Serenity Deux

I always wanted to have a cool recovery nickname. You know, like Chicago Steve or Big Book Steve or Horse Face Steve. People would know who I was instantly: "Hey, you'll never guess who I ran into at the ballgame. Horse Face Steve!" "No way -- I love that guy!" Ego is a rampant virus with alcoholics. Good attention, bad attention, attention paid by judges or angry ex-spouses, we don't care as long as someone is paying attention.

My wife -- who is also in recovery -- and I were trying to come up with a name that I could use to post entries. We tried on a few for size but nothing seemed to fit. "How about Serenity Steve?" she asked. There was a brief pause -- our eyes locked -- and we both doubled over in laughter. Sometimes I look serene. I have the looking good down, sometimes, when I remember to comb my hair and take the occasional shower. Deep down inside, however, the forces of good and evil are locked in mortal combat. Good is barely holding off evil most of the time. It could go either way.

Today I will listen to the good little man on my right shoulder. I will try to ignore the bad little man on my left shoulder. Who am I kidding? There are like fifty bad little men who have built permanent structures on most of the exposed surfaces on my body. The good little man has a tent in sand tilting at a 30 degree angle between ice and slick rock. The good little man -- brave as he is -- has his work cut out for him.