. But when I relax and take a deep breath and let everything move of its own accord then the outcomes are always so much better.

I have looked up "impatience" by the way.

Special Steve

2012-01-23T21:31:00.001-05:00

Special: Unusual; uncommon; exceptional; extraordinary.

I am a very, very, oh-so-special guy. If you only knew how special I am you would certainly treat me better than you are treating me today, which is not well enough given my exceptionally special status. And if you think I'm special now you should have seen me when I was drinking; I was extraordinarily special then. I'm happy to report that the longer I've managed to stay sober the more ordinary I've become. I don't want to imply that I'm still not profoundly special because that's simply not the case, but I am making slow, steady progress descending from the very tip of the highest peak on the tallest mountain in the universe: Mt. Special Steve.

When I was drinking I was so special that no rule of god or man applied to me. I was free to do whatever I wanted, without consequences. I didn't have to go to work or show up on time; I didn't have to obey any rules or regulations of our legal system; my body was impervious to the abuse I lavished upon it; I was free to ignore the interests of family and friends; and money grew on trees. Seriously. I seriously thought this way. I had a vaguely uncomfortable feeling deep down inside that this was unsustainable in the long run but I considered myself more of a sprinter, a speed demon, a drag racer, anyway, and I figured I could outrun any blow back.

Sobriety showed me that maybe, possibly this wasn't an accurate view of the world. The Program suggested that while I was free to behave however I wished, that there might be consequences to my behavior. I accepted the basic framework of this premise, eventually, but chafed under the requirement of the consequences. That seemed unfair to someone who, while maybe not the most special person in the world anymore, was still pretty special. My friends did not support this attitude. They kept encouraging me to correct my mistakes and to try to behave well right out of the chute. Eventually, I found that it was a lot, lot easier to behave to avoid the mistakes in the first place than it was to go back and clean up messes.

I did, however, have a card up my sleeve, an ace in the hole; namely, that the world could be a very, very unfair place. When I was trying to behave well but made a mistake sometimes the world didn't give me a pass. The Book talks about the fact that the world judges me on my actions, not my intentions. Baloney on that, I thought.

Special-Special Steve would be a good nickname, too.

Maintenance of My Spiritual Condition

2012-01-22T13:55:00.000-05:00

Spiritual: Characterized by the ascendancy of the spirit showing much refinement of thought and feeling.

The topic of today's meeting centered around the phrase "we have a daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of our spiritual condition." In a meeting of The Fellowship the "reprieve" is from the scourge of alcohol and drug addiction, which is quite a scourge indeed. Many people talked about the fact that while they are no longer consumed with the desire to drink and drug they are still quite often, in fact, CRAZY. Personally, today I'm not so much worried about picking up a drink as I am about sinking under the delusions and anxieties on my aforementioned Problems List, which I'm still too embarrassed to reveal, even under the guise of an anonymity.

I also believe that all of us, drunks or not, would have a better life if we started out each day with a short period of time to enlarge our spiritual life. The whole idea of prayer, as I understand it, is to have a little chat with something bigger than me; the whole idea of meditation, in my opinion, is to shut down my mind for a couple of minutes. It never ceases to amaze me how much is going on in my head until I try to stop it from happening. I don't believe that we have to come up with any particular concept of god. That's religion and we stay away from that in The Fellowship.

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

Can you imagine coming into The Rooms and having that definition up on the wall somewhere? Whew, that would be a ruckus.

Meditate: To think deeply and continuously; reflect; ponder; muse.

That sounds better to me. I can do that. I'm an excellent thinker; a little too good, in fact.

Pray: To ask for by prayer or supplication; beg for imploringly.

Ouch. That one would worsen the ruckus considerably, possibly causing violent riots.

I do something that I call a Quiet Time and I recommend it to others. I take a half hour and sit quietly and ponder before I rush off into my day, half-baked and fully-cocked.

Quiet: Serving to relax and soothe.

There. Isn't that nice? Spend a few minutes in the morning seeking to relax and soothe yourself. Who can complain about that?

God Box

2012-01-21T15:17:00.000-05:00

A popular concept in The Rooms is the god box. The way this particular concept works is that we take whatever is currently eating us alive, write it down on a slip of paper, and put it in an actual box. I suppose you could also use a bag or a treasured knickknack or an underwear drawer, although god underwear drawer doesn't have the same sexy cachet as god box. God bag doesn't sound that good, either, and god knickknack is just ridiculous. Anyway, I digress. At the end of each week we open the box up, unfurl the scraps, and see what's there.

The exercise is meant to show us how much energy we waste worrying on stuff that isn't that important. Most of it never comes true. A lot of it we've plumb forgot about by the time we open the box, or bag, or knickknack. And the stuff that does come true doesn't end all life as we know it. Sometimes it makes things better.

I recommend the god box to people all the time. Never do it myself, of course. I'm too profound and advanced and deeeeeeep for that. I do, in my defense, keep a journal and I wrote down The Problems and The Solutions when I was having my anxiety attack the other day. I'm not going to fess up to the crap I wrote down as my problems. I knew they weren't really problems when I was terrified of them and I cringed when I revisited them.

I highly recommend a god box.

More Memories

2012-01-20T19:10:00.000-05:00

Relapse: To slip or fall back into a former condition, especially after improvement or seeming improvement.

My friend's death has stirred up some old memories. I remember going to visit him once in the Old City when he was in the middle of another relapse. Normally, I don't go to see people who are actively drinking without bringing another sober alcoholic along -- and I recommend that you don't, either -- but I had a long history with this guy so I made an exception. He was still doing well financially at that point and had purchased a nice home in a very nice neighborhood with a nice garage to park his very, very nice cars. I had called him the previous morning and wondered if he would like to get together. He suggested the following day, saying that he had been drinking and wouldn't be a good host. It was 9 in the morning. I wasn't in the least surprised.

I stopped by the next day. His house was beautiful and well appointed, immaculate, and devoid of any personal touches. It felt like all of the oxygen had been removed. It was soulless and cold and the air was rotten with human misery. While I realize that I'm a great exaggerator most of the time this really is my recollection. It was really quite eerie. It had a haunted aspect to it, that house, like something had died somewhere, which wasn't far from the truth. I was totally creeped out.

My friend was drinking, of course, the brave resolve of the previous day long gone. He had a can of that Australian beer that looks like it's in a 50 gallon drum and he was chain smoking cigarettes. He was taking no pleasure from either habit. He appeared to me to be a guy hooked up to a dialysis machine or receiving chemotherapy. This was something he was doing because he had to do it, not because he wanted to do it. He would pick up his cigarette and take these incredibly long drags. I swear he smoked each one in about 4 puffs. It was fascinating watching it. I couldn't fathom where all of the smoke was going. It was the same with the beer: a few deep pulls on the can, then off to the kitchen for another.

I had felt some mild disquiet before I walked in the door which evaporated immediately. I try not to pity another person because I think it can be a condescending emotion but I pitied this man. I really saw the truth in the axiom that for a Real Alcoholic who continues to drink there are 3 possible outcomes: death, insanity, or an institution.

"Is this bothering you?" he asked after a few minutes.

I didn't know what to say for a couple of beats.
"Are you kidding me"? I finally asked. "Do you think this looks good? Do you think this is tempting me?"

I don't remember if he answered. I left not long after that. I was obviously making him uncomfortable and I had seen all I needed to see. I wanted to help but I knew that was a fool's errand. It's a bitch getting sober if you're all in; it's not possible if you want to hole up and drink alone.

They say that when a suffering alcoholic is given the option of accepting a spiritual solution or dying a slow, miserable, solitary death, the response is often: "Can I get back to you on that?"

Rest in Peace.

Dr. Freud, I Presume

2012-01-19T19:32:00.000-05:00

Ego: The self; the individual as aware of himself.

"The fact is we are more selfish than we know. The ego has a way of turning the loftiest activities into trash if it is allowed free range." Minor Buddha.

Free Range Ego. That sounds like something your waiter, Samuel, would introduce as the special of the day at a health food restaurant. "Today we're featuring free range ego with sauteed tofu and caramelized cranberries, for $19.99," he'd say.

And the free range ego is the good part of the individual, psychologically speaking. It's the controlled part, helping the superego keep check on the id, the part of us that is chomping at the bit to run hog wild with all of the sex and pleasure and shit that itches it where the scratch is. I'm not even sure I have an ego. I think I'm all id. I think my id killed my ego and ate its liver with a nice side of fava beans.

The point is that I don't usually trust myself when it comes to things that I think are good. I'm OK with the bad part; when I'm not acting well I know it and I don't have to check it with anyone. But when I think I'm behaving well or something is good for me I have to check my ego at the door and call someone on the telephone, tell them what I'm up to, which is usually no good.

Run Away

2012-01-18T23:43:00.000-05:00

Here's the Minor Buddha's take on my day: "One popular human strategy for dealing with difficulty is autosuggestion: when something nasty pops up, you convince yourself it is not there, or you convince yourself it is pleasant rather than unpleasant. Buddhism advises you not to implant feelings that you don't really have or avoid feelings that you do have. If you are miserable you are miserable; that is the reality, that is what is happening, so confront that."

There's a great scene in Monty Python's "The Holy Grail" where the guys are attacking a tall castle. When they get close to the castle walls the defenders begin pouring some kind of liquid crap down on them. They look at each other for a second, then start yelling: "Run away! Run away!" before scooting off. That's a good metaphor for my life; when I'm uncomfortable I don't like it and I take off running. When I was still drinking I buried the bad feelings under a sea of alcohol. I can tell you it doesn't work well in the long run.

I have been thinking about my dead friend, may he rest in peace. I remember the mental torment I was enduring 25 years ago. I have been trying to imagine how that torment would have intensified if I had never quit drinking. Even before I was ready to quit I vaguely understood that what I was doing wasn't good for me. It wasn't comforting to feel that way.

In my meditation I try to focus on my breath while still paying attention to the feelings and thoughts and sensations that are flowing by, without judgment. I'm often surprised at how they come at me in groups. Some days I'm fantasizing about things I want; some days I'm living in the fear of what may happen in the future; others find me angry about the past. It has been helpful in my recovery to see how my mind is trying to move me where it wants to go which isn't necessarily where I want to be.

A Hell of a Lead Or . . .

2012-01-17T20:31:00.000-05:00

I think a lot about an friend from the Old City who never was able to get a handle on what we're trying to do in The Program. This guy was about my age and we came in at about the same time. He was a very successful man in the business world, drinking himself out of impressive job after impressive job, always landing on his feet again with another great opportunity. Eventually, he became unemployable in his field and ended up staying with friends. At the time I thought this was probably a good thing for him because once he had money and a nice office and a cool car he became 50 feet tall and bulletproof and nobody could tell him otherwise. I thought maybe he had taken the elevator down far enough and would concentrate on his recovery.

Then, in what turned out to be a cruel twist of fate he inherited a nice chunk of money, bought a house and another car, and was running and gunning again in no time. He was an unfortunate example of how dangerous it can be for me to put the seductive things of this world in front of my recovery. I saw how some pain and deprivation was a great motivator in getting me in the front door and keeping me in my seat. I began to understand the meaning of the short saying: "Be careful what you pray for, you might get it." When I was drinking I wasn't praying for peace of mind and a positive outlook -- I was praying for the new Porsche. I wouldn't have gotten 10 miles in that car before wrapping it around a telephone pole.

Today I see people enter The Rooms and stay sober after they have fallen just about as far as it's possible to fall. They see that there's nowhere else to go and they get to work. I also see some folks blessed with a lot of privilege insulate themselves from the troubles that alcohol causes. This can be a bad thing; a very bad thing. Money can buy lawyers and good booze and nice house to drink it in, with the lights low and the blinds drawn.

SuperK and I always said that our friend would end up having a hell of great lead some day or the alcohol and drugs would kill him. Although we said this for years it still stopped me in my tracks to receive a text message this morning: "Your friend died today, apparently relapsed, holed up in a hotel in a faraway state. May he rest in peace." A few months back he had found a woman with some money and had tried another geographic cure. I did a few of those myself in my day but wherever I went there I was. If I could have left myself at home maybe the move would have helped a little more. I would look in the mirror and think: "You again?"

He was found in bathtub full of blood and water, having lain there for 24 hours, suffering from some kind of head wound. The local sheriff is not releasing his body pending an investigation. He's not sure if my friend fell on his own and was too drunk to do anything about it or whether a drug dealer came to collect on a debt and things got out of hand or maybe some other unfortunate that he was drinking with got angry and let him have it. It's not going to show up in any autopsy as "alcoholism." It's also not going to be an open casket funeral.

He has children and an ex-wife and a long, long string of sponsors. I believe that each of us can carry the message but not the drunk. I believe we can grieve for our friends but we can't get them sober. I quit chasing this guy long ago. It wasn't helping me and it sure wasn't helping him.

Ya gotta want it.

Old Timers

2012-01-16T21:02:00.000-05:00

I went to a meeting this morning, of course. It was the least I could do after my outrageous display of self-centered fear yesterday. The guy that gave the talk to kick the meeting off was old and he was an old-timer as well. The peace and ease that comes off of guys like that is unmistakable, like strong perfume. It's just there. I knew this man worked a steady, solid, spiritual program of recovery. It wasn't even recovery any more; it was more a god-centered life.

Of course, he picked up The Book and read a nice section chock full of good recovery things. Solution things written by someone after they stopped drinking. That's the stuff I need to hear, the "what it's like now" stuff. I get too wrapped up in "what it was like" stuff.

I am still suffering with a little bit of an emotional hangover from yesterday. When my mind drifts to one or another of the things that I found so upsetting I can feel a little shiver of fear course down my body. I've gotten to work on most of the things; the work being a simple change of attitude and outlook. Most of my life can be looked at from different points of view. I can take a look at the downside and blow it up into a monstrous shape, or I can look at it from a more positive point of view. It's the same thing. The only change is how I choose to approach it.

Carrying serenity into the events of my daily life is not a simple process. The transition point between the end of a meeting and the beginning of "real life" is a long jump. Sometimes I find my calm and concentration evaporate within minutes, leaving me apparently no better off than before.

That's OK -- I just strap myself back into the chair and get back to work. I'm better; I'm not good.

Attack!!

2012-01-16T00:15:00.000-05:00

Anxiety: The state of being uneasy, apprehensive, or worried about what may happen; misgiving.
From the Latin anxius < angere, to choke, give pain.

I think I had a full blown anxiety attack today, which is a profoundly unsettling thing if you've never had one. I try not to give advice but I'd recommend avoiding them; they're profoundly unproductive. And just to be sure that my sentence structure isn't causing any confusion the anxiety was attacking me, rather than the other way around. Wouldn't that be something . . . me marshaling all of my willpower and going on the offensive against my anxieties. That sounds like a good 12 Step program.

"Take THAT, you formless, nameless, frequently baseless generalized fears," I'd shout, waving around a little plastic sword I found somewhere. "Fie thee hence!"

I usually start my anxiety attack by focusing with great concentration on something that I'm upset about. It's not always an important thing, either, and a lot of the time I understand that I'm being shaken by something that is unimportant. That self-knowledge doesn't do me much good, usually. Nor does the knowledge that I'm worrying about something that I've worried about many, many times in the past without having any effect on the root of the worry stimulus at all. I'm vaguely aware that I'm not helping anything by worrying and that I'll worry again in the future about many of the same things, with the same results.

A good anxiety attack will quickly sweep a whole bunch of additional stuff into the sewer of fear. A really good anxiety attack will pull in a lot of minor crap of no significance that I can also worry about. Pretty soon I'm inundated with fear and anxiety and apprehension and there's a momentum going on that I'm powerless to stop. That must be the "attack" part of the anxiety attack.

So I sat down and did some writing. I started out with all the stuff from the sewer. Generalized anxiety stuff. I listed it down and looked at it and saw how silly most of it was, how powerless I was to change most of it. Then I made a list of solutions. Ah, yes, the solutions. I wrote down those mothers, too. Then I took the first thing on the list and I did it. I don't know if it'll work or not but I don't care. I took an action. I got moving. I tried to solve the problem instead of embracing the problem.

I did some work and I got some relief.

Morning People

2012-01-14T21:50:00.000-05:00

Pessimism: The tendency to expect misfortune or the worst outcome in any circumstances; practice of looking on the the dark side of things.
Optimism: The tendency to take the most hopeful view of matters or to expect the best outcome in any circumstances; practice of looking on the bright side of things.
Practice: Repeated mental or physical action for the purpose of learning or acquiring proficiency.

I used to think some people were optimists and some were pessimists. Guess which one I thought I was? I hated optimists; I thought they were the scourge of the earth, worse than murderers and fornicators and people who like Duke basketball, with their cheery smiles and encouraging words. I couldn't stand being around them, especially when I was in a bad mood , usually when I was sober or not drunk enough.

"What's the matter with you?" I wanted to say. "It's seven o'clock in the morning."

Today I believe those beliefs were a convenient bit of crap that I fed myself daily so that I didn't feel quite so abnormal. I worked hard at being negative. It takes a lot of energy and mental acuity to find the worst in any circumstance. The definition suggests that I was practicing this worldview, that I was working hard to be negative.

That being said I do believe that some of us tend toward the Dark Side. The deal is that I don't nourish it like a tender flower trying to push up through the cold soil. I see the bad; I push the thought out to the best of my ability; I feel better.

Not always quickly but eventually.

2012-01-13T19:00:00.000-05:00

Unacceptable: Not worth accepting; unsatisfactory; disagreeable; displeasing to receive.

I have noted that I'm not a big fan of winter weather. One of my Life Goals is to never, ever touch snow ever again. It's winter here in the New City, which I find less unacceptable. Anyway, I have been grasping on to this desire to be very, very warm, and making myself mildly discontented. It is as ancient a lust as I possess and as difficult a grasping to dislodge as I have ever encountered.

I spoke to a friend from The Program after a morning meeting this week. He talked, mostly, and I listened, which is something I'm not very good at, even though I have two ears and one mouth. He was holding onto something that he needed to release and he was having trouble doing this. His situation was a lot more difficult and confusing than my fairly juvenile dislike of cold weather. I gave him a few obvious bits of advice that I obviously needed to apply to my own life. He thanked me and later he wrote me a nice note, thanking me again.

I should have thanked him.

Gruesome

2012-01-13T00:30:00.000-05:00

Gruesome: Causing fear and loathing; horrifying and revolting; grisly.

I had to get a new driver's license and license plates for my car this week. I've been using the ones from the Old City, still technically valid even though I really should have replaced them after I moved, a year ago. I might have to look up the definition of the word "procrastination."

"You're still using the old plates?" a friend from The Program asked me recently. "You've been here like 10 months."

"I paid good $#!! money for those $#!! plates and they're still $#!! valid," I replied, a little defensively.

I don't enjoy doing things like standing in line at government agencies with the rest of the public. It may be fine for them but it's definitely beneath me. It's not a good, efficient, pleasant use of my time. I feel like a sheep or a herd of cattle. Ergo, I'd rather not do it. Plus, I had out of state documents, which complicated the process, and I didn't know what I was doing since I hadn't done it before and since I usually don't know what I'm doing generally.

I showed up with a fist full of documents and found out immediately that I needed to get an emissions test on my car. I didn't know this, not having done any of the appropriate research that some normal person would have done. I found the fact of this test particularly vexing. I had procrastinated for such an unreasonable length of time that my license plates had expired so we had driven SuperK's car, which meant my car was at home. I didn't ask but I assumed that the emissions test people wouldn't go to my apartment and test the car there.

"Just go over and stand in line at Window 11. Someone there will help you with your driver's licenses," the guy who irritated me with the test information said.

"OK, government, you win round one," I thought, as we headed for Window 11.

Window 11 was not staffed by anyone visible to the naked eye. We stood there for a while to no good effect until we noticed people getting in line at another window, which turned out to be the correct one. We had lost our place in line by then, and more of my valuable, valuable, valuable time was gone, forever.

The lady who helped us was very nice. She pointed out that SuperK rocked from side to side and that I rocked from front to back. She stamped documents furiously and filled out forms and told us where to go to get our picture taken for our licenses, as soon as we had taken the written test.

"The what now?" I asked.

"You have to take the written driver's license test here in the New State," she replied. "You can study this book and take it later or you can take it now. There are 35 questions and if you get more than 8 wrong you have to wait another month before you can take it again."

I began to point out that I had been driving for 40 $#!! years when I felt SuperK tugging on my sleeve, not the first time she has done this. She wisely decided to study for a bit before taking the test. I did not decide to do this. I had wasted too much of my valuable, valuable time already what with the standing in lines and doing things people other than me should have to do.

The first question asked the legal blood limit for impaired driving in the New State.

I got up and went back to the window. "I don't drink," I said. "Why do I give a flying $#!! what the blood alcohol limit is?"

"Just do your best," the nice lady said.

I picked the lowest number, figuring the state probably didn't care for drunks driving around after drinking, and got it right.

The next question was something about how far in front of a passenger car a length of wood or metal pipe could legally protrude.

I got up and went back to the window. "WTF?" I said. "My subcompact car is about 10 feet long."

The nice lady, losing patience, pointed back at my work station. It went like this for a while. Some of the questions were easy; some were silly, wondering how much leeway I should give to a blind person trying to get across the road outside of a cross walk; and some I got wrong. Not the one about the blind guy, although I looked for an answer that said: "Gun it, swerve in his direction, and stand on your horn." I would have burned a wrong answer just for the hell of it if that had been a choice.

Fortunately, I passed and told SuperK about the tough questions before I left to drive all the way back home to get my car and drive all the way to the testing station and then all the way back to the license bureau. She did better than I did on the written test, which is no surprise to anyone that knows us.

My car passed the emissions test. We did get new tags and new driver's licenses. The whole thing took about 2 and a half hours, which is about what I had figured before we left home, even with all of the tests and side trips.

I got my license today. My picture is gruesome.

They Call Him The Grasper

2012-01-12T00:26:00.000-05:00

Grasp At: To reach for and try to seize; to take eagerly; accept with alacrity.

It is winter where I live.

I do not like winter.

Get over it.

This should be my posting for today. However, being a gassy windbag who loves the sound of his own inner voice I'll soldier on, at great length, explaining why winter is such a trial and tribulation, for me and for me alone. I'll try to explain why I shouldn't have to endure winter and I'll fail at my explanation. Excuse me, while I kiss my personal space heater on high.

I grew up in an area notable for a lot of heat and humidity. I got used to it and it doesn't really bother me. I'm tall and skinny, and I have lousy circulation and low blood pressure so I wick off heat with no problem. The Cold, however, creeeeeeps deeeeep into my bones.

SuperK, on the other hand, is from a cold, cold place -- think of the coldest place you have ever been where people live and then think colder -- so winter doesn't bother her but heat and humidity throws her for a loop. But that really doesn't affect me, does it? I'm wondering why I even mention it. Lip service, I guess. She reads these things so I should at least pretend that I'm thinking of her from time to time.

So when the dark begins to arrive earlier and earlier and the wind blows and the rain falls and The Cold creeeeeps in and I'm driven from my little balcony back inside, my mood darkens and I begin bitching in earnest. I don't mean the standard, petty bitching I engage in during most of my waking hours: I mean serious bitching. Little kid bitching.

When SuperK and I were trying to decide where to go after we had exhausted the Old City's many charms, we narrowed our choices down to a somewhat uninteresting city that enjoys beautiful weather and to the New City, where the weather is just OK but the quality of life is significantly cool. I voted for weather; SuperK voted for coolness; we compromised and picked coolness. I'm glad we did, to be honest about it, but I'm not happy with the weather at the moment.

The Minor Buddha talks about grasping. I have been grasping at a desire to not have to put up with weather I don't like. I'm ignoring the fact that I have endured many, many winters and that winter here is milder than anywhere I've ever lived. I'm ignoring the fact that many people besides me have to put up with weather that is much worse than this. I'm trying to avoid something that makes me uncomfortable. I don't care that this makes me sound like the spoiled two year old that I am. I fight and fight my hatred of The Cold. It amazes me how much energy I put into my grasping desire to be somewhere where I can let the heat sink into my bones, like a big snake. I put the energy into the hate, which is the problem, and not into gratitude, which is the solution.

Grasping after things is a sure-fire recipe for unhappiness. There's always something else to obtain, always something else to lust after. The grass is always greener, as they say.

I really should spend some time working on this. I clearly don't get it at the moment. I clearly enjoy living in The Problem right now. Good, old misery, my dear old friend.

RIDs

2012-01-09T20:34:00.000-05:00

Restless: Never or almost never quiet or still; always active or inclined to action; seeking change; discontented.

Minor Buddhism: "Restlessness is often a cover-up for some deeper experience taking place in the unconscious. We humans are great at repressing things. Rather than confronting some unpleasant thought we experience, we try to bury it. The result is that sense of unease which we call agitation or restlessness. There is nothing you can put your finger on. But you don't feel at ease. You can't relax."

Yeah, well, this has never happened to me. When I first heard the famous phrase found in The Doctor's Opinion "restless, irritable, and discontented" I was amazed that there was some other way to feel. I know that I am often bedeviled by something I call Free Floating Anxiety. FFA is a state where something is wrong but I don't know what it is. I just know something bad is going down. There doesn't have to be anything bad actually happening; the mere potential of something bad is enough to get me going but good.

Hard Rock

2012-01-07T21:09:00.000-05:00

Hard: With vigor, strength, or violence.

At today's meeting we discussed the tendency of alcoholics to be hard on themselves. And by "hard" I mean "beat the shit out of." As a group we are masters of self-flagellation. This week I listened to a man share a 5th Step inventory with me. Most importantly, is there any greater honor as a person than to have someone share their most personal, painful secrets with you? I can't think of any. The trust that requires is unbelievable, especially for your average paranoid drunk.

Anyway, 10 minutes into an hour long soliloquy I began to feel sorry for the guy. He might as well have gotten out a brace of whips and boards full of nails, and began beating himself. It reminded me of that weird religious sect which has as its signature highlight a group of men stepping in cadence, pausing to lash themselves on the back with a chain, to what purpose I cannot imagine. His stuff wasn't that bad, wasn't at all unique, and had stopped in his sobriety, which is the most important thing, but still he kept flagellating.

I think today I try to emphasize rigorous honesty in my behavior. I look at what I've done and when I'm in the wrong I apologize, and then I try not to do it anymore. I don't lose sleep over very many things. I make mistakes, I apologize, and then I move on. I'm a flawed human being, not a piece of garbage. I don't spend a lot of time feeling bad about behaving bad. It's a fool's errand.

And nobody can tell me different.

Bob Wilson

2012-01-06T20:27:00.000-05:00

I'm going to take a short hiatus from talking about Problems, as much as this pains me. I like to talk about Problems. I'm quite the Problem aficionado. It's my area of expertise. I've got a lot of experience in Problem creation. Too bad I can't get a job in that field because I'd make a LOT of money.

Anyway, I was mulling over the alien concept of service this morning in my meditation. This is a good sign. Normally, I mull over my many problems and how they are multiplying and getting worse and growing in intensity. When I was trying to get sober in Indianapolis there was an old dude named Bob Wilson -- if ever there was a name with some portent that would be it -- who picked me up and took me to meetings in his big, old car. A Buick or Mercury, as I recall. Some huge car with deep leather seats and a killer heater. I remember sitting outside my rat-hole apartment with Bob after the meetings were over, engine idling, talking about recovery. I couldn't have been a very interesting conversation partner at that point, and that assumes I'm an interesting one now, which is a stretch by any measure.

I moved to Chicago after several marginally successful months in The Program in Indy, and it was there that I began working on my alcoholism in earnest and actually got sober. I came back for a visit and I looked Bob up. I was shocked to hear that he had lung cancer and wasn't doing very well. I visited him at his home. He was frail and fading, but we still had a good talk. It dawned on me that he was sick already before I left. I never knew. He never talked about it. I bitch to high heaven when I have a hangnail so the thought that someone who had a terminal disease would sat quietly while I prattled on about myself left me slack-jawed and awed.

I returned to Chicago and Bob died soon after, which is one of the reasons I use his full name. He was not a guy I would have chosen to spend time with. We would not have crossed paths socially or professionally. But, boy, did I learn a lot about service, the kind of service that gives and gives and never takes. I believe I am on record as saying that I never do anything unless I see that it shows practical results in someone else's life. You can tell me it's going to work until you're blue in the face and I won't do it. I'm like a child that way. I watch and observe, and I follow someone's example when I can see good, practical results in their lives.

Like with Bob. Pass it on, my brother.

Boredom

2012-01-05T18:27:00.000-05:00

Bore: To weary by being dull, uninteresting, or monotonous.
Boredom: The condition of being bored or uninterested; ennui.

I never considered boredom to be a personal character defect; I considered it to be a defect of life in general that was impacting me unnecessarily. All of the routine and humdrum, all of the teeth brushing and work and family obligations, all of it was way, way beneath me. I was arrogant enough to get upset while I was waiting in line to get my auto tags renewed on the rare occasions when I was solvent enough to have a car that was actually running, which is something that I'm required to do by law, irritatingly enough. "I'm too important for this," I groused.

I'm embarrassed to admit that I thought life was going to be all fun all of the time, all gumdrops and lollipops. I'm not sure that I could sell this concept to your average 5 year old which speaks to my emotional maturity at the time. I didn't spend any time going to doctors or maintaining my car because it wasn't fun, with predictable results to my body and cars. I had trouble making the connection between behaving poorly and outcomes that affected me.

Often, I dispensed with work because it wasn't as much fun as getting stoned and watching "The Beverly Hillbillies," as great as that show might have been. And if I had to do something I considered routine and ordinary, I drank or used to ease the boredom, with more predictable results. The last picture that I had taken for a driver's license before I got clean and sober shows me staring vaguely off into the distance at an odd angle. I seemed to be watching a rocket ship land on the distant horizon. When they said " look here and smile" I apparently couldn't handle that much concentration. I'm surprised they gave me the license.

Today when I get bored I file under "Character Defect." There's no reason for it. It's not appropriate. I'm taking a perfectly lovely and stimulating world and wasting my opportunities.

Problem Persona

2012-01-04T12:33:00.000-05:00

Problem: A question, matter, situation, or person that is perplexing or difficult.

I've been a little too focused on The Problem here lately. It might be the New Year and all the talk of resolutions, which I never make, far too aware of my ability to not follow through on anything that might be even slightly difficult. I don't get too bent out of shape when I get Problem Centered anymore. I think the ability to see problems is pretty common in human nature. There must be something instinctual going on here: as in, "I don't have enough berries to eat tonight" or "That bear appears to be getting ready to eat me" or maybe "Man, is this cave a piece of shit."

I will say that alcoholics seem to have taken Problem Focusing into the next dimension. We seem to have been rocketed there by our problems. I know that my nature is to say: "OK, what's wrong with this picture." I can be looking at the Mona Lisa when I say this. I don't like the frame or the museum is too cold or that guy talking next to me is a $#!! idiot and why won't he just shut up?

"If I focus on a problem, the problem increases; if I focus on the answer, the answer increases."

Dream On, Dream On

2012-01-04T00:27:00.000-05:00

Dream: To imagine as possible; fancy; suppose.

Dream on, dream on . . .

I like to dream every now and then. This has changed in my sobriety from totally unrealistic dreams -- rock star, sports legend, Ferrari owner -- to totally implausible dreams. But I've found out that dreams are free and mostly harmless, as long as I drift back into the reality of the real world from time to time, not always a sure bet in my case. And I've also found that some of my implausible dreams come true. I've had an interesting life and done some interesting things as the result of my flights of fancy. This is a nice improvement over sitting in front of The Television, smoking weed and drinking beer, watching something that I wouldn't remember watching the next day.

I try to check in with friends and hoary heads of sobriety before I fly off to fast and far. Sell all my possessions and try to replace Keith Richards -- not a good idea. Save up some money and visit Vietnam -- might happen some day.

Anger and Indignation and Rage and Fury, O My!

2012-01-02T21:53:00.000-05:00

Anger: Implies emotional agitation of no specified intensity aroused by great displeasure.
Indignation: Implies righteous anger aroused by what is considered unjust, mean, or shameful.
Rage: Suggests violent outburst of anger in which self-control is lost.
Fury: Implies an overwhelming rage of a frenzied kind that borders on madness.

There's a section in my dictionary right after the definition of a word that suggests some appropriate synonyms to help me understand the nuances of the definition. What a nice progression this particular list is! I start with emotional agitation which is usually full of self-righteous self-pity; I get violent -- in my thinking, at least -- and I lose self-control. The anger becomes overwhelming and approaches insanity.

Yep. That sounds like me. That sounds like a typical progression for me.

This afternoon I found that I was somewhat annoyed at life for no particular reason that I could discern. I was in a mildly bad mood which I'm afraid is something that is going to happen to all of us from time to time. When this happens I start looking for things to focus my bad mood on, and I get angry at them. I focus on things that irritate me. I guess I need to justify my bad mood. Sometimes I pick whatever happens to be handy and sometimes I go to a tried and true list of stuff that I find upsetting in a historical sense.

I'm sure glad there are tomorrows.

New Year's Eve

2012-01-01T11:38:00.000-05:00

New Year's Day, after a New Year's Eve spent with a group of drunks in recovery -- no fistfights, splintered furniture or ruined relationships, no cops, no missing fenders or bouts with the Porcelain God -- and I was still home, safe and warm, and asleep by midnight.

Nice to feel a sense of optimism and hope today. I'd say optimism and hope for the new year but it's more appropriate to feel that sense for today, for this day. I remember well the feeling that I was facing another disastrous year, full of remorse and regret for my life to this point, vaguely aware that I was going to be drunk and stoned in short order. Say what you will but alcohol is an effective remorse killer in the short term.

Things are going to work out.

Faith?

2011-12-30T21:48:00.000-05:00

Faith: Unquestioning belief; complete confidence or reliance: as, children usually have faith in their parents.

Once again I must admit that I CANNOT BELIEVE I have not looked up the definition of faith in almost 4 years of postings. That tells you something about my interest in the positive. I've looked up fear so many times that the page has crumbled into dust.

I don't believe that these mythical children who have faith in their parents turn out to be alcoholics. We don't have faith in anything except, ironically, our own decision making abilities, which is the last thing we should have faith in giving our lousy track record of doing things and the dire consequences of our decisions.

My meditation this morning again drifted into reflection on how everything seems to work out as long as I keep kicking the can down the road. My goal is to get up, brush my teeth, and start kicking the can. I don't try to pulverize the can with the biggest kick ever in the history of mankind and I don't cower in fear that the can will begin to kick me back. I'm pretty sure that the can would win any kicking contests where I'm the opponent.

If there's one thing I've learned in The Program it is to Keep the Faith. No matter what I have had to go through the lesson is that it's all going to work out in the long run. My problem is that I don't like the long run. I don't like to run at all.

Moving

2011-12-24T18:08:00.000-05:00

If you want to be miserable try moving. It’s a misery maker. As a general rule I’m kind of a change junkie – the change itself makes me insane but I find it stimulating and strangely comforting to try new things – but moving is too much change all at once. Anxiety attack kind of change. And as far as my new place is concerned, I have been vigorously exercising my previously mentioned ability to uncover the fault in the faultless thing, to discover fault where no fault exists, to boldly go and find fault where no man has ever found fault ever before! It’s also quite compelling for me to do this.

The guys that moved our possessions were all in The Program. First of all and most importantly, they were professionals who did a great job. If they had smashed up our stuff the extra benefits they brought along would have paled. The thing SuperK and I really appreciated was the optimism and good humor they brought to their work. They really helped make a stressful situation much less stressful. I’ve moved many, many times and I can honestly say this was as close to pleasant as it has ever been. They were complimentary about our new place and this made us feel good, even if they were lying. Point out the good in the change, not the downside. And we got to chat about The Program during breaks. They made suggestions about furniture placement. They didn’t approach this as an evil task that needed to be completed as soon as possible. And they pointed out that we needed to get rid of some things because we no longer have the room – I appreciate this honesty, too. If someone is complimentary all of the time then we call that lip service. I want to know when I’m messing up.

I called the company owner the next day and tried to explain this. I know that I have trouble sometimes understanding how to be of service to my fellow man during the routine parts of my life. I wanted him to know that I really felt like the work he and his men did was in part service work, a spiritual thing. I shared how great I felt when I got notes from my customers thanking me for my effort when I was making money selling them things. I wasn’t in the category of Sleazy Salesman trying to make as much money as possible. I felt like I was a technician trying to help someone solve a problem. It was a very good feeling. It made me see how important to my peace of mind and general well-being it is to simply do my best as I live my life. I used to spend so much time thinking Big Thoughts about service that I didn’t notice how rude I was to the clerk at the Plaid Pantry.

I still had an anxiety attack my first night at home. I’m getting better, not getting done.

Listen to My Own Advice

2011-12-22T00:36:00.000-05:00

I spoke at meeting this week. I was brilliant, of course. That goes without saying. Funny, warm, insightful, capable of solving all of the world’s problems with a wave of my magic wand.

And then I woke up, and I was still me.

Anyway, people were sharing about some of the stresses associated with the holiday season. I've been through a number of holidays and I'm OK today with the whole deal. I'm not suggesting that this peace of mind wasn't hard earned and slow to come but I no longer take the holidays that seriously.

"What did you get last year?" my sponsor asked me. "You don't remember, do you? Then how important was it?"

The jist of my share was that it's not that important. By "that" I mean "anything." It's going to be OK. I don't even know what the topic is but I know it's going to be OK. I realize this doesn't sound too profound but, man, is there any advice more appropriate to any situation than that? In my case everything has worked out in the long run. I just have to trust in the process even though the current moment might be uncomfortable.

I talk the talk but do I walk the walk? We moved yesterday. Everything went very well but a move is a move is a move; in a word: traumatic. Today I try not to make unimportant things important and I also make sure that I don't pretend that stressful things aren't stressful. I was lying in bed last night, hyperventilating, battling an anxiety attack, wondering where all of that insightful advice had gone. I'm an alcoholic; I can find the problem in any situation.

Uh, it's going to be OK?

React.

2011-12-19T00:18:00.000-05:00

I'm all over the place.

"Are you talking again?" said my sponsor, putting his arm around my shoulder in a reassuring fashion. Either that or he was getting ready to break my neck, which I probably deserved at the time. "Haven't I taught you anything? Do yourself a big favor and try not to talk today."

We pause when agitated. In my case the advice is to pause when awake. Then extend that pause for the rest of my life. If I compare the number of times in my life when I shouldn't have said anything but did anyway to the number of times when I should have said something but didn't, the ratio is like a billion to one. Still, my tendency is to REACT. I know everything. I know what's best for you and if you would only SHUT UP FOR A MINUTE then I could straighten you out. Hang on a second while I get a pen and paper from the box I'm living in temporarily.

I knew a guy once who was homeless for a while. He lived in a box in some woods near the river. "I had a condo with a pool," he'd tell people. I heard another guy share that he got kicked out of a detox center once wearing one tennis shoe. Where the other one was he had not a clue. He took off walking . . in the winter. . . in the snow. Somebody took pity on him and gave him a cowboy boot for his unshod foot. His mood brightened and his resolve to stay sober melted in the summer sun. "This isn't too bad," he thought, deciding to drink again.

During the holidays be careful not to let family and friends push your buttons. Me, I'm all buttons. Everything is a button. I'm one huge red button marked with these instructions: "Push Here!"

It's just another day. Everything is going to be OK.

Solution V. Problem

2011-12-17T21:38:00.000-05:00

Problem: Very difficult to train or discipline: as, a problem child.

There's a great AC/DC song called "Problem Child." You really should listen to it. Not only are the lyrics great it has a chord progression that will rattle your breastbone.

Anyway, I don't want to get distracted here with AC/DC. God forbid I get rolling on Black Sabbath. I'd never get anywhere if that happens. The point is that I have a tendency to dwell in the problem. I'm familiar with the problem. I've spent a lot of time there and it's a weirdly comforting place for me to be. I conjure problems out of thin air and then I try to weasel out of the consequences. It never occurs to me until it's too late that maybe I could simply avoid problems or work on solutions that would prevent their existence or alleviate their intensity.

Solution: The act, method, or process of solving a problem.

I believe that one of the great strengths of The Program is that it constantly forces me to circle back around to the the solution. This is not someplace that I want to go. My nature is to feint, prevaricate, and delay until the problem is avoided. I love that meetings in The New City invariably start out with someone reading a section from one of our books. That's where the solutions are found.

Let me give you an example. Let's say SuperK is mad at me. This is the problem. This is a BIG problem. If I choose to live in the problem then I'll deny that I've done anything wrong or I'll go on the offensive (the best defense is a BIG offense) and point out things that she has done wrong in the past, which is a not so clever way of avoiding the present.

I really don't need to hear other people share stories of arguments with their spouses. Sometimes it's helpful over coffee or after a meeting because it helps me feel less isolated, but what I truly need is to hear some solution talk. Acceptance. Locating my part in the argument and then trying to correct that behavior. Compassion for someone else who may be having a bad day.

Yeah, that kind of stuff.

The Monsters Are Running Wild

2011-12-16T23:48:00.000-05:00

Big change always makes me consider what a gift I have for accentuating the negative at the expense of the positive. Positive thinking is for quitters. It takes a real master of successful living to ferret the negative out of whatever situation is confronting me. And I'm not talking about seeing the negative when I have the flu or SuperK is yelling at me. That's child play. Any idiot can feel bad when things aren't going his way. I'm talking about getting depressed because I'm going on vacation.

There's not a situation that I can't make bad. In my mind. Where it's dark and gloomy and the monsters are running wild.

Checking In.

2011-12-15T00:21:00.000-05:00

Checking in with the Minor Buddha this morning I heard this: "You can't make radical changes in the pattern of your life until you begin to see yourself exactly as you are now. As soon as you do that, changes flow naturally."

Scholars agree that Buddhism got rolling in the 5th or 6th century, more or less. B.C., that is; not A.D. That would make Buddhism about . . . let's see . . . subtract the two, carry the sum of all of your defects plus any current resentments, divide by Pi . . . well, that would make it really old. Slightly older than The Program. And what did I find in this ancient philosophy? Until I do a searching and thorough personal inventory I don't have a very good chance of growing as a person.

I love how our literature is always trying to get the focus off of "them" and back to "me." Keep looking inside. Keep searching for the solution to all of my problems inside me.

Resentment

2011-12-13T20:49:00.000-05:00

Resentment: A feeling of displeasure and indignation, from a sense of being injured or offended.
(Ed. note: I cannot BELIEVE that I have never used this definition in one of my postings. That is beyond belief).

Our Program suggests that we are powerless over people, places, and things. It also suggests that there is nothing more injurious to our peace of mind and threatening to our sobriety than a good resentment, carefully prepared and well-seasoned, watered, weeded, and protected from wild animals with sturdy fencing. If I spent ten percent of the time nurturing my gratitude as I do on my resentment building, I would be one $#!! grateful dude.

Regarding resentment toward "people," I say: "Duh." People are the worst. They get in my way. They impede my progress. They do it wrong, and this makes me mad, so I resent them.

Regarding resentment toward "things," I say: "Whuzzat?" I'll have to think about that a bit. I'm going to toss institutions in this category: the guvmint, the cops, employers, anyone with power over me, which I must by nature and nurture resent because they are doing it wrong, and this makes me mad, so I resent them.

Regarding resentment toward "places," I say: "Boy, do I have a resentment over a place right now and I'm having trouble shaking it." When the place arises in pleasant conversation I accentuate the venomous immediately, surprising myself with the venom level. That's messed up. That's being resentful at the nature of something. That's like being resentful that electrons get to circle the nucleus of the atom while the stupid protons and neutrons just get to hang out in one vibrating place. Talk about something that is out of my control. And the place generating this resentment is perfectly fine. Almost everything that I resent is perfectly fine.

Action!

2011-12-12T21:26:00.000-05:00

Action: Behavior; habitual conduct.

I'm fascinated still with the difference between actions and intentions, between what I say and what I do. "Talk is cheap," someone once said. I think it was my sponsor.

I'm a world class talker, a legendary intend-er. I talk and talk and talk, then I go out and behave in a way that has little to do with what I've said. Talk is cheap. Talk is easy. Behaving well is much more difficult than intending to behave well. How do I behave? What were my actions? That's where the rubber hits the road. I don't even believe half of the crap that comes out of my mouth.

I believe that this is why so many of us get frustrated with politicians and organized religion and other institutions. We hear people -- important, powerful people -- say one thing and then behave in a way that is completely opposite. It seems often to be hypocritical. No one likes to be called out by someone who is not behaving very well, especially when they're criticizing you for something that they are doing themselves. It's much the same as being lectured to about your drinking by someone who doesn't drink.

As Homer Simpson says: " I HATE to be called a liar. Unless I'm lying or about to tell a lie or have just finished lying." This is why The Program is so compelling. We're not prodded to do what someone says. We're encouraged to sit in the corner, with our coat pulled up to our ears and our mirrored shades on, and watch the behavior of our recovery mates. We find someone who behaves in a way we find attractive and we talk to that person. There are a lot of people who talk real purty in the rooms but don't back it up with good behavior.

Ho Ho Ho

2011-12-11T21:39:00.000-05:00

I find that around the holidays I tend to be reflective about family, family matters, and family family family relationships. Boy, is there a wide range of family dynamics out there. I'm not sure that The Program is any better or any worse than the rest of the world when it comes to the family. There are some wonderfully traditional families; there are some horribly dysfunctional families; and there are a lot of pretty typical families that alcoholics like to imagine are much worse than is really the case. We tend toward hyperbole with everything.

I have lived a good chunk of my life away from my family and I often feel guilty about it. This is not surprising: my family is masterful with guilt. This is why I'm a egomaniac with an inferiority complex. I never feel like I'm doing it right because the feedback I get is along the lines of: "You're not doing it right." Nobody ever admits to this, of course, or actually says this. They prefer silences and meaningful sighs and back channel gossip and all other manner of passive aggressive behavior. The consequence is that I don't miss these people all that much. It's easier to live a long, long way away from them.

I feel guilty about this.

I have been soliciting feedback from my non-alcoholic friends who chose to move away from their family of origin. Nobody seems to be very guilty about it. Some people don't see their families very often at all. Herr Luber told me that he was expected to go out and make his own way in the world. I'm not under the impression that the people I'm talking to have relationships that aren't good, either.

I have not made the slightest effort to return home for the holidays. I'm not interested in doing it at all. It would be more painful than not going home. Now, if I try to maintain some balance in my life -- an impossibly daunting task for an All or Nothing guy like me -- I should point out that no one has made an effort to come visit me. I don't even ask because the possibility of that happening is non-existent. I'm expected to inconvenience myself but that's as far as it goes.

I would get a meaningful sigh.

Do Not Jab Your Eye With a Sharp Stick

2011-12-09T12:43:00.002-05:00

I took a phone call yesterday from a friend who is a little conflicted about his behavior. I personally wasn't conflicted at all with his behavior. I thought immediately that what he was doing was out of line but I kept my mouth shut, a surprising turn of events all by itself. I try to remember how I was treated when I was getting started -- how I'm treated today -- and I managed to work up the courage to bring up a matter for discussion. By and large, I didn't get any "You idiot!" or "You're wrong!" pronouncements. Instead, I got peppered with questions that helped me explore the issue from all angles so that I could see for myself what I needed to do. Once, I asked my sponsor for an answer on a delicate matter and he laughed in my face. "No sir, I'm not going to take any crap from you if this doesn't work out the way you want it to, " he said.

We help each other investigate things so that we can make good decisions on our own. A big part of this is that some of these matters are very complicated and frankly, we don't know what we're supposed to do. Another big part is that we haven't done a very good job of running our own lives so we don't think we should try to run anyone else's. It's bad enough when I screw things up personally, affecting people close to me; it's another thing altogether when I attempt to screw someone else's life up. I keep my advice to simple matters; "Don't stick your hand in that running machine" and "look before you cross the street," stuff like that.

That being said I also tell people what I think. I stress that what I think is my opinion and nothing more, and is not advice that needs to be followed or is even any good. Nonetheless, all of us have some good ideas. I know I've learned things from smarter people by listening to their advice on matters on which they may have more experience or wisdom than I do, which is almost every matter known to man.

Oh, yeah, don't pour gasoline on fire, either. I'm comfortable with that advice.

It's Not Them.

2011-12-08T21:19:00.000-05:00

The chairwoman for this morning's meeting (SuperK, by the way, who did a super, super, super job) read a couple of paragraphs from Step 8. She then shared a short anecdote that showed how she had to apply the principles found in the Step to The Real World. I find the Real World to be such a drag most of the time. It's not as much fun as Steve's FantasyLand, which is where I've spent much of my life, daydreaming my time away. Rock star. Romantic legend. Sports icon. That's me.

I'm always flabbergasted when I see that each Step revolves around the idea that I need to focus on taking care of my own business. This Program makes me come back over and over again to the idea that the problem is me; hence, the solution is me.

When I spoke I had to trot out my favorite old EdRom anecdote. A friend of his would call his sponsor, who recognized the number on his caller ID. He would answer the phone by saying: "It's not them. It's you." Then he would hang up.

That's pretty good advice for me.

Whole Lotta Horseface

2011-12-08T00:32:00.000-05:00

Compromise: A settlement in which each side gives up some demands or makes concessions.

SuperK and I have been looking for a more permanent residence since our midnight arrival in The New City. The New City is a lot more expensive than The Old City. There are some reasons for that but the problem is that I don't want it to be more expensive. I want it to be LESS expensive but that's not working out very well for me at the moment. There are some other compromises that I could consider but I'm not very good at compromising unless the definition of compromise is "to get exactly what I want when I want it" which it clearly is not. In fact, I believe the real definition makes some reference to "giving up."

Everything always comes back to powerlessness and ceding control.

Anyway, our options were to move further away from the downtown area to where rental properties are less expensive or to move closer to the downtown area and rent something with less space. Under some duress, we decided to go with the less space option. The problem with this is that there is going to be a whole lot of SuperK and a whole HELL of a lot of Horseface in one pretty small place. This is the only drawback, really, so it's the thing I'm going to concentrate on. I never let a good problem go to waste even if it's only a potential problem. There isn't anything that I can't work up into a good problem. I'm quite good at this task.

SuperK and I have been married for a couple of centuries so we've worked out a lot of the niggling issues that sink relationships. Also, we don't have children. Couples without children don't have much of a buffer in their relationship so they typically have to make allowances for the other person or sink beneath the waves. Kids are compelling that way, drawing a lot of attention, which can be a blessing and a curse. With the emotional stress and physical demands of the move beginning to take their toll we're doing a little sniping at each other. Not awful sniping but sniping nonetheless. While this is to be expected it will also bear some watching. When emotions are closer to the surface a little extra maintenance is a good thing.

Whole lotta Horseface.

Forever and Ever

2011-12-05T21:28:00.000-05:00

Forever: For eternity; for always; endlessly.

The Minor Buddha has this to say: "We get stuck in the 'if only' syndrome. If only I had more money, then I would be happy. If only I could find somebody who would really love me, if only I could lose 20 pounds, if only I had a color TV, a Jacuzzi, and curly hair, and on and on forever."

On and on and on forever and ever and ever.

My sponsor whacks my graying head frequently with the "This Too Shall Pass" bromide, with a thump. When times are good, when times are bad, and even when I'm just bored he reminds me that the feelings are going to pass.

I do well to remember that it's not the stuff or the money or the relationships, it's how I crave them and hang on to them at all costs. It's OK to have these things as long as I don't pursue them ferociously. And when I manage to get a few of them I'm happier when I hold on to them loosely.

Curly hair? Really?

Productive

2011-12-05T12:26:00.000-05:00

Productive: Producing abundantly; fertile.

So the frustrating thing about the Quiet Time is that it doesn't seem to be especially productive. I don't feel like I'm getting anything done. I'm not going anywhere; I'm not checking tasks off a master list; I'm not moving about forcefully and with great purpose. I'm JUST SITTING THERE with my eyes closed listening to my %#!! breath.

I'm all about getting something productive done. When someone asks: "What did you do today?" I feel like I should have a weighty list of impressive accomplishments. "Sat down for a while in a quiet place, with my eyes closed, and tried to listen to my breath," doesn't sound impressive, weighty, or accomplished.

Compulsion: In psychopathology, an irresistible impulse to perform some irrational act. Good word: psychopathology. It combines psycho, which is how people used to describe me and my behavior, and pathology, a sickness of some kind. Literally, a sickness of the mind.

It's OK to be productive and it's OK to sit and watch Oklahoma - Oklahoma State play a football game, even if you don't particularly like football and couldn't locate Oklahoma on a map of the United States and have no interest in who wins the game, even though everyone hates Oklahoma.

The idea is to be somewhat productive most of the time, not completely productive all of the time.

Shhh.

2011-12-03T19:50:00.000-05:00

Quiet: Still; calm; motionless.

I have always had a Quiet Time in the morning. By "quiet" I mean "in a quiet location," not "my mind is quiet." I try. I put the time in. I give it a shot. I seem to feel better as time marches on even when the actual practice sessions don't seem too fruitful.

I used to mostly pray and meditate a little. I've reversed the percentages over the years because my praying has been suspect. I pray at god; I pray that I may get what I want or avoid what I would like to avoid; I pray that others may be helped as I believe they should be helped. My prayers are always answered although I don't always like what the answer is.

Today I pray for a couple of simple things.

I pray that I be the best son, brother, and husband that I can be. This isn't always easy or intuitive. I have some irritating relatives who don't do it right but I've learned that doesn't have anything to do with me. Me has a lot to do with me, and that's about it.

I pray that I may be of maximum service in the world, to my fellows. I try to be open about exactly what this service entails. I like to help people according to my own designs. I like to help AT people, not FOR them.
"Here," I say. "Let me help you with that," offering help that isn't wanted or isn't appropriate for the situation.

That's good enough for me.

It's All Good

2011-11-29T11:23:00.001-05:00

Loose: Not restrained or confined; free; unbound.

One of my favorite spiritual concepts suggests that I should try to wear the world like a loose garment. I was not familiar with the idea of "loose" when I was drinking. I wore the world like an extremely tight garment. This garment did have the advantage of displaying my equipment for the whole world to see, like a band member from Spinal Tap, but that was about it. I can honestly say today that the tightness of the garment was an impediment and not an advantage. The beauty of hindsight.

When I try to sum up what my sobriety means, what my halting pursuit of spiritual principles has brought to the table, I can say with some small amount of honesty that I don't take things so seriously anymore. Everything works out, more or less, as long as I don't try to get in there and tinker with the outcomes so what exactly am I getting so exercised about?

I took a vacation once to Belize. The crappy hotel we stayed at had a go-fer named George. George was not going to discover the cure to cancer. He mostly puttered around, slowly, raking the sand, straightening up, and the like. I liked George.

"Morning, George," I'd say.

"It's all good," he'd reply.

This acceptance is the result of a desire to seek a higher power and to try to listen to what the higher power has to say. And I still get confused as to what this entails. So I don't think about it much. I give it my best shot. I move forward, slowly, and try to get a feel for where I should head. I take some wrong turns, I get lost, I fall in holes, but mostly I make a little progress each day.

It's all good.

Comfortable

2011-11-29T00:33:00.000-05:00

Comfortable: In a state of comfort; at ease in body or mind; contented.

I am able to say this with a good deal of certainty: I'm comfortable in my own skin. This is not something I was able to say when I was drinking, a time of my life characterized by a jumping out of my own skin or of battling hordes of stinging insects that were tormenting my skin surface. I couldn't see how all of my insides, bones and blood and whatnot, could be stuffed inside a skin that was clearly inadequate to the task of holding everything in one place.

My behavior fluctuated wildly. It was not very consistent. Well, I had no idea who I was inside all of that skin so I had no idea how to behave. That's not the case anymore. I'm an example of What You See Is What You Get, and I don't say that with any conceit or arrogance, or not much anyway. I have a good idea who I am and I act accordingly. I don't think it's too objectionable to the general public but I don't care that much. Love it or hate it, I'm consistent.

"We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness."

Surging Rashly Ahead

2011-11-26T11:48:00.000-05:00

Wait: To be ready or at hand.

Ah, yes. The alcoholic conundrum: to balance the springing into action part of life with the patient waiting part. Actually, screw the "patient" part; that's beyond my abilities as a human being. If I'm able to wait impatiently that's a big improvement over my usual course of action -- the surging ahead rashly technique. Alcoholics are famous for this. Male alcoholics are legendary. We see a problem that needs to be solved and we begin to solve it, even though we don't know what the solution is and we don't have the tools to do the work and our history is to make virtually every problem that needs to be solved much, much worse. Honestly, we're terrible and understanding what the problem even is. We conjure problems out of thin air.

"We may not be able to determine which course to take. Here we ask God for inspiration, an intuitive thought or a decision. We relax and take it easy. We don't struggle. We are often surprised how the right answers come after we have tried this for a while."

If I don't see a course of action right in front of me, right now, I get ants in my pants. I figure I need to do something, anything. The reality of the matter is that sometimes the solution is hidden to me for a while. Sometimes I have to wait for the solution to be revealed. I can't tell you how many times in my life an answer has been presented to me, custom-made and gift-wrapped, and often an answer that I didn't see coming. If I had forced the issue earlier, I would have missed that opportunity later on.

Reveal: To make known (something hidden or kept secret); disclose; divulge.
From the Latin revelare, to draw back the veil.

Surging ahead rashly v quaking in fear.

More Eel, Dear?

2011-11-25T19:56:00.000-05:00

I wonder what was really served at the first Thanksgiving, in Massachusetts, in the freezing cold middle of the winter? I bet it wasn't turkey, possibly the driest, most tasteless and unappetizing of all of the dead fowl meats. Maybe turkeys aren't even fowl; they don't fly after all. Maybe they're some kind of giant rodent or a feathered reptile. If the Indians brought the meat I bet they didn't waste any time or precious arrows hunting in the snow for a smallish bird when there were huge moose and deer around. There were probably fish and beans and squash. I don't think potatoes were being cultivated in North America yet. There certainly weren't any swine or cattle because the Pilgrims would have eaten them already.

I confess to disliking this kind of food. Several years ago SuperK and I decided we could kill 2 birds with one stone and go someplace warm for Thanksgiving and Christmas both. That way we got out of the cold while simultaneously managing to evade annoying family responsibilities. One Christmas we drove to New Orleans. As we were checking in to our hotel on Christmas Eve we asked the valet whether any restaurants would be open the next day. He fixed us with a blank stare.

"All of them will be open," he said.

We had spent so many years in our conservative town that we forgot there were other ways to do things. The roads were always eerily vacant when we drove to my parents. It looked like the aftermath of some catastrophic virus or a neutron bomb. In New Orleans we ended up in a jazz bar at noon, dressed in jeans and sweatshirts, for our Christmas dinner. We ordered a dozen oysters, soaked them in hot sauce and horseradish, and looked at each other across the table. We each raised one of the mollusks and tapped the shells together like they were crystal goblets full of some rare sparkling beverage.

"Best Christmas dinner ever," I said.
"Slurp," SuperK replied.

Ed. note: I did some research. Foods at the first Thanksgiving in all likelihood included the following: deer, duck, seafood (including eels, seal, and shellfish), corn, and squash (including pumpkin). Turkey maybe. No potatoes, cranberries, dressing, or pies (no butter or wheat flour to make a crust.) Lots of nuts and seeds.

Thanks-taking.

2011-11-24T21:16:00.000-05:00

Thank: To give one's thanks to; express appreciation or gratitude to.

I don't know where I got my ideas about what Thanksgiving is supposed to be like. Probably from a magazine or a schmaltzy movie I've seen. Maybe its an elaborate reconstruct from a bad acid trip. I don't think it's a very accurate picture. I don't think very many people have a Thanksgiving celebration that corresponds to my mental image. I don't know very many, I'll tell you that, and I didn't have very many of them myself. And I don't think that alcoholics as a general rule have families that are that much better or that much worse than most people. We just bitch about them more.

Expectations are the bane of normal men and they can be a deadly curse for the drunk. I embrace the idea that as my expectations increase my serenity drops, and vice versa. To complicate things there can't be many times when my expectations grow more monstrous, more gruesome, more larger than life than around the holidays. The idea that we need to dedicate a day to be thankful makes it sound like we're given a pass to act like asses all year long, then we're expected to cram all of our gratitude into one day. I think this isn't as unusual as it sounds for many people. Ignore the small blessings and then get together with people we don't treat very well or don't like very much and be totally fucking thankful.

I was in a small company once where the boss -- who I disliked immensely -- made everyone exchange names for Christmas gifts. He got my name one year, of course.
"What do you want for Christmas?" he asked. "Give me some ideas."
"How about you don't act like such an asshole?" I suggested.
He didn't have much to say to that, although his face reddened considerably, like a nice glaze on a Christmas ham.
"No good?" I said, pressing my point. "How about you leave me alone for the rest of the year? How about you take this scrap of paper with my name on it and stick it where the sun don't shine?

I didn't say those things. I wanted to. I also wanted to keep my job and vaguely remembered some crap about "restraint of tongue and pen." The point is that it did feel very unnatural to try to manufacture good will and hale cheer like a trained seal. If I can't be happy and grateful, sometimes, every now and then, once a week or so, then I really shouldn't attend special celebrations dedicated to the topic.

I really wish that there were White Castle restaurants in the New City. That would be a good place to celebrate Thanksgiving.

Mr. Puzzlewit

2011-11-23T20:47:00.000-05:00

Puzzle: To exercise one's mind, as over the solution of a problem.

I used to think that life was a problem that needed to be solved. Such a great concept on which to base my life: a never-ending series of problems. I'm a problem person so I guess it makes sense that I took something lovely and made it a distasteful chore.

Today I try to think of life as a puzzle that needs to be put together. A somewhat complicated puzzle. Sure, there are some easy areas with a lot of detail and recognizable figures but there's also a lot of nondescript blue sky as well. Have you ever seen one of those puzzles that's nothing more than a black canvas, all the pieces about the same shape and size? That was my life before I got sober. I sat there and looked at the pieces all day. I was lost. I never got anywhere. The only time I made any progress was when I got out the pinking shears and glue, and made pieces fit.

Every day I get up and sit down at my puzzle table and get to work. Some days I put together a whole section and some days I can't figure out where one $#!! piece fits. Every now and then my consigliere comes over and whispers in my ear, and I have to tear out a whole section that I put together incorrectly.

But over the long run I make progress. I can look back and see progress. I've managed to ratchet down my expectations so that I don't insist on making a pre-determined unit of progress each day. I do my best and I usually go forward. Sometimes I sit still, idling, and sometimes I go back, but I take my place at the table each day.

Will Smith or Will Rogers or Will Farrell

2011-11-22T11:37:00.000-05:00

Will: The power of self-direction or self-control; the power of conscious and deliberate action or choice.

More from our basic text: "It is when we try to make our will conform with God's that we begin to use it rightly. Our whole trouble had been the misuse of willpower. We had tried to bombard our problems with it instead of attempting to bring it into agreement with God's intention for us."

Our literature points out that there is a proper use of the will. I was confused about this for the longest time. We have a will and we're expected to use it. The problems occur when we try to force outcomes to conform to our vision of the future, and it doesn't matter if our vision and kind and giving or totally self-serving. I believe that our Higher Power expects us to get up and make some plans for the day, then point our hovercraft in that general direction. Our Higher Power is not too thrilled when we ascribe this plan to him, her, or it. Our Higher Power is perfectly capable of devising his, her, or its plan for the day. No input from us is required.

Once again, I see the beauty of the middle ground. Move forward. Move forward aggressively and enthusiastically and with great purpose if you want. But don't predetermine the outcome. That's the improper use of the will. The will is there. The will is always going to be there. We can't scrub away the will. We can try to align it with god's purpose for us as best we can.

Free Range Chicken

2011-11-21T21:05:00.000-05:00

More from the minor Buddha . . .

"The fact is that we are more selfish than we know. The ego has a way of turning the loftiest activities into trash if it is allowed free range."

You've probably heard of free range chicken. I'm certainly no farmer; in fact, I'm forbidden by law to step onto a farm, for my own safety. And I'm not talking about bulls and bucking broncos, either. I'm the guy who would make the news for being trampled half to death by a herd of lambs. No telling what the chickens would do to me, either, with the beaks and claw-like feet.

Anyway, my understanding is that free range chicken get to ramble anywhere they want to, doing what they want, eating what they want, going totally ape-shit if they want. That's my ego. My ego is going ape-shit. It runs the show unless I'm very, very careful. It justifies anything that it wants for itself, no matter how destructive it is. This is why I drank for so many years. My ego said it was just fine.

Adaptation

2011-11-20T14:54:00.000-05:00

Adapt: To change (oneself) so that one's behavior, attitudes, etc. will conform to new or changed circumstances.

More problems of prosperity . . .

Sponsor materializing out of the haze and fog. . . "Again with the problems of prosperity? Weren't you going to come up with a list of your other kinds of problems? Like 5 years ago?" This is one of the main reasons why I don't call him as often as I should. He can be a real dick when he starts to point out the inconsistencies in my story telling. (Ed. note: "inconsistencies in my story telling" = lying).

SuperK and I have been looking for a place to settle down in a more permanent fashion (alcoholic permanence = anything over 98 minutes) in The New City. The Big Move was a little sudden and we didn't know the city very well so we plopped down as best we could, in the rain and gloom and dark of a New City winter night. And we're grateful-ish; we found a nice place to rent in a nice neighborhood. Because it's too big and too expensive we've spent some time trying to find something more permanent. Not an obsessive, got-to-get-this-done, find something absolutely, completely, positively perfect search, but a search nonetheless.

Every few weeks we would look at a home or two. We didn't know if we would continue to rent or buy something but we knew we wanted to settle down in a place for a while. Moving is for the birds or for the young. We usually walked out discouraged; things were too pricey or we didn't like the space or the neighborhood. It was hard on the psyche, to get your hopes up and then have them dashed on the rocks. We did find places that we could make work and we tried to ratchet down our expectations. We could "see" ourselves living here or there.

Those damned expectations. The bane of acceptance.

We got a call from our real estate lady after we decided to throw in the towel on the buying option. One more place, recently discounted, in an area of town we fancied. We walked in and knew it was right. Being cautious, we wanted to sleep on it, aware that the discounting might make the place attractive to other buyers and cost us are chance. But we are plodding, German peasants, after all. We don't leap at very many things anymore. There have been too many leaps into brick walls or over the edges of steep cliffs, towering above jagged rocks being lashed with freezing waves.

"So, I guess we need to put together an offer on this place?" I said the next morning, walking down the stairs to where SuperK was working on her computer.

"Pfffff!?!" she said, spitting a mouthful of coffee onto the wall.

Didn't see that coming. We offered to buy the condo; the offer was accepted; whole thing took about 36 hours.

The whole point of the story is that I need to keep focusing on what's in front of me. I can't get too high or too low -- steady as we go, Mr. Bosun. I need to move forward and adapt, adapt, adapt. I can't say: "Well, this is how it MUST be."

The condo is one bedroom. That is a few bedrooms less than we have ever had.

"Someone's going to die after we move," SuperK said, as I walked out of my little office, done bellowing into my cell phone to a friend.
"Yeah, you're probably right," I replied, eyeing her less than organized living room.

You know, it'll be fine. We're happy and grateful. I wasn't buying anything when I was drinking

Saturday, 8 AM

2011-11-19T23:02:00.000-05:00

At 8AM today, Saturday, I was at a meeting listening to the chairman read out of The Doctor's Opinion from our basic text. The section he read suggests that people drink because they like the effect it produces on them. It makes them feel good and people like to feel good, so they drink alcohol. OK, fair enough. The text continues on with a description of the alcoholic, the abnormal drinker, and the description becomes a little less flattering. We are characterized as people who begin to realize that the drinking is harmful but can't manage to stop. Then, we lose all sane perspective about what we're doing. We take the knowledge that we're harming ourselves and stuff it way, way down inside, where the sun don't shine. At that point we're officially insane, a fact pointed out in Step Two.

The text continues: our problems pile up and become "astonishingly difficult to solve." Still, we keep drinking.

The chairman described the mental and physical release he got when he drank and used. I knew exactly what he was talking about. The drugs and alcohol made me feel that way, too: that burst of release and adrenalin. Alcohol doesn't make non-alcoholics feel that way. It may make them feel better for a while but it doesn't make them whole. I was in pieces, as a person, and the alcohol put me together. It wasn't better: it was nirvana.

I share, once again, the truth that I liked to drink and drug. I liked how I felt. I liked everything about it. Trying new substances, out late at night, excited, on the edge, wallowing in the instant camaraderie so common among drunks drinking together. Have you walked down the beer aisle at your local grocery store lately? Holy shit, it's as beautiful to me as the most gloriously decorated holiday scene.

When I think about alcohol today my first reaction is positive. I remember drinking in a favorable light. Now, I don't dwell on this. My training in The Program takes over and I think through the drink to the inevitable misery. But that's why I was in a meeting at 8AM on a Saturday. Because after 24 years my reaction to alcohol is still wistful and quaint. I need to keep working on the spiritual solution to my disease that will help me resist something that I have no ability to resist on my own.

Mouths

2011-11-19T00:55:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I said something to SuperK that I shouldn't have said. This isn't the first time that this has happened. I have a bit of a track record saying things I shouldn't say. I knew I shouldn't have said it as soon as it left my mouth. In fact, as it was coming out of my mouth I knew it.

"Why are you saying this, mouth?" my brain asked. "This is a terrible thing to say." You'd think that the brain would have more control over the mouth but it doesn't seem to work that way with me. The mouth is firmly in control.

It's not productive at all to know I shouldn't be talking after I've finished talking or while I'm still talking. The critical juncture is before I start talking. This isn't a new revelation for me. I've had this problem in the past. You'd think that I would have learned by now what with all the broken bones and lacerations I've suffered because of it.

When I tell my friends: "Do yourself a favor -- try not to talk today" there's a method to my madness. I mean, what do I care if someone else runs their mouth and gets in trouble? Frankly, if it's not about me I don't care that much. The idea is that I need to hear this advice.

Anyway, I was pointing out to her that she finishes most of my sentences for me. She's not particularly good at it. You'd think after 23 years she'd be a little better at it but what can you do? Honestly, I could care less that she does this. It's kind of endearing. It's not like I do that great a job finishing my remarks myself. Her finishes usually improve the conversation.

Funny thing is that she was upset about the thing I said before I said the thing I thought I was in trouble for. I merely followed up the worst stupid thing with a less stupid thing. This is not unusual for me, either, a whole string of stupid things.

"Oh, that?" she said, nonplussed. "I don't care about that. I'm going to keep doing that."

This is why it's important for me to talk to people. I have no idea what's going on with other people. They baffle me. I have no idea what's going on in the world. It baffles me.

Homer and Seinfeld

2011-11-15T20:48:00.000-05:00

Baffle: To frustrate or balk by puzzling or bewildering; confound.

An important thing to remember about The Promises is that they fall into the solution category when we're discussing recovery. God knows I love the problem category more. If I could dwell in the problem for the rest of my life I would be in my element. If I could earn a living creating problems or making problems worse I would be a very, very wealthy man. The Program, however, keeps forcing me into the solution business. As a general rule, this is not where I want to go, preferring an endless review of my problems and how bad they are and why they're getting worse and speculating on why they're never going to end.

The formative part of my early sobriety was spent in a city where the bulk of the meetings were based directly on The 12 Steps & 12 Traditions. A service position lasted 12 weeks; each week was dedicated to a particular Step, taken one by one and in sequence. We did not skip any Steps but we did not dwell on any of them, either. Deliberately, carefully, we marched through The Steps one by one. When we were done with a circuit, we started over. There were very few discussion meetings which can so easily begin to concentrate on the problem.

This was very annoying for me. I had many problems that were mesmerizing me. I couldn't see past these problems. I never considered that there could be solutions to them and I didn't want to do any work to solve them. I wanted to wallow in them. Wallow, wallow, wallow.

Wallow: To roll about or flounder as in mud, dust, water, slime, etc.; as, pigs wallow in filth.

The Step technique forced me to figure out how to apply the solution to whatever problem I was currently bitching about. Sometimes I couldn't figure out how to relate the current problem to whatever Step we were on so I was forced to work on the solution only. Sometimes I could really stretch my story problem to fit into the solution, sort of, like when you take a big sledgehammer and you pound the holy #!&!! out of that little square peg until it fits in the #!&!! round hole. And sometimes, sometimes, rarely, I glimpsed how the solution might somehow solve the problem.

What I saw in The Program was a group of Problem People who were more often than not making the right decision when confronted with a decision that needed to be made, even when the decision seemed counter-intuitive. When I concentrate on the problem it grows bigger. When I concentrate on the solution, the problem loses its strength.

I bring up again the famous Seinfeld episode where the loser character George starts to do the exact opposite of whatever his instinct is telling him to do, and is amazed when his life begins to really click. He turns down sex, abuses job interviewers, etc, and the results are fantastic. That was me when I was getting sober. If I felt like I should do something I didn't do it. If I felt like I shouldn't do something, I got busy and did it. My intuition was almost invariably completely wrong at that point.

I also like the famous Simpson's episode where Homer is in a canoe floating down a river, pondering which side of a fork he should choose. On the right the sun is shining, there's a rainbow and birds are chirping away in flower filled fields; on the left it's raining, the rapids are roaring, skeletons hang from skeletal trees.

"Hmm," Homer says brightly. "I wonder which way I should go?"

Today I get up and enter the door filled hallway. Some of the doors are wide open and some are tightly shut. Some of the closed doors are made of thick iron and are fastened with many heavy locks and chains. Goddam, but I want to go through those locked doors. I figure there must be something really, really cool behind them.

Those Damn Slogans

2011-11-14T21:25:00.000-05:00

More one day at a time. How brilliant is that concept? The whole essence of a good life well-lived boiled down to trying to BE where you are AT!

The big question to fire out in the Horseface household right now is: "What can you do about it RIGHT NOW." If the answer is "nothing" then the follow-up comment is: "Then it's NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS! Get on with your life. Go do something else."

Eat breakfast. Go to work. Pick up the kids. Quit wasting time trying to do what can't be done. Pay attention to what you're doing . I was the guy who would miss two highway exits -- not one, two -- because I was furiously accomplishing something in my mind which was none of my business. I missed half of my life because I was out in the future trying to solve problems which weren't in my power to solve.

Now sometimes there's something that needs to be done. Then it's important to do it. We can't let fear freeze us in our tracks when we need to take some action. But my experience is that I get into most of my trouble messing around in things I shouldn't be messing around in.

Intuition 101

2011-11-13T12:09:00.000-05:00

Prosperity: Prosperous condition; good fortune; wealth; success.

More problems of prosperity. More demonstration of the power of prayer and meditation. I still don't understand how prayer and meditation works. Life gets simpler and simpler and makes more and more sense if I work away it. That's all I know. It seems like such a waste of time when I'm fumbling around with my technique and practice but life just gets better and better. My decision making gets better and this from a guy who was LEGENDARY at making the wrong decisions.

There is a Promise that says: "We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us." In my case that was all situations. They all baffled me and I handled exactly none of them well. The expression on my face in old photographs was the definition of perplexed. "That guy has no idea what's going on," people must have thought.

Today my intuition has two arenas in which to joust. One is the Quit Trying To Walk Through Closed Doors arena. This has been a good area to improve my intuition. It has greatly reduced the number of face wounds I used to sustain, leading with my face as I tried to walk through doors that were clearly closed. I still try to go through a lot of those doors but now at least I walk with an outstretched hand. I still mess up my face but I know it's coming.

Then there is the Get Moving When The Doors Are CLEARLY Open arena. There are always things going on that I'm getting the green light to do but I'm frankly afraid to move forward sometimes. It's easier to stay rooted in one spot, warm and familiar. If I move forward there is the chance that I may fail or that I may end up someplace that, while it may be the place I need to be, I don't like because it reduces my pile of money, power, and sex.

Go! Go! Go!! No, wait, Stop! Stop! Stop!!

More Sports

2011-11-09T21:32:00.000-05:00

Back to the football analogy. Why? Because it amuses me and because the imagery is so warlike and vivid. It's full of conflict and obstacles that need to be overcome, much like life.

Analogy: an explaining of something by comparing it point by point with something else.

Anyway, SuperK and I are renting a place to live and the end of our lease is coming up. We'd like to spend less money so we've started an apartment search. Its not going very well. The places we like we can't afford and the places we can afford we don't like. It's on the frustrating side. (Ed. note: we've only looked at two places, actually. From my description it sounds like we've looked at hundreds. I'm moving into the future and pre-scuttling things).

We're like a football team playing offense. We're a running team, mostly, with an ordinary but spirited defense and an excellent kicking game. It's not that exciting to watch but we usually get the job done in a plodding, deliberate manner. We're trying to execute our solid game plan which is based on a lot of conservative runs off tackle. But . . . it's not going very well. The defense knows we can't throw the ball so they're "stuffing the box" as Al DeRogatis would say. I will point out that a few months ago we burned the defense for 3 very long touchdown passes, but that was the exception rather than the rule.

We want to stick to our game plan, exploit our strengths, our beefy, physical running backs but we're not generating much offense.

Now we're huddled on the sideline pondering options. We're not panicking; we're not flinging ill-advised 50 yard passes into double coverage but it's obvious that we need to tweak the play calling a little. The short runs aren't working. They may work later but they're not working right now. We're thinking about some end runs or short screen passes; anything to get the defense all discombobulated.

Probing, probing, probing. Looking for a crack, a hole, an opening, anything. Trying to remain patient but realizing that we need to keep our minds open to new things.

Ooo. We sent the fullback off tackle again, and he got leveled again.

I Promise to Take a Vow

2011-11-08T19:14:00.000-05:00

Promise: Vow.
Vow: To make a solemn resolution to do, get, etc.

I confess this morning to being a little disappointed in the definition of promise. I was hoping it would be more along the lines of: "You WILL get this." Something a little punchier and more forceful. I guess I could have made something up. It's not like I've ever told a lie or anything or that anyone is checking my definition with Mr. Webster.

Anyway, I've been dispensing to a captive Herr Luber little bits and pieces of the wisdom that I've gained by a diligent and assiduous application of the Steps. He's polite so he listens, sometimes, or he says he does, at least. I feel a little like a storefront preacher: cheap suit, sweaty brow, thumping on a well-worn black book, or a blue one, maybe. It is amazing how simple the whole Program sounds when I try to dispense it in little bite sized nuggets. I keep thinking: "Well, this is bullshit. The guy has some complicated problems that he's trying to solve and all I can come up with is this crap?"

I believe I will always think that a complicated problem requires a complicated solution. This is why The Program keeps steering me back to all of those irritating 3 or 4 word slogans. A spiritual life -- Program, religion, philosophy, wherever you can find it -- is not a complicated thing. There's not a lot to it.

I have been doing some musing on The Promises. I will never forget my initial stupefaction when I heard them. I couldn't believe it. Talk about bullshit. Talk about vague bullshit. Talk about a bunch of stuff that I was definitely not aspiring to. Peace of mind as a goal, or a supermodel in a Porsche with a million dollars. Not a difficult decision for me at the beginning. (Ed. Note: I'd have to think about it today, too).

"This is what you people have?" I thought. Actually, I probably said it to someone. I hadn't yet developed the ability to stop a thought from exiting my mouth.

Today I read those Promises and I'm amazed at how profound they are and at how they have come true, each and every one of them.

Alone Again, Naturally

2011-11-06T20:33:00.000-05:00

Isolate: To set apart from others; place alone.

Alcoholics are pretty surprised when we find out that The Rooms are full of people who think like we do. I always suspected that I was insane, which I found pretty discouraging. It wasn't like insanity was something that I aspired to. And it's not like The Program refuted this suspicion; it simply showed me that I had a pretty common form of insanity and that there were places where I could hang out with other insane people.

For instance, I frequently held arguments in my head with people who weren't actually there. The arguments started out politely enough but started to get heated, eventually leading to violent physical confrontations. I usually won the fights despite the fact that I've never won a fight in my life. I argued brilliantly, leaving my tormentor tongue-tied. I thought I was the only person in the world who did this.

"Oh, yeah," a friend said. "I do that all the time."
"Whew," I thought.

Recovery means an end to that awful isolation that plagues most of us. We never felt like we belonged anywhere despite our ceaseless efforts to fit in. We would assume the appropriate persona that would help us fit in wherever we happened to be. We felt alone when we were alone and we felt alone when we were in a throng. It was an awful kind of isolation.

Awful.

Aspire to the Halfback

2011-11-05T12:08:00.000-04:00

Direction: The line in which or the point toward which a moving person goes.
Outcome: Result; consequence; aftermath.

How about an early morning football analogy? Sorry, ladies and wimpy horseface types.

When a football team playing offense decides to run the ball the two most common choices are to give the ball to the halfback or tailback, which for some reason are two different names given to a player who does the same thing, or to the fullback, who only gets one name. I have no idea how these names came about. One of the guys who plays offense is called a tackle, which is what a defensive player tries to do with an offensive player who has the ball. This would seem to be a better name for a defensive player or at least someone who plays defense. Go figure.

If I owned a football team, which I do not, I would get to work immediately on the names of each position player. I think this is more important than whether you win or lose. This attitude is one of the reasons why I shouldn't own a football team. That and the money.

I digress. The fullback is typically a big burly fellow who just charges into the defense and tries to run over people. You could say he's the least subtle of the backs. He doesn't try to avoid anyone. He tries to knock them down. He says: "Here I come -- try to stop me." He usually doesn't get too far. Fullbacks are big and slow and not too bright. One would think a better approach would be to avoid the large, violent defensive players who are trying to knock you down. The fullback sees where he wants to go and tries to go there. He doesn't pay attention to obstacles like Jack Lambert.

That's me. I'm a fullback.

Then you have the halfback. He's the smaller, smarter back. He tries to go where there are no obstacles. He's learned the obstacles are usually bigger than he is and they mean to do him grievous bodily harm. On some of the running plays where the halfback has the ball he gets behind his teammates from the offensive line and tries to let them deal with the huge violent defensive players; this is smart because a lot of his teammates are as big as the players on defense. He figures: "What the hell. Let those guys get knocked down instead of me."

The running plays involving the tailback often develop more slowly. You can see the tailback looking for holes, which are areas with no obstacles. Sometimes he can't find one and he gets knocked down but that's OK. You can't always find a hole. But sometimes if he's patient he lets the offensive linemen knock down enough defensive players so that a hole opens up. The hole isn't always there when he starts running and sometimes a hole disappears as quickly as it appears but that's OK, too. Holes come and holes go.

The idea is that his patience is often rewarded. The big offensive guys knock down enough of the defensive guys that he can run for a little while. He almost always gets knocked down eventually but he's a little further down the road than when he started.

That's me, sometimes. Not often, but sometimes. I'm still not smart but I'm getting smarter. That's all I can ask for.

Experience

2011-11-04T20:42:00.000-04:00

Experience: An actual living through an event or events; personally undergoing or observing something or things in general as they occur.

Herr Luber's visit reminded me of another great truth of life; namely, that our experiences are going to find a kindred soul sooner or later. The Program definition is a bit harsh on this matter, stating that: "No matter how far down the scale we have gone we can see how our experiences can benefit another." This is only fitting considering the harshness of addiction. Nonetheless, the wisdom gained from an experience that's then shared with another is one of the greatest gifts we can pass on in our attempt to be of service.

To clarify a bit: I'm not suggesting that Herr Luber was in such dire straits that he needed the counsel of a Horse-faced guy who had gone way, way down the scale of human misery, but it was getting close to that point.

My friend is trying to find a place to settle down and call home after many years of frequent transfers. We call it finding a Headquarters. The guy has me beat to hell when it comes to moving all over the world but I'm living in my 7th city so I'm not a novice at finding a new home. I hope that I was able to provide some wisdom. If I was it surely wasn't innate wisdom -- it was the result of a hard experience.

I remember arriving at a hotel near the airport just 10 months ago, all of my possessions in a truck somewhere in the middle of the country. We didn't know it yet but the apartment we had reserved was not going to work out, so we didn't have a place to live. I was exhausted beyond belief. It was raining cats and dogs and it was the middle of the night, 3AM body time. SuperK and I had hand-carried all of our valuable papers and jewelry with us on the plane; it was disheartening to see my life summed up in these few bags and packages. I was . . . ahem . . . not feeling very chipper. We kept looking at each other with terrified looks on our faces.

"Who's idea was this again?" someone asked.
"What the hell are we doing here, exactly?" someone else asked.

It went like this for a while. Over the next week we had a few arguments over ridiculous, ridiculous things. We weren't arguing over who had misplaced the passports or where the last Clark bar was -- we were simply overwhelmed.

It all worked out. It wasn't especially easy and it wasn't especially smooth but it all worked out. And I was pretty mentally tough son of a bitch before the move. I'm a tad tougher today.

That's the message. It's all going to work out.

Hold On Loosely

2011-11-03T21:14:00.000-04:00

Insecurity: Feeling more anxiety than seems warranted.

More musings on money . . .

There's never enough money. There's not enough money in the whole world. When I get cranking on the topic of money I invariably find that I've been horribly screwed. Someone else has my money or someone is trying to get whatever's left if they don't already have it. The government gets too much and I'm not paid enough and everything is too expensive.

The Promise says this: "Fear of financial insecurity will leave us." I may be paraphrasing that but you get the gist. I don't feel like leaning over and picking up my Big Book, which is 18 inches away from me at this moment. I'm afraid it might burn me like holy water burns the devil.

I have to concentrate on the "fear" part of that phrase. That's the working part of the promise. It definitely does not say "financial insecurity" will leave us; it says "fear" will leave us. (Ed note: SuperK got out her book and the phrase is actually "economic insecurity." That doesn't sound right to me. That doesn't sound right at all. Maybe I need to read my Big Book more often.) The point is that if I'm not right with my Higher Power then I can get worked up about anything. I can be sitting on a big pile of swag and still freak out about not having enough money. I could win the lottery and I'd bitch about the taxes.

I went to a fancy college-prep high school. I was on a scholarship. I think they wanted some kids from . . . well, not the wrong side of the tracks but closer to the wrong side than to the bucolic setting of this school, where tracks were forbidden by law. There were students who didn't get cars on their 16th birthday, or even new cars; they got fancy new sports cars. And the funny thing is these people were as worried and upset about money as the folks in my solidly middle class neighborhood were.

I know this to be true: the more I try to hold on to what I have the more power it has over me. If I loosen my grip I relax a little. I crushed the shit out of a lot of stuff. All of us have to look at our own circumstances, of course. The point is that when I'm selfish with my money or my time or my possessions, then I enjoy them less and less. I learned that if you're not at peace with what you have then you'll never have enough.

I would like to try to manage some lottery winnings, though. Definitely would give it a shot.

The Proper Use of The Will, or Anything Else For That Matter

2011-11-02T14:33:00.000-04:00

Willpower: Strength of will, mind, or determination; self-control.

Trying to control the outcome of anything bigger than "what's to nosh on?" is a fool's errand. I'm trying to think of a bigger fool's errand but not much is coming to mind. Maybe trying to get SuperK to do what I want. That's not a fool's errand -- that's THE fool's errand. Controlling outcomes is like predicting the future. Good luck with that, Nostradamus.

That doesn't mean I can't point the bow of my spaceship toward a desired outcome. Nothing wrong with that. The Book tells me that there is a proper use of the will and then there's everything else. The Book doesn't suggest that the will is going to go away. It tells me to attempt to align it with the plan of my own personal Higher Power, in whatever guise and raiment he or she or it takes. It tells me that all sound achievement starts with a plan and a vision of how things will look if the plan pans out. The trick is making sure that I don't insist on that outcome. That's an improper use of the will. That's the opposite of powerlessness. That's arrogance.

The thing is that most of us are very talented people and we are used to getting what we set out to get. Nothing wrong with that, either. I think we're expected to use the talents that we're so abundantly given. Persistence is often rewarded. To accomplish something I need to set my sights high. I'm not expected to squash my will. I'm expected to chain it to the fortunes of my Higher Power.

Like I could squash a thing as beautiful as the will of Horseface Steve. Umm, Ummm, Um.

Chop Wood. Carry Water.

2011-11-01T00:00:00.000-04:00

Here's the main thing that The Program has encouraged me to do: live my life, or attempt to live my life, on a spiritual basis. And I say this believing that our beloved Program is no better or no worse than any other spiritual program in providing its adherents with a good foundation for life. The drill is pretty much the same: Find god -- Serve others. I think it's possible to condense spirituality into that essence. The methods may vary somewhat but the goal is the same. Our Program is geared toward the drunk and the drug addict, but spirituality is spirituality.

"What do you do to reach enlightenment?"
"Chop wood, carry water," said the master.
"And after you reach enlightenment? What then?"
"Chop wood, carry water," said the master.

When I talk about the benefits that have accrued from trying to live a spiritual life I realize what a vocabulary we have, what a mindset, what a common goal. I may be at a different point in my pursuit than you are, but we're traveling the same road. I can give advice on where I've been and how I've gotten to where I am, and I can visualize how it might be once I get further on down the road, but the goal is the same. Our experiences vary but we all use the same tools from the same toolkit. It's like being in the same Spanish class -- some of us are more fluent but we're all trying to speak Spanish.

I confess to being amazed that folks without this kind of foundation can make it through life without totally losing their grip on sanity. Life can be hard. It can be confusing and contradictory and just #$@!! frustrating. I want to control everything and predict the outcome. I want to be in charge of everything. I want to get my way.

What a blessing The Program can be. I wish I could have received this blessing without being brutalized to within an inch of my life. Who knows -- maybe that makes it sweeter.

Wise and Calm, or Calm and Wise, I'm Not Sure Which

2011-10-31T00:39:00.000-04:00

Calm: Undisturbed; unruffled; tranquil; still.
Wise: Having or showing good judgment; sagacious; prudent; discreet.

The other day someone described my behavior as "wise and calm." This was someone who obviously has no idea what the hell's going on. This has been happening more frequently as I get older. It did not happen when I was drinking, I can assure you of that. Phrases like "nightmare" and "train wreck" and "asshole" come to mind. I recall "big asshole" being bandied about on more than one instance.

Wise I can see, maybe, on a good day. When someone says "wise" I assume that they really mean "old." I think it's hard not to get a bit wiser as you age. Maybe wise means "not stupid." If you quit sticking your hand into a running fan after losing several fingers in earlier hand-running fan encounters it hardly seems appropriate to call this wisdom. My cat could figure that one out. She's a pretty smart cat but she's still a cat.

Calm is more problematic. I wouldn't call myself calm. Calmer, sure, but not calm. Maybe when I appear calm folks are actually seeing me when I'm tired. Calm and exhausted look the same sometimes. I'm better at appearing calm. I found that when I wasn't calm and not trying to appear calm that I alarmed people. I try not to do that anymore, with varying degrees of success.

Calm is a parked car. Appearing calm is a parked car, with the engine turned on, and a foot on the accelerator, pushing it to the floor. The car isn't moving but it shaking and making a hell of a lot of noise. That's how I feel. What you see on the outside is not what is going on underneath. It's the old duck analogy -- smoothly floating on top of the water, little webbed feet churning away just under the surface.

Strangely enough, it works some of the time. If I pretend that I'm calm, then I feel calm.

Calmer, not calm.

-er: Added to many adjectives and adverbs to form the comparative degree, as later, greater.

The Small, Still Voice

2011-10-28T15:37:00.000-04:00

Herr Luber and I have been discussing some ongoing uncertainties in our lives and pondering how meditation and prayer can be part of the solution. The Program has definitely put me in the Solution Business. I know, I know, you're thinking: "Horseface? In the solution business?!" I will admit to having a long and storied love affair with the Problem Business. I do love wallowing around in The Problem. It's so warm and comforting and familiar there. I'm proficient at problems; it's the solutions that elude me.

Meditation seems as if it's going to be such a waste of time before I get started with it. I'm a guy and meditation isn't our thing, generally thinking. I fix things following time-honored techniques, using my massive will and impressive intellect. Sitting quietly and listening to my Inner Voice doesn't seem as productive as taking a jackhammer to something. And then, to complicate matters, I don't feel like I've accomplished anything when I'm done meditating. With the jackhammer, I can gaze approvingly at the remains of the wall. I get up when I'm done meditating and I'm all: "OK, well, whatever." It doesn't feel like anything has changed. I put down the jackhammer and I'm like: "Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about."

The thing about my recovery is that I don't do anything until I see that it's going to be intensely practical. I just won't make the effort unless I see some results; concrete results in my daily life. It's the same thing with The Program: although I still don't really understand how it works I run into a lot of relatively happy people. I'm curious, then, as to what they did to get relatively happy. I'm not doing anything they suggest if they stay pissed and depressed. It's the happy that I like.

The meditation helps me be quiet so I can hear some direction. The direction isn't delivered with the subtlety of a football coach yelling at me through an amplified bullhorn. Instead, I sense a slight shift in the direction of the breeze. I get a sense that I should stop moving forward or maybe pick up my feet and get moving. It becomes intuitive.

What's the opposite? Jackhammer-itive?

Terminally Unique

2011-10-25T00:24:00.000-04:00

Different: Not alike; dissimilar; unlike most others; unusual.

When I was drinking my life was dominated by the feeling that I didn't fit in. I didn't fit in anywhere. It was profoundly uncomfortable to feel that way. It was as if I was standing on the outside of a closed circle, peering over the heads of everyone else, trying to see what was going on in the center. I felt excluded, different than anyone else.

Part of these feelings I can attribute to my disease of alcoholism; part I can attribute to normal teenage angst that I never bothered to outgrow. It was very convenient to imagine that I was one of The Others. I thought that no one else understood me. I was terminally unique, and I decided that I was going to stand in the dark and resent the hell out of everyone who didn't love me. I was going to will them to see what an amazing, special specimen that I was. Or I was going to die and let them suffer horribly at my funeral, full of regret that they didn't treat me better when I was around.

Brother. No wonder I irritated everyone. I was irritating.

One of the greatest blessings of my recovery is that I have finally grown into my own skin. I know who I am, more or less, and I'm comfortable with that. I still people-please too much but it's not my sole vocation anymore. I don't try to pretend that I'm not who I am or that I like what I don't like. It's OK.

People ask SuperK what I'm like at home. "Like this," she says. "This is what he's like at home." I feel good about that, even though she's probably lying. I'm consistent. I feel a little different still but I like that.

Does any one know what I'm talking about?

I've Got Nothing New

2011-10-20T00:56:00.000-04:00

Some oldies but goodies . . . .

I don't know what's best for me most of the time. The things that I'm sure I HAVE to have frequently blow up in my face when I get them. This is why I don't ask for specific things any more, unless I really, really HAVE TO HAVE them. Then I go for it when I pray, unspooling hours and hours of instructions. If I'm really motivated god does exactly what I want god to do. And the flip side of the coin is that when the events transpire that I believe are a TOTAL DISASTER they often turn out to be wonderful blessings in disguise.

I cringe a little when I hear phrases like "Pain is the touchstone to all spiritual growth." There's a little too much pop psychology there for my comfort and I'm not sure what a touchstone is, exactly, but I can work around my reservations because it's so frequently true. I grow when I'm challenged. I don't do the hard work unless I'm uncomfortable.

Touchstone: Any test or criterion for determining genuineness or value; a type of black stone formerly used to test the purity of gold or silver by the streak left on it when it was rubbed with the metal.

I had a long talk with Herr Luber yesterday about the stress of Change and The Unknown. Stress can be very stressful. But enduring the stress, developing the patience and quiet and presence to shoulder on through almost always leaves me in a better place. Now, I'm not suggesting that stress is my favorite thing in the world, but I don't run from it like it's the plague any more, either. I come out in a better place, tougher and meaner and more resilient.

My getting fired is an apt example. When people express their sympathy or outrage I'm all: "Eh. I've been fired before. I'm a drunk. I know how to get fired and live to fight another day." I got the best job I ever had after getting fired. The dross was burned off and I was in a better place.

I flash back to my first trip to a jungle in Ecuador. It involved a plane landing at a god-forsaken air strip hacked out of the brush; a 3 hour, bone-rattling ride in an open-air jeep over what passed for a semblance of a road, interrupted once by a long interrogation with teen-aged soldiers carrying Uzis; and concluding with a 2 hour motorized canoe trip up a winding tributary of the Amazon, vines and other serrated vegetation lashing my face the whole time.

Ending up being one of my best vacation experiences. Not easy -- memorable

Planes, Pools, and Coffee Machines

2011-10-17T23:17:00.000-04:00

Actions: Behavior; habitual conduct. (You want to hear a synonym for actions? Battle. How cool is that?).

The Program teaches me that I need to pay attention to my actions. It's amazing I need to be told that how I behave is important. I thought that what was important was how I intended to behave. Actions are for the unsophisticated. Thinking is where it's at. I read and re-read the part of The Book that suggests the world judges us on our actions, not our intentions.

"Really?" I said, genuinely surprised. "Really?!"

When I got on an airplane a couple of hours after being discharged I found myself in front of some guy who didn't have an inside voice. He wasn't in the row behind me, either; he was a few rows back. I'm not even sure he was on the same plane. He may have been inside the terminal at an airport in the next state. Why is that the people who don't have an inside voice are never very interesting?

"Higher Power," I prayed. "Please crash this plane so I don't have to listen to that guy any more."

I believe I've mentioned that prayer is not my strong suit. I don't know what my strong suit is anymore. I don't think I even have a suit. I think I gave all of my suits to Goodwill.

Anyway, the following day I went with SuperK over to our exercise club to swim. We popped into the hot tub for a minute to warm up before getting into the pool, which was crowded that morning. Things are always crowded when I'm not in a good mood. God thinks this is funny, to teach me patience by putting me in long lines. I would prefer being struck patient. That would be easier on me.

A woman came into the pool area and put a bottle of water on the floor in front of one of the swimming lanes, then joined us in the hot tub. After a minute I got out and went over to the lane that she apparently wanted to reserve, even though you can't do that. This isn't Hertz -- this is the pool. We don't take reservations for pool lanes. You can't say a pool lane for later. You can get in the pool or you can stay out of the pool -- those are the two choices. I pointed down at her bottle as if to say: "Do you want me to throw this in the garbage can or should I bounce it off your forehead?"

"I was getting ready to swim," she said.
"Like right now?" I asked, standing in front of the pool lane she wasn't standing in front of, being in the hot tub and all.
"In like 30 seconds," she replied.

I was trying to keep my temper chained up in the fiery pit that it calls home, but it was straining to get out.

"Were you waiting?" she said, stupidly.
I sighed. "It's not that important." I thought she would see that she was IN THE WRONG and let me swim first, which she DID NOT DO. I sat along the full pool for 5 minutes until another lane opened up, stewing and boiling and judging.

Five minutes. Can you believe that? Five minutes. I should have drowned her.

Today I went into Starbucks for a cup of coffee. After the very nice young woman rang up my overpriced drink I remembered that I need a pound of coffee for home. If you buy a pound of coffee then you get a free overpriced drink.

"Go ahead and pick out the coffee you want and then I'll ring it up," she said.
"Why don't you go over there and pick it out yourself?" I wanted to say. "I just told you what I wanted. I'm the fucking customer and you're the fucking employee. Don't make me paw through your stuff looking for something I want to buy."

Vaguely, I sensed that I was overreacting, so I went over and got the coffee myself. When I returned to the counter I asked her to credit me for the overpriced drink that I had already paid for so that I could get a free overpriced drink with my pound of coffee, but someone else had gotten in line in front of me, so I had to wait. It has been a bad week for me as far as queuing up is concerned. I'm glad I didn't end up in the emergency room.

"Oh," she said, which worried me. "That promotion only applies to this type of overpriced drink, not the kind of overpriced drink that you already paid for." I have buying coffee beans from this chain for 15 years, always getting the kind of overpriced drink that I had already purchased, only for free.

This type of dialogue went on for a bit longer and none of it was to my credit. I did not, however, buy the fucking coffee beans without getting a free overpriced coffee drink.

"So you don't want the beans? "she asked.

I thought of my sponsor saying: "Try not to talk, Horseface. Just try not to talk. It's only going to make things worse."

See how it is with actions? I pay attention to them today. While getting discharged and traveling and seeing my family didn't upset me too much, obviously it upset me more than I was willing to admit. I could tell because my actions were exaggerated and inappropriate.

And I Deserved It!!

2011-10-16T21:37:00.000-04:00

Deserved: Well earned; merited.

The thing is that I deserved to get fired. I was no longer very productive at my job and I hadn't been in quite a while. I didn't enjoy what I was doing or the people I worked with or the philosophy of the company or even their motto, which was: "Why? Because We Don't Like You." Any two of those factors put together would be a good reason to move on, or to be moved on by force.

When I started working on inventories and tried to take a semi-honest look at the reasons behind my dismissal from various jobs, both drunk and in sobriety, I kept coming across a central theme. Me. The central theme in all of the various, wide-ranging scenarios, was me, Horseface Steve. I spent so much time trying to blame other people for my difficulties or discomfort that I never got around to the Horseface Steve part which is, of course, the most important part. I found that I almost always deserved to lose the jobs that I lost. Moreover, I found that people I worked for were generally good and decent, and that usually I should have been moved on way, way before it actually happened.

Still, it's not the best feeling in the world to get fired. (I do like that the phrase "to be fired" is a colloquial take on the original term "to discharge." Apparently, people used to get "discharged" from jobs and we dumbed it down to a weaponry analogy). The actual firing was kind of like knowing that someone small was going to punch me in the gut very gently, and here it comes! It wasn't the stunning blind-side sucker punch that used to stun me when I was drunk and stupid, but that didn't make it pleasant.

Next adventure, please.

Fired!

2011-10-15T21:51:00.000-04:00

Fire: (Pun on discharge), (Colloq.), to dismiss from a position; discharge.

I got fired today.

That statement should stand on its own merits but there you go.

"I'm on a plane trying to get home for the weekend so I'll get to the point. We've decided to go another direction with our representation in your corner of the world. Don't take this personally -- we appreciate your efforts over the years -- but we've decided to make a change," said the faceless bureaucrat who apparently is tasked with making these decisions. I really don't know -- I've never met him. I think he's my boss's boss's boss. What would that make him? My great-grand boss?

"How am I supposed to take it?" I asked. "Impersonally? Mechanically? Spiritually? By transferring it to another person?" I didn't really see how I was supposed to take it if not personally. It was an extremely personal thing. I could tell that this guy did stuff like this all the time. I don't think he had trouble falling asleep that night, either. He did it on the phone and it didn't take 45 seconds. He was controlled and unemotional and careful to keep everything very legal.

This was always a classy, classy organization. 45 seconds on the phone with a guy I've never met on a Friday afternoon after 15 years of labor. I've worked for this organization, in one form or another, since 1997. I'm not that good with dates but I believe we are closing in on 2012. I would have hoped for 75 seconds at least. Not more than that, of course. That would be piggish and self-centered.

"I'm wondering why you didn't let me know that you were unhappy with my work. If you had discussed this with me maybe I could have made some changes," I suggested. He didn't say anything. This was OK because I knew exactly why they weren't happy with my efforts, which were intermittent and pathetic and quite half-hearted. But I figured if I was going to get fired I was going to make the guy squirm a little, the piece of shit.

"Hey, here's something funny," I said. "I moved 2500 miles away last year and you guys never figured it out. You're really on the ball. You're really right on top of things. That's a hell of an organization you work for."

If you would have told me at the start of the year that I would have lasted this long I would have laughed in your face. And SuperK told me more than once that this was my last trip back to The Old City to work. Regrettably, that didn't stop her from freaking out a little bit, apparently fouling up a pretty good nap.

Be careful what you pray for because you might get it.

Here's the thing: What I was doing wasn't right. It wasn't awful but it wasn't right. I had decided that because I wasn't treated very well by this organization in some crucial past dealings that I had earned the right to behave poorly in return. Here's a quote: "To escape looking at the wrongs we have done another, we resentfully focus on the wrong he has done us.

And I didn't say any of those things. I made everything up except for what he said to me.

I tell my buddies all the time: "Do me a favor -- try not to talk to today. Try not to say anything. Your day will go much better."

Yeah, tell me about it.

Reviewing Reviewing Rehearsing Rehearsing

2011-10-07T19:45:00.000-04:00

When I'm feeling especially clever I spend my time in The Past and in The Future. In The World According to Horseface he Present is a very borrrrrring! place indeed. Anybody can hang out in The Present. There's nothing cool going on there. It's full of work and bathing and listening to tedious people drone on and on, often about how uninteresting The Present is.

Review: To view again; look at, look over, or study again; to look back on; view in retrospect.

The Past is a powerful source of painful memories. I can inspect burned bridges, ruined relationships, and crashed careers. I can analyze my behavior. I can come up with something better than what I came up with it at the time, or I can worry that what I came up with was taken the wrong way. Plenty of things to obsess over in The Past.

I can spend time looking in The Past reviewing, reviewing, reviewing . . .

Rehearse: To perform for practice, as a play, etc. in preparation for a formal or public performance. (Director, anyone?)

I can also choose to mine The Future for problems waiting to happen. Because The Future, by definition, has not yet happened, it is a rich mother lode of disaster. How many hours of conversations have I had with people who weren't present, preparing for something that never happened? More than one, less that a million, closer to one than to the other, can you guess which one?

I can spend time in The Future rehearsing, rehearsing, rehearsing . . .

Grasping

2011-10-06T19:43:00.000-04:00

Grasping: Greedy; eager for gain; avaricious.
Grasp: To take hold of firmly . . . ; to take hold of eagerly or greedily; seize.

The Minor Buddhist talks a lot about the problems that bubble up when I spend too much time in grasping mode. I think that about all of the pain that there is in my life comes about when I try to grab and hold onto things too strongly. Grasping is a brutal concept; it implies greed and gain and power.

My impression is that I should strive to wear the world like a loose garment. I'm in the world; I'm part of the world; but I shouldn't try to wrestle life down to the ground and pain it. Meditation helps me here -- it allows me to watch the world flow by without judgment.

My claw marks are on everything.

Great Displeasure

2011-10-06T00:29:00.000-04:00

Anger: Implies emotional agitation of no specified intensity aroused by great displeasure.

"I think I'm a little angry about this trip back to The Old City," I said to SuperK. "What with the family and the work and the lousy weather returning and all that."
"You're not a little anything," she pointed out, pointedly.

The Book warns us many times that anger is an emotion that has a lot of grim consequences for the drunk in recovery. There are famous phrases like "a dubious luxury of more normal men" and "the grouch and the brainstorm are not for us." I'm not sure what a grouch is or why brainstorming leads to being pissed off but I'm not sure about very many things. There you have it.

I don't think I hew the company line too closely when it comes to anger. I don't interpret these phrases to mean that we shouldn't get angry, ever. I don't think Bob and Bill were suggesting that we're going to be able to avoid anger once we get sober and then forevermore.

My opinion is that these guys are counseling caution when it comes to quick and powerful angry responses to irritating situations and people. Counting to 10 works for many people; counting to 2,873 is very reasonable for the alcoholic. I know my technique was to jump to a conclusion, get very, very angry very, very quickly, then launch a furious counter-strike. After all, the best defense is a big offense. I can't be reminded often enough that "restraint of tongue and pen" is going to pay handsome dividends for me. I say stupid things when I'm calm and thoughtful. When I'm angry and impulsive I'm just an idiot.

I also think that the recommendation is to make sure that anger -- a normal, unavoidable human emotion -- needs to be carefully managed. So when I get angry I count to 2,873, biting my tongue hard enough to draw blood, then I try to deconstruct the anger. Keeping my mouth shut helps me to minimize collateral damage so that I can take a look at why I got angry. Usually, it's because I'm not behaving very well and I'm annoyed that I got called on my bullshit. The important thing is that I deal with the anger so that it doesn't develop into the deadly Resentment. That's what I need to avoid.

Resentment: taking poison and waiting for the other person to die.

There Comes a Season: Turn Turn Turn

2011-10-05T00:19:00.000-04:00

The weather is starting to turn turn turn toward the winter ahead. This is always a tough time for me. I'm an outside person. I'm a big lizard, looking to bake in the sun. I tend to experience some melancholia this time of year. The knowledge that this happens every year and I can't do anything about it doesn't seem to help much.

I'm back to The Old City next week for work and family. That's two reasons to be warped off center. I'm trying to continue my long long long ballet of deception with The Evil Empire. I'm trying to be comfortable with my questionable behavior. I'm a master of self-justification when it suits my purposes. Part of the difficulty this time is that I have to spend a couple of days with a co-worker who isn't aware that I've moved far far far away from my territory and wouldn't be supportive if he knew. It's one thing to be hyper-vigilant for an hour conference call and another altogether to do it for a few days. Eventually I have to stick my foot in my mouth. I'm going to say: "Boy, it sure was a rainy summer" when, in fact, it was not.

"You know, you could be honest about it and just quit if it makes you feel so bad," my sponsor pointed out.
"Hello? Hello?" I say. "I'm having some trouble with the connection here."

And my family, oh, yes. My mother is very very very excited to see me right up to the point when I start to explain why I can't completely mold my schedule around the several frankly odd things that she has pre-scheduled. I never never never question the origin of my Control Freak button. I know who installed that.

"Can't you cancel your dentist appointment?" she asked, ignoring the fact that I had to make the appointment 6 weeks ago and I'm only in town for 3 business days. She knew when I was coming shortly after I did.

People do fit us into categories. They're happy happy happy with us when we step obligingly into the space they've created. Not so much when we try to go our own way.

Sometimes I don't feel so great and I don't know why. I have to do the work to figure out what's going on. Sometimes I find something real and sometimes I'm drifting drifting drifting off into Free Floating Anxiety Land, and that's OK, too. We all get to be disconnected. And sometimes I'm around people or in situations or enduring weather patterns that I can't control. Sometimes they aren't that great, either. It's not always my fault.

All I can do is to work on finding my place in what's going on.

Walk a Mile in My Shoes.

2011-10-04T01:09:00.000-04:00

I love the diversity of The Program. I have learned so much over the years because I've made friends from all walks of life. The Book says "we are people who would not ordinarily mix." It compares our Fellowship to the different kinds of people in a lifeboat leaving a stricken ocean liner. A tremendous sense of camaraderie exists despite differences of class, money and education, born of the knowledge that everyone has escaped a terrible fate.

That being said I'm also glad that there are people around whose story line is similar to mine. It's great being able to talk over a specific problem with someone who may have experience with that specific situation. And sometimes my problems are not of the low-bottom variety -- OK, they're almost never of the low-bottom variety -- at which point it's nice to be able to talk with someone who is in similar circumstances. That doesn't mean I can only be helped by specific drunks, just that it's comforting to talk to someone who has walked a mile in your shoes.

For instance, if a member is having trouble with a child it would hardly be compassionate for someone with no kids to say: "Well, you should just be grateful that you're a parent." While we should be grateful for what we have that doesn't mean it's not upsetting when a difficult situation arises.

A Glamorous Life

2011-10-03T00:35:00.000-04:00

Dude spoke at the meeting this morning: "I was 16 the first time I had a drink of wine. I liked it so much that I drank as much as I could as often as I could."

"Men and women drink essentially because they like the effect produced by alcohol. The sensation is so elusive that while they admit it is injurious, they cannot after a time differentiate the true from the false."
Glamour: Magic; enchantment; magic spell or charm.
Glamorize: To make something glamorous.

I was told growing up that alcohol and drugs weren't good for me, then I tried them. Boy, did I disagree with that advice; I felt like I hadn't been receiving accurate information. It felt like the adults were lying to me. Drinking and using made the bad go bye-bye. I vaguely sensed that what I was doing wasn't going to be good for me in the long run but I was really addicted to the relief that the alcohol and drugs provided. The adults should have said: "This stuff is going to make you feel better in the short term but really cause problems in the long run." I would have respected that more than "Just say no." I would have kept drinking, of course, coming up with some other kind of excuse.

I need to keep getting this information. The problem with me -- one of many -- is that I glamorize my past when it comes to drinking. It was a real problem solver and it was cheap, easily obtainable, and fast-acting, unlike all of this %^$!! work I have to do in recovery.

Non-Specific Prayers

2011-10-01T22:11:00.000-04:00

One of the non-specific prayers that I offer up every morning, especially if I have something troubling going on or something confusing or, most commonly, something that I'm trying to dictate the outcome of . . . where was I? Oh, yes, the prayer. It's along the lines of: "Please show me the path I should take with this issue." That sounds pretty prissy and not at all like something I would actually say. My prayer to a Higher Power who is perfectly capable of taking any lip and attitude I can dish out and is not at all offended by my foul language is more along the lines of: "Hey, what the %$!! should I do here?"

I think the goal is to try to avoid the brick walls and to spot the tree-lined paths leading to pleasant little parks. It's inevitable that every now and then I'm going to go nose-first into a brick wall and overlook the pleasant park. I'm only human. The idea today is to quit walking into the brick wall over and over again, hoping that my nose battering finally brings the thing down. And I try to quit saying: "Hey, I don't want to go to that wuss park. Where's the trail to the Black Sabbath concert?"

There's a Simpson's episode much beloved in the Horseface household where Homer is floating along in a canoe when he comes to a fork in the river. One side is full of flowers and birds and rainbows and the other side looks like the aftermath of a nuclear explosion.

"Hmm. Wonder which way I should go?" Homer muses.

For instance, when we were pondering the big move from The Old City to The New City it was tempting to engage my self-locomotion and force the issue. Instead, I tried to indicate what it was that I wanted to do but to agree to try, to the best of my ability, to listen to the soft, still voice of my conscience. There were green lights and there were red lights and there were a hell of a lot of yellow lights. I think the trick was to choose an outcome and head that way. I don't believe that is an improper use of the will. I believe we get to make choices and decisions down here, to the best of our ability, trying to listen for the occasional tap on the shoulder or box to the ear, then change direction accordingly.

When you come to a fork in the road, take it.

Mission Creep

2011-09-30T10:33:00.000-04:00

Complicate: To make or become intricate, difficult, or involved.

It has been said that A.A. is a simple program for complicated people. Boy, is that true in my case. I can complicate the hell out of anything. Why would I make something easy if I can make it really, really, unnecessarily hard?

Part of the rationale behind the move to The New City was to unburden myself of so many needless complications. I moved into a much smaller living space which required me to get rid of a lot of crap that I was hoarding and storing and hauling around, but never touching. I kid you not there were boxes that had been sealed up in the Pleistocene age and never reopened. I don't know what was in them. I put them out on the curb for the garbage guys. My car situation got simpler. The services that I required no longer seemed a requirement and were jettisoned. I paid good money for things that seemed important yet I've lived happily for a year without any of them.

"Can you believe I paid $100 a month for that?" I'll say, my slack-jaw dropping in amazement. "What was I thinking?"

It has been funny watching my tendency to list back into complications. Vaguely, my living space becomes mildly unsatisfactory. I look longingly at someplace bigger, someplace in a cooler part of town, someplace on a quieter street but in a nice neighborhood close to the action. I can't stay up past 10PM anymore so I have no idea what kind of action I'm looking for. Maybe a nice wheelchair store.

The military has a phrase called "mission creep." It suggests the tendency to start out with one goal in mind then to slowly embiggen and complicate that mission over time. I start out with something simple in mind, only to add layers and layers of complexity until I'm dealing with a huge, unmanageable mess.

Now where have I heard the phrase "our lives had become unmanageable?" It sounds so familiar.

Silly, Silly Bankers

2011-09-28T21:22:00.000-04:00

I rang up my sponsor this morning. After we exchanged pleasantries I said: "I have something I want to run by you. This is going to fall in the category of Problems of Prosperity."

"Yeah, excuse me if I don't hold my breath until you have a problem that doesn't fit in that category," he said. I'm not sure why I call that smart-ass on a regular basis.

I have been casually looking to buy a home in The New City. I placed the equity from the house we just sold into a savings account, resisting the urge to buy another stupid car or another stupid piece of electronics or something else stupid. Nevertheless, I had hoped to take out a mortgage if we find something appropriate to buy, especially since interest rates are so low. I assumed that the fact that I had enough in the savings account to pay cash for something much less expensive than my last house would earn me some Banking Good Will, should such a thing exist.

Here's the funny thing about that: because banks were so eager to loan money during the recent big bubble boom in the real estate market -- literally throwing cash at any warm body who alleged anything positive financially, with nothing in the way of factual documentation -- that they lost a lot of money on bad loans. Hard to imagine that happening with such a solid business model. Now, because they're so familiar with residing illogically on one end of the spectrum, they're finding it comfortable to swing wildly to the other end of the spectrum. Ergo, they don't want to loan money to anyone.

They keep asking me how much money I earn, not how much money I've saved. I have had no luck whatsoever convincing them that the savings part is more important than the earnings part.

"Who cares?" I say. "I have this money saved up."

"We care," they say. "Go away until you start to make a lot more money."

"I don't want to make a lot more money," I reply. "That takes a lot of work and there's a lot of pressure involved."

"Go away," they repeat.

I feel like I'm in some Kafkaesque nightmare alternate reality. These bankers must all be drunks. They must be fucking with me. They're having a drink right now, and a good laugh.

"Have you ever considered that there's a middle ground?" I wonder, watching them fill in little blanks on their little forms.

"Security," they say, pushing a red button on the intercom on their desk. I half expect a trap-door to open up under me, revealing a tank of sharks or boiling oil or sharks swimming around in boiling oil. Special sharks, obviously, to handle the boiling oil.

I don't even know if I WANT a mortgage.

My Little Man is an Idiot

2011-09-27T20:27:00.000-04:00

Wisdom: The quality of being wise; the power of judging rightly and following the soundest course of action, based on knowledge, experience, understanding, etc; good judgment.

Knowledge: Acquaintance with facts; range of information, awareness, or understanding.

"We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us."

Here's what I see in The Rooms: a collection of tremendous talent. Seriously. The average drunk/addict is talented, clever, smart, and charming. We stagger in and begin to listen to other people and we read the books and we collect the knowledge. All well and good. Problems arise when we fail to execute this knowledge or worse yet, execute it poorly. We consume the knowledge, then skulk off and think think think about it by ourselves, applying a twisted filter of alcoholic reasoning until we justify some bizarre course of action that only makes good sense to someone who is used to living in an alternate reality.

I'm in the midst of dealing with a situation that I have researched heavily. I am heavily armed with facts, yet I have no idea what to do. I vacillate wildly from extreme to extreme. Things that made a lot of sense yesterday seem ridiculous today, and I'm guessing I'll be scratching my head tomorrow, wondering what the hell I was thinking when I discarded my first plan.

Very frustrating for this methodical, logical, diligent German peasant. I figure if I do the research then I'll make the "right" decision. Now, mind you, I'm not scoffing at the research, just my belief that this will make things become crystal clear. Sometimes in my sobriety I have to go with my gut.

One of my favorite scenes from Seinfeld is an exchange between George, who is conflicted about a decision he has to make, and Kramer, who is dispensing counsel:
K: "What does your little man say? You HAVE to listen to your little man."
G: (hesitating) "My little man doesn't know."
K: "Listen to your little man, George!"
G: (disgustedly) "Ah, my little man is an idiot."

Middle of the Road

2011-09-25T23:55:00.000-04:00

Center: A point considered as the middle or central point of activity.

One of the reasons I was at all conflicted about the music documentary is that I have a long, storied history of saying I was going to do something and then not actually doing what I said I was going to do. I frequently exacerbated this bad habit by not telling anyone I was changing my plans. At the last minute I would decide to do something else I thought was going to be more fun or I'd forget or pass out or just not get up off the couch and make the effort.

I tried to continue this technique when I was getting sober. I really stuck with it as far as phone calls were concerned. Someone in The Program would call and I wouldn't call back. A lot of it was simply fear; I was afraid of dealing with other people. My buddies confronted me about it, though.

"Did you get my phone call?" they'd ask. "Pick up the phone and call back." They brushed off my excuses, explaining that actions like returning phone calls was part of the social contract between adults. It wasn't negotiable or weird or an unreasonable thing to expect. Someone calls and you call back. Move to a cave if you don't like doing this.

The flip side of the coin is that nobody likes to deal with rigid, inflexible people. All of us make plans then change our mind, sometimes for good reasons and sometimes for trivial ones. Who among us hasn't agreed to do something and decided later on that they didn't want to do it?

Yes, you in the back there, with your hand up? No? I didn't think so.

All of us get to bail every now and then. I'm OK with it when it happens to me. I understand. I do it, too. I don't do it terribly often, though, because I think I need to be reliable with my commitments, which is another area I wouldn't mark as one of my strong points.

More middle of the road stuff.

Progress Not Perfection

2011-09-24T00:14:00.000-04:00

Progress: To improve; advance toward perfection or to a higher state.

Here's what 24 years and 1 month buys you:

I made plans a few days ago to join some guys in The Program for a rock documentary or "rockumentary," if you want to sound really cool. I didn't know too much about the band being featured so my friend who was organizing the get-together burned some CDs for me to listen to. While the music was good it wasn't really my bag, man, so I started to regret my decision to go. Plus, the movie started at 9:30 -- at night, mind you -- when it would be quite normal for me to be going to bed, not going out. I'm definitely not cool anymore, or "cool" as it were.

How to do this, I wondered? LIE! LIE!! LIE LIE LIE!!! That's what came to mind. That's always what comes to mind when I imagine being uncomfortable and wonder how I can squirm out from underneath this feeling. "That's the ticket," I thought. "Not a big bad lie but a little pleasant unoffensive lie." I didn't think that wouldn't smell too bad rotting in my garbage can. I could profess being tired. I could say "something came up." I could, of course, blame SuperK. This is why most people get married: to have a built-in excuse whenever we need to lie about something. That way my friend could develop a resentment against my wife and I'd come out smelling like . . . well, not a rose but not a rotten rutabaga either.

The reason I tell the truth most of the time today is because I can't remember what I said 20 minutes ago. So I figure if I stick with the truth then I don't have to worry about what has or has not come out of my mouth. It was exhausting keeping track of all the lying going on when I was really into the lying game. I had so many stories to organize that I couldn't hold them all together.

Dude was fine with it, of course. "The truth is, Horseface," he sez. "I'm going whether or not anyone shows up." Now the deal is that I can't do this consistently. I can't change my mind and leave people hanging at the last minute. But I'm hardly a friend if I can't show some flexibility with others.

Since there were a few people going I didn't feel too bad about flaking out on my friend

Simple Not Easy

2011-09-20T23:46:00.000-04:00

Easy: That can be done, got, mastered, etc. with ease; not difficult; not exacting.

Getting pissed off at something or someone and then picking up a drink is easy. Working on your character defects and your spirituality and your amends is not easy. It's simple, but it's not easy. The directions can be explained relatively quickly but the execution is going to take some time.

"But I like easy," I remarked when I came into The Program. "Easy is the way to go." This was the era of Half-Measures Horseface. Easier, softer Horseface. I was not known for my diligent work or any kind of consistent, sustained effort on anything. I was under the impression that the benefits of The Program would be given to me all wrapped up with a fancy bow on top.

Simple: Easy to do, solve, or understand, as a task, question, etc.

The Program is not rocket science. There are only 12 Steps, well explained in The Big Book then flogged half to death in the 12&12. A member with a few years of solid sobriety can give a newcomer a pretty good overview in an hour or so.

There's a lot to recommend in simple. It can make things easy. For instance, I'd like to own a brand new Ferrari. A black one with a spiffy red stripe. I'd like that a lot. Now, I'm not that smart but I'm pretty old so I've had some nice things that I had no business having in my life and I've learned some lessons doing this. Not a Ferrari. I think I drove a Fiat once but that's as close to an Italian supercar as I've ever come, or ever will come if I value my marriage to SuperK.

So I see high speed tires that cost $750 a piece and two thousand dollar tune-ups and astronomical insurance rates and . . . well, you get the idea. So I own a Subaru. It's not turning any heads as I floor it, forcing the four squirrels that power the vehicle to really start running in their cages, but it's not causing me any angst at night, either.

Simple. That's the way to go.

Horseface Steve -- Helpmate

2011-09-19T21:20:00.000-04:00

Help: To give assistance; be co-operative, useful, or beneficial.

I'm still trying to get my arms around the idea of what it means to help someone out. The definition doesn't seem to make allowances for anything along the lines of "when I want to" or "when it makes sense to me." For instance, I don't want any help changing the oil in my car. I'd have to get out the operator's manual -- where that is, I have no idea, because there's not a chance in hell that I'll ever understand how that large and complicated piece of machinery works -- to even figure out to open the hood, for god's sake, or maybe I mean the trunk. Wherever the engine is located. Car salesmen are always trying to show me what's under the hood. I wave them off like a caliph dismissing a slave. I'm not getting anywhere near a confined area full of hot, loud, violently rotating pieces of metal.

So you can be the best oil-changing guy in the world, eager to help me change my oil. You can explain how important it is to change the oil and how much money I'd save and how much fun it can be working on your own car with your own hands. The reality is that I don't want this help. This is not help; this is an invitation to have one of my fingers severed. Go help someone else change their oil. Thanks for thinking of me but I like my fingers.

I remember when I grasped the fact that when SuperK wanted to talk to me about something that she found upsetting, she didn't expect me to solve the problem. She wanted me to listen to what she had to say. That was the help: the listening. As the Smartest Guy In The World, I was chomping at the bit to offer wise, effective solutions. That was what I wanted to do, not what needed to be done.

I know there's a god up there because we have mechanics who can change the oil in my car for a very reasonable amount of money.

Horseface Steve -- Eater of Fruit

2011-09-18T21:17:00.000-04:00

More Big Picture musing from a Big Picture guy . . .

I enjoy sitting outside on my front porch, reading and watching the odd world of The New City stream by. Also, I like to snoop on my neighbors. I like to wave at people and say hello and make a stab at something marginally amusing with varying degrees of success. I know most of the people who live in the nearby apartments and houses well enough to say hidy-ho.

There's a young couple across the street who did a lot of work putting in a pretty impressive garden in a laughably small space. Most of the stuff made sense to me -- tomatoes, greens, squash -- and a few things made me chuckle. Corn? In a geranium pot? I can see tomatoes from across the street but I don't think anybody is going to be eating fresh corn unless they get it at the store.

Anyway, they walked over and handed me a small container of cherry tomatoes a few nights ago. I was touched at the gesture. And the timing was perfect because we were having a salad for dinner that night; those tomatoes got scarfed down. The next morning I found another container of tomatoes on my front porch, with a note. It was mostly in text-speak so I have no idea what the note said but I'm hoping it was nice. Maybe it said: "I hope you choke on these poisoned tomatoes you dirty %$!!." I don't think so but you never can tell.

The point is that all these folks did was give me some extra fruit that was going to end up on the ground, probably. Being a Big Picture guy I'm found of splashy excess, not a simple life lived simply. Those delicious tomatoes were a delicious reminder to be nice all the time. You never know what's going to make a real difference.

I'm keeping the note. It was sweet. It was a small gesture. And I could read it. Most of it.

An Astonishing Fact

2011-09-17T21:31:00.001-04:00

Astonish: To fill with sudden wonder or surprise; amaze (from the old French root extoner, "to strike with lightning.")

". . . their problems pile up on them and become astonishingly difficult to solve."

The guy who chaired our meeting this morning read from the Doctor's Opinion and he shared a lot of great stuff, but he talked too long and he didn't talk about me or call on me or refer to me in any form or fashion. Unbelievable!!

If I move slowly back into reality -- loathsome task though it is -- he did a great job. My sponsor suggests I refer the newcomer to the doc's opinion so he can see what the problem is. It's hard to tease out the problem itself when we're in the midst of a problem that tells us that we don't have a problem, and we're hanging around with people who have the exact same kind of problems that they're also blind to. Here are the facts: we have an allergy to alcohol so we react in an unusual manner to its effects and we have a mental obsession to alcohol so we can't seem to walk away from the stuff once we start.

"Men and women drink essentially because they like the effect produced by alcohol. The sensation is so elusive that, while they admit it is injurious, they cannot after a time differentiate the true from the false."

Elusive: Tending to avoid or escape from by quickness, cunning, etc.; hard to grasp or retain mentally; baffling.

My sponsor also suggests that I be honest about my love of alcohol. Today, still, after many years of sobriety I suspect that if I could drink and "get away with it" I would drink. By "get away with it" I mean have the same peace and freedom from fear and angst, the same camaraderie with my fellows, the same connection with a Greater Power that I have today. This is the false promise that alcohol whispers in my ear. It reminds me of the good times. It tells me this time will be different. It tells me I can drink like a normal man.

But I CAN'T. This has been my experience.