80 Degrees in the Shade

Off to someplace warm for the holidays, my friends.
Be the ball.

Hello? Hello? Anyone out there?

Phun Pfacts

I'm going to start a little list of Horseface Steve's Fun Facts of Recovery.


Today's Fun Fact is that it's my responsibility to treat people well. This is actually more of a Fun Suggestion than a Fact. Maybe if I flog the idea around for a while I can come up with a fact that has something to do with trying to improve my personal relationships. Probably not. That goat with a ukulele will start playing "Three Blind Mice" and I'll be too distracted to continue. Anyway, the point is that if you treat people well -- with respect and honesty -- your relationships will improve dramatically. Things will work out in the long run.


I remember the first time I became aware of the concept of treating someone well without any guarantee that they weren't going to take advantage of me. The idea floored me. "What if I'm nice and everything and then someone screws me and I don't get to take my just revenge?" I asked. It was bad enough that I had to treat other people well -- I didn't see what was in it for me. It was an absolute nightmare scenario to think that I could behave properly and then get hosed by some other self-seeking individual, which wasn't unlikely as I tended to surround myself with people just like me.

Take my job, for instance. I sell things to industrial customers. I don't think I ever got up in the morning and decided to take advantage of someone. I tried not to lie or misrepresent myself or my product. But, really, all I did was pay lip service to honesty. I tried to get a prospect to buy as much stuff as possible. I didn't think things through from their point of view. I didn't care if they couldn't afford it or they didn't really need the more expensive thing or my competitor had a better solution. The more they bought, the more I got paid.

Today I'm brutally honest with people. I recommend the most appropriate solution even when that may put less money in my pocket. If someone asks, I tell them about the competition, trying to point out the differences in our products without badmouthing anyone. I think what happens is that a lot of customers are so taken aback by this honesty that they don't even look at the competition. This is the exact opposite of what I expected would happen.

The result, as you may expect, is that I sell three times as much stuff as I ever did in my best year when I was drinking. People know when you are trying to bullshit them. They can feel it when someone is trying to take advantage of them. Remember when you tried to spin your first sponsor and you thought you were fooling him? You were so magnificently transparent he could barely keep a straight face.

Today I'm going to at least try not to act like an ass.

Perception Regression

Perception: Consciousness; awareness; insight or intuition, as of an abstract quality.

I went to my club today and took a swim. And by "swim" I mean "swallowing pool water while trying not to sink." Swimming in a lap pool is a great place to see how you measure up against other people. Other people are your competition. You need to beat them. In the pool the lanes are right next to each other so you can easily see who you are beating. And by "beating" I mean "getting beat by someone twenty years older than me."


I have this need to be Number One, even when I don't have anything particularly important to gain by being the best at something. There I am, swimming away, pleased with the exercise I'm getting -- not so strenuous that I'm hurting myself but strenuous enough that I'm not sinking to the bottom -- and some one starts to swim in the next lane. Today it was a kid twenty years younger than me. I'm a 98 lb. weakling who can't swim faster than a five year old in Bozo The Clown water wings, but that didn't stop me from picking up the pace, until I was gasping for air and totally miserable. Now something in my rotator cuff feels a little twingey, and I don't even know what a rotator cuff is. And he still beat the shit out of me.


It's that way in my work life, too. I've had jobs before where I have been totally happy with the amount of money I'm making and pleased with my supervisor. (Fair disclosure: I'm lying -- I've never been totally happy with anything.) Then I find that the guy next to me has a higher salary. Just like that I'm pissed. I go to my supervisor -- the one I like -- and complain about this injustice. When he doesn't do anything to help me out I develop a resentment at this bastard who doesn't know how valuable I am. In two minutes I have gone from being happy and content to being angry and resentful. What changed? Absolutely nothing but my perception of the world.


Perception is reality

$ and more $

I was talking with my friend Scrooge last night about this and that, complaining about everything, basically, postulating that the world would be a much better place if we were in charge (well, if I were in charge, anyway -- he would make a mess of things) and our dialogue drifted into the realm of money. I'm sure I was helping him more than he was helping me, which is the case with most of my friendships. I am Horseface Steve, after all.

The economy is not in great shape and it's natural for this to be a concern for a lot of us. Money is a big trigger if I want to indulge in one of my favorite pastimes: being afraid. I think I said something unusually profound that really resonated with him, even more so that my normal, run-of-the-mill profound comments. He was saying things like "wow" and "unbelievably perceptive and profound." That's how I knew he was impressed.

Anyway, he suggested that I may have found a topic for tomorrow's blog. "That's a great idea," I said, while thinking: "You arrogant twit, thinking I can't come up with my own topics." I think that's how it went. Sometimes I say what I'm thinking and sometimes I think I've said something which, in actuality, I have only thought about. Sometimes people will say to me: "Yeah, you just said that." I thought it, got distracted, and didn't remember what I did or did not say two minutes ago. Lot of LSD in college.

I got up this morning with absolutely no idea what to write about. If you could see inside my head when I'm thinking intently you would see a goat playing a ukulele, riding on a choo choo train. Money would be a great topic, I thought, certain that I came up with this all on my own, even though I had nothing to do with it. Perception is reality as far as I'm concerned.

His job is very structured and secure and he has found this frustrating from time to time. I'm self-employed so my job is totally unstructured and allows me the free time to pursue some things that I'm interested in, which has been really quite very nice. And I do whatever I can to make sure this sticks in the craw of my friends with structured jobs. Now, things have changed and Scrooge is grateful for his stability and my free time might become a liability. The hunter has become the hunted.

The point of all of this is that we have both arrived at a place in our lives where money is not the sole goal and aim. Don't get me wrong -- I like money as much as the next guy, even though it usually blows up in my face and causes more problems than it solves. It's just not worth worrying about.

All of the time.

Home Improvements Are My Life

I'm having some windows replaced in my house and luckily, I detected a problem before it got out of hand. Fair disclosure -- this is another one of my many, many problems of prosperity. It's like being upset when your normal Ferrari mechanic is on vacation. Don't bring that up as a topic at a meeting, especially if it's an institution meeting, like a half-way house or prison. In fact, don't bring up a topic that includes any of the following words: Jaguar, millionaire, mansion, or supermodel-sex.

Anyway, I inspected the workmanship on the inside of the house and found it met my rigorous standards. Never mind that I can't tell the difference between a ball peen hammer and a rip saw. I'm prohibited by law from owning any tools that require electricity or have sharp edges or teeth. When I took a stroll around the outside, however, I was horrified at what I saw. There was a lot of significant damage to the window frames, cosmetic damage that would render the home uninhabitable. I would have to just burn it down.


Blending the new confidence that I have found in sobriety with my old, established insanity and tendency to act rashly, precipitously, and with no forethought, I stormed into the house and formulated an attack plan. First, I took a couple of minutes to make sure that my fairly normal wife was upset, too. If I'm going down I'm taking out as many other people as I can. In my mind I was hiring lawyers who would sue a corrupt business for heavy damages. It would be a long, bitter fight with charges and counter charges, and threats of violence.


I did mention in passing to one of the nice installers my concerns. He informed me that this was a two day job and that tomorrow was when they would completely rebuild the outside portion of the window. Which they did. And it looks amazing. Which means I spent another nice chunk of time worrying about a problem which only existed in my mind.

I don't know why I spend so much time looking for problems. I can find fault with perfection. I can spot the slight discoloration on the side panel of a Ferrari at a hundred yards. (Fair disclosure: I couldn't afford to pay the sales tax on a Ferrari.) And when no problem exists, I go ahead and create one at some time in the future. The actual existence of a problem is no obstacle for me.

Bending Reality

I was walking around today, mumbling to myself, thinking about my absolute favorite topic: Me, Horseface Steve. It's hard to put into words the love affair that I have with myself. I overlook all of my defects -- no mean feat given their sheer volume and intensity -- and I exaggerate the extent of the few good attributes that I have managed to hang onto. I call this Bending Reality. I was the kid using a ball peen hammer to jam the little square peg through the little round hole. It looked like it would fit to me.

What good attributes, some might ask? Well, I have very good personal hygiene as long as we're not including the teeth or gums, I'm nice to animals if they're nice to me, and I always return my shopping cart to the cart corral at the grocery store. I'm sympathetic to the fact that the store can not be held liable for any damages caused by their carts. I am interested in helping them keep their costs down.


Actually, I started thinking about how much I think about myself while I was on the phone with a friend in The Program, trying hard to feign interest in what he was saying, as it was taking my attention away from myself. Suddenly, it dawned on me: this guy is thinking about himself too much! Oh, sure he was dressing it up as some unknowable character defect that was impossible to detect, but it was good old self-absorption.

I pointed out his shortcoming. My second favorite activity after thinking about myself -- Horseface Steve -- is criticizing the behavior of others. He was grateful for my keen insight. He said something along the lines of: "Why don't you go #!#!* yourself you self-righteous piece of #$!!*. Then we went and had a cup of coffee.


The truth hurts.

Expectations, Incorporated

Expect: Implies a considerable degree of confidence that an event will happen.


Normally I expect that whatever is going to happen will be very, very bad. So bad -you don't know how bad. Don't get me started on how bad. This despite the fact that very bad things almost never happen to me and when they do, they're not as bad as I think they're going to be, and even then I've been given the tools to handle whatever comes my way. But I'm sure this time it's going to be different. This time it's going to be bad.


Ironically, the rest of the time I expect that the outcome is going to be very, very good. Implausibly good. Scoring the winning points as time expires to win The Championship of the World good. Super model in a Ferrari good. People are a little wary about planning things with me or giving me anything because my expectations are so blown out of proportion. "You bought me a little gift? Is it a Ferrari? A red Ferrari?"


I'm going to die today in a horrible, painful accident or I'm going to live forever in the penthouse suite at the Shangri La Hotel. I haven't decided which yet. Could be both. I'm not sure how that would work but I bet it'd be cool.

Tomorrow: Expectations

I'm going to quit complaining about the holidays for a while. Not for long, I suspect, because they provide such a great opportunity for self-righteous individuals such as myself to rant incoherently. Really, Santa Claus is a easy target: big, fat guy dressed in red covered in tinkling bells and revealing his location with a booming laugh. What's the sport in flogging Santa Claus? I'm no athlete but I think I can run down that guy, although the magic sleigh may be a problem. That's his ace in the hole, those flying reindeer. I don't have an easy answer to that one.

The religious stuff is a little touchier. People get defensive if you start picking on their gods. I can understand that. Still, it has its attraction for me. It's funny how the original idea behind Christmas -- celebrating the birth of the saviour -- got buried under an avalanche of crass materialism. Those kooky marketing guys sure know what they're doing. Somehow they managed to translate gold, frankincense, and myrrh into Baby Burps-A-Lot. Frankincense and myrrh are shrubs that can be dried to create incense. Why would an infant want incense? I can just see Mary and Joseph muttering about that. "We're freezing to death in this stable and we get myrrh? How about a blanket so we can get rid of these swaddling clothes?"

Sidetracked again.

Holiday -- From "Holy Day"

The holidays can be a little tricky. Expectations are high. This is generally problematic with alcoholics who have made disappointment when high expectations are not met an art form. It's as if we have to be wondrously joyous because the time of the year calls for it. Does this mean we get to act poorly the rest of the year? I don't have the ability to turn my joyiosity on and off like a light. Personally I think it would be a lot easier to behave pretty well most of the time than to be really, really good for a couple of weeks at the end of the year. I don't like being really good. It doesn't come to me naturally.

I attended my wife's holiday party last weekend. It was the worst holiday party that I have ever attended for a whole variety of reasons. Mostly it was the tension between people who don't normally get along all that well but were forced to socialize at an event where being wondrously joyous was required. There was a lot of uncomfortable conversation over the bad beef and creme brulee. The president showed up an hour late and made his "Go get 'em" speech at the end of the dinner, when the drinkers were drunk and half the crowd had left. The manager told me that he was being sued for sexual harassment. He didn't invite the employees he didn't like to the company Christmas party.

At one job I held the owner made his employees exchange names and buy each other a gift. In an ironic twist of fate (remember: God has a great sense of humor) he got my name. "What do you want?" he asked me. "How about you don't act like such a jerk?" I wanted to say. He bought me the kind of shirt that he liked to wear in his favorite color. "Gee, thanks," I said. I'm still polishing the car with it.

I'm not trying to poop all over the holidays. I enjoy them as much as the next person, as long as I don't have to do anything that I don't want to do.

Santa is hip to my bullshit.

Ho! Ho! Ack!

So the holidays are upon us. This time of the year always presents me with a wonderful opportunity to be venomous, self-righteous, and openly critical. And I'm not sure why, either. The holidays are a perfectly fine concept, when they are executed properly, which they usually are not. It seems to me that a lot of people try to jam a whole year's worth of good cheer into a couple of weeks. This is not only impossible, it usually makes everything worse as harried shoppers try to live up to an impossible ideal that exists in some holiday fable written long ago, in a simpler time, by a delusional opium addict.

I try not to buy into this madness. For a while, I raged against the machine. I was vociferously anti-holiday. I behaved like an enraged, psychotic elf. All this did no good. The holidays marched on inexorably. I stopped nothing. Nobody is interested in some horse-faced dude trying to rain on their parade.

The last few years I have tried experimenting with my own personal holiday spirit. This year I reflected on some people who made my life better by just being nice to me. There are a lot of people like that, believe it or not. I know, I know, it's a weird subset of the human race,but there are people out there who are pleasant by nature. When I'm pleasant people wonder what I'm trying to get out of them.

I thought about the coffee shop manager who has my drink ready every morning; the woman at the membership desk of my swim club who took the time to remember my name; the mailman who rings the doorbell when a letter doesn't fit in the box , instead of tossing it on the ground, which is what I would have done. I stuck a few bucks in envelopes and started passing them out. It's not the amount of money which is important. Well, it's a little important. Don't try this with $1 bills and expect a big smile, but don't bankrupt yourself, either.

I was surprised at the reactions. Apparently a lot of people don't do this.

My friend Shorty was quick to point out that if I was truly humble -- which I am not -- I would have done this anonymously. He spends a lot of time pointing out my defects. He is also very generous with my money. He has offered to deliver the envelopes himself, promising to give me the credit.

There will be no envelope under Shorty's Christmas tree this year.

Serenity Stan, We Hardly Knew Ye

I got a note the other day from Serenity Stan relating an incident in his family that placed him squarely between two people who weren't behaving all that well. Not that Stan behaves all that well himself but that's a topic for another discussion. I probably shouldn't be sharing this story without first checking with Serenity Stan (heretofore to be referred to as S.S. or "the plaintiff") but that's the beauty of semi-anonymous blogging. You can behave in a semi-principled manner, which would be a big upgrade from the barely-principled manner that is my normal method of operation. Not that Stan is his real name or that he has any serenity at all or that anyone outside of his very small group of friends cares anything about him, it's just that it's the principle of the thing.

One of the best reasons for talking regularly with people who haven't been sober as long as I have is that I get to pretend that I know what I'm talking about. And I can give advice that isn't very good to people who don't believe what I'm saying and wouldn't do what I suggest even if they did. It makes me feel older and wiser, even though I'm basically older and not that much wiser. Getting old means that you've done almost every stupid thing at least twice and can explain how painful the consequences were to the person who is not listening to you and probably isn't savvy enough to pick up on the moral of the story. Not that he would act on the moral of the story anyway, which is how it should be. We all have earned the right to behave stupidly and learn hard lessons from severe consequences. It's what separates us from the animals, after all. Except for cats who apparently have a propensity for sitting on hot stoves from time to time.

S.S. was a champ, by the way. He wrote down all of the things that he wanted to say to the misbehavers, then burned the note, ate the ashes, and buried his scat in the backyard, thus saving himself a lot of additional pain. We got to console and irritate each other with the phrase: "You're the one with the Program." We got to remind each other that, as sick people ourselves, we do well to remember that there are a lot of other sick people in the world. Alcoholics don't have the market cornered on sick, although we do a good job of merchandising it.

"When a person offended we said to ourselves: 'This is a sick man. How can I be helpful to him? God save me from being angry. Thy will be done.' "

Conundrum: Any puzzling question or problem.


I used to think that questions such as: "Where the hell is my car?" or "Where the hell is my wallet?" or "Who the hell are you?" were examples of conundrums. I've grown older and wiser. Well, older anyway; wiser is a matter of opinion. Where my stash ended up is not a conundrum. Why I no longer have a front bumper is not a conundrum. These are factual events whose details have been obscured by the fog of alcohol and drugs. Big difference.


I do admit to being confused at times by the matter of personal responsibility. I have a friend in The Program whose sponsor used to answer his phone calls with: "It's not them -- it's you." The Program suggests that if I want to see the person responsible I should look in the mirror. So I figure it's all about me.


Then The Program tells me that if I try to do this alone that my goose is cooked. To drive home the point the First Step begins with the word "We." Then all of the other Steps use the third person plural freely and with no regrets. Everything is we this or us that. So I figure that I'm not supposed to do this by myself.

Hmm.

Most Excellent

Perfection: The quality or condition of being perfect; extreme degree of excellence according to a given standard.

Today I am going to do everything perfectly. I am not going to make any mistakes. Not one. Moreover, I'm going to hold everyone else that I come into contact with to this highest of standards. In fact, I'm going to devote most of my time to evaluating the relative perfection of the rest of the world. Why spend time on myself since I make very few mistakes? And, since I'm sacrificing my own very, very valuable time to this pursuit -- staring into space and watching TV and the like -- it only makes sense that I point out your mistakes.

And, no matter what I manage to accomplish, it's not going to be enough. I'm going to feel bad about it. I'm going to beat myself up for not doing more. Then I'm going to take out my frustrations with myself on you, by pointing out what you've done wrong, even if you haven't done anything wrong. I don't let facts get in the way of my justified anger. Facts can be an inconvenient roadblock when I'm trying to make myself feel better by making you feel worse.

Time to give myself a break. Time to give everyone else a break.

Are We There Yet?

Happy: Having, showing, or causing a feeling of great pleasure, contentment, joy, etc.; joyous; glad; pleased.

Now we're talking: "great pleasure." I like the sound of that. Contentment really doesn't have the kick that I like. Great pleasure sounds like a double shot of whiskey; contentment sounds like half a glass of wine once in a while on a special occasion. Joy is something you do in church or at a high school pep rally: sing joyous songs, rejoice joyfully, spread glad tidings of great joy, etc. I'm not into gladness or being pleased, either. I don't know what those words mean and I'm not looking them up. They sound like they should be in a Robert Frost poem, not a hard rock bar at 2AM. People aren't pleased when they are screaming for an encore. They are pumped, stoked, revved up.

I like to complicate things. I like big emotions. I like to be on top of the world, riding a monster wave. I like to move at high speed. I don't want to do the little things so that everything works out in the long run. I don't like to do the work. I want everything to come easily and have a big payoff.

These are not the ramblings emanating from a sane, mature state of mind. Most people learn these things as they age normally. I got stuck as a 17 year old. I didn't learn how to move past my own self interest. I couldn't grasp the idea that happiness comes when I lose myself in service to others and in pursuit of spiritual growth.

It's Not as Complicated as I Make It

Happy: Favored by circumstances; lucky; fortunate.

I spend a lot of time trying to get happy, wondering if I'm happy right now, and planning for future happiness. It is my second favorite pursuit. Nothing gets anywhere near my interest in avoiding pain. That's the 800 lb. gorilla in the room. Pain beats the shit out of happy. I would much rather escape the clutches of pain than be cradled in the soft blanket of happiness. Little kids are happy. Puppies are happy. They just are -- they don't have to spend every waking minute trying to be happy, like I do, except when I'm not running like hell from pain.

Every now and then I'm grateful for The Program. It doesn't come easily but I do get there from time to time. The Program has provided me with quite a good road map for achieving some of that reasonable happiness. And, to my great surprise, it's not the accumulation of sex, money, and power, despite the strong urges that I have to get a lot of that stuff.

People that are happy have a logical sense of what the world is all about. They have a concept of a power greater than themselves. They are part of a community of people that think life is made up of more than the pursuit of self-interest. They have some regard for their mental, emotional, and physical health. They try to do things for the common good, to think of others, to help others.

Where in the world can I find some people like that?

More Bad News

Hardship: Hard circumstances of life; a thing hard to bear; specific cause of discomfort or suffering, as poverty, pain, etc.

"Accepting hardship as a pathway to Peace."


I personally would rather be infused with peace while I sleep. I want to be struck peaceful. I want peace to hit me like a Mack truck. I want to find myself in a bright beam of white light, and then feel an overwhelming sense of peace. This seems to be the simplest and least painful way to get some peace. I don't want to suffer to gain some peace of mind. Who comes up with this stuff? Hardship? Discomfort? Pain? Let's string that guy up by his ankles and watch him turn blue.


This Reinhold Niebuhr guy really wants to lodge a chicken bone in my craw. I'm all about the not suffering. That's my whole philosophy of life: avoiding pain. This is why a lot of us move from beer to hard liquor, or from weed to crack. We want to feel better -- a LOT better -- RIGHT NOW. We don't want to suffer so that we can be reasonably happy. We don't want to suffer at all. Ever. For any reason. We don't want suffering to interfere with euphoria. We prefer euphoria. When given a choice, we always pick euphoria.

I think if I write the word euphoria once more, it'll be a little over the top.

Euphoria.

Reasonably Happy

Reasonable: Not extreme; sensible; sane.


Let's take a bit of time to really criticize the shit out of some of the most frustrating parts of the prayer. One of the lines that grabbed me by the throat was the one containing the phrase "reasonably happy." I only have a passing acquaintance with reason. The concepts of sensibility, sanity, and moderation are alien to me. I don't want reasonable happiness. I want to be extremely happy. I want to be euphorically happy. I want life to be a shot of heroin, not a nice cup of herbal tea.


Coded somewhere deep in my alcoholic DNA is the belief that I can always be very, very happy and that pain is strictly optional. This is not normal programming. This is programming performed by a rogue hacker who is trying to crash the whole system. This is a computer infected with a virus and a worm, then set on fire and thrown out a second story window into heavy truck traffic. Even if this was normal programming -- which I will emphasize again that it is not -- life on life's terms will do some reprogramming.

Not extreme. Sensible! Sane. It's funny how often the concepts of sanity and insanity come up when we are discussing the behavior of alcoholics.

The Serenity Prayer Unabridged

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.
Courage to change the things that I can.
And wisdom to know the difference.



OK, fair enough. The Serenity Prayer as we know it, which was called The Acceptance Prayer when Reinhold Niebuhr wrote it in the early 30s. Sorry, Program-oids, but Bill Wilson didn't have anything to do with this one. Pretty irritating but most of us have coughed it out once or twice, even though praying for serenity, courage, and wisdom to be more accepting seems to be a waste of good prayer time.

Did you know there is more? The long version. Kind of like Inna Gadda Da Vida.

Living one day at a time.
Accepting hardship as a pathway to Peace.
Taking this sinful world as it is,
Not as I would have it.
Trusting
that You will make all things right
If I surrender to your will,
So that I may be
Reasonably happy

In this life and
Supremely happy with You forever in the next.

I did perform a couple of minor edits, removing an overtly religious word or two, even though Reverend Niebuhr was an ordained Protestant evangelical, who could reasonably be expected to talk about religious matters. Like most people in the world, in my humble opinion, he is not "doing it right."

I'm going to eyeball this train wreck a little more closely.

I Can't Hear You If I'm Talking

Hear: To listen to and consider; specifically, to take notice of; pay attention to.

Being a judgemental, self-righteous, know-it-all spiritual giant, it's awfully difficult for me to find anyone who can help me in any manner whatsoever. And I'm comfortable including any God, Higher Power, or Supreme Being of the Universe in this rather broad statement. I'm pretty much OK on my own.

That being said I do try to pay attention at meetings long enough to pick up at least one or two things that I can put to practical use in my life. It's not easy. I don't have too many questions. I have a lot of answers, mainly. Good answers, too, not just stuff that I've made up. There's not too much that I don't know and even less that I'll seek advice for.

Acceptance can be as simple as showing unconditional love by listening to others speak. I can't listen when I'm talking. I can't listen when I'm preparing my speech. I can learn new things when I listen to what others say, and this includes people that annoy or irritate me from time to time, which is pretty much everybody, especially people who remind me of myself. These people are poisonous.