Of Fairies and Layla and Paperback Writers

Yesterday I started off playing the riff to “Smoke on the Water.” Today, I think I’ll try “Layla” or maybe “Paperback Writer.” I realize that I’m dating myself by referencing these old songs, but I can't seem to stop. Layla! You got me on my knees!

What's funny is that I seem to keep coming back, over and over, to a few concepts that are important to me. While I’m eternally in search of the easier, softer way I want it to be very complicated and arcane. That way I can pretend that I don’t understand the instructions or that I’m somehow smarter than you or better informed on a particular topic, like How to Stay Sober. The other issue is that I’m so distracted by unimportant things -- And I want to be a paperback writer. Paperback writer! Paperback writerrrrrrr!! -- that I can’t remember what I did yesterday, so I repeat myself, saying the same things again and again, making the exact same point.

At this moment I’m in the back of a conference room attending a seminar. I’m supposed to be assisting the instructor. Clearly, my assistance is not too impressive.

Anyway, the riff today is that my problems are very rarely that important. For instance, the economy is not great right now so the money that I have saved for retirement in my 401K has lost value. And the housing market is just as bad so I suspect that my home isn’t worth as much as it was when I bought it. My sponsor asked: “Are you trying to sell your house?” When I admitted that I wasn’t he asked: “So what do you care?”

The acid test today is whether or not I can bring up a problem as a topic at my jail meeting. I didn’t know what a 401K was when I was drinking. I certainly didn’t have any money to invest for my retirement. If I had money I was investing it in the retirement account of my local drug dealer or helping finance the guy who owned the corner bar. I didn’t have a house, either or a car or anything else. Today I have a nice house and I’m making the payments on it, mostly on time if I’m not too distracted by old, not that good rock and roll songs to remember to write a check, which is no sure thing. The mortgage holder is happy to collect late fees so they don’t seem to mind too much.

Fairies wear boots and ya gotta believe me!
I saw it, I saw it with my own two eyes.
Fairies wear boots and ya gotta believe me!
Yeaaaaaahhhhhh!

Ozzie was no poet.