Thinking About Acting

Think: To form or have in the mind.

I like hearing from people who work The Steps. I like it more than actually working The Steps myself. I do not, however, mind thinking about working them. If I have to be personally involved with The Steps in some capacity thinking is the way to go. Otherwise listening to some one else who works The Steps is the next best thing.

If I'm not working The Steps I'm not doing anything, really. I'm just hanging out with some moderately pleasant people who don't drink any more. While it's an accomplishment it doesn't necessarily produce an attractive individual. There are a lot of jerks who don't drink. It's The Steps that make us cool. Working The Steps inevitably leads me to service which, I believe, is my higher calling.

And by service, I mean getting the service, not being of service.

That's for suckers.

Quirky Feedback

Quirk: A peculiarity, peculiar trait, or mannerism

As a general rule, I don't care what people think of me. While I don't go out of my way to act like an ass anymore -- it comes so naturally that I don't have to make a special effort -- I don't do the chameleon, presto-chango, Horseface Steve becomes DonkeyHead Don becomes MuleTeeth Mike thing, either. I used to break my back trying to make sure everyone loved me. And if someone didn't like me or I thought someone didn't like me -- perception being 9/10s of the law -- I would become obsessed with changing their opinion. I LOVE people who don't like me. They're my favorite kind of people. I'm drawn to them like a moth to a flame.

So somebody looked at the house yesterday and didn't like it. They called it "quirky." Probably, the real estate agent responsible for the "feedback" (translation: I don't remember what my customers said and it's really not that important to me to help you out) made some stuff up to get us off the phone.

"Quirky?" I said. "What the hell does that mean? The house isn't quirky."
"No. No, of course not," SuperK said, eyeing my pork pie hat and long, grey hair flying all over the place. "Why would you like something that's quirky?"

I kind of took it personally. Which is funny because ordinarily, if you said you didn't like my house, I'd think: Who the hell cares what you like? Now it's an extension of me. And money is involved.

Money money money money.

Stimulation

Stimulus: A goad, sting, torment, pang, spur, incentive.

SuperK and I put our house up for sale. We are not really sure why. It's a thing to do, I guess. I'm not that hip on the process but I'm guessing that if someone buys it, then I have to move, which seems like it would be a big pain in the ass, especially since I don't have anywhere specific to go.

"Maybe we could move in with my mother for a while," I suggested.
"Where did I put my murdering ax?" she muttered.

I believe my comment the last time we moved was something along the lines of "never doing this ever again." Alcoholics love pain, I think, because then we have an excuse to blot it out or handle it or blame it on someone else.

Actually, it's exciting. It's fun to try new things. I'm not afraid of a little chaos. It's so . . . stimulating. It doesn't always work out the way I want it to but I'm almost never sorry that I gave something a whirl. All those years sitting in dark bars and dark rooms, bathed in the glow of the television box, thinking great thoughts and dreaming great dreams.

The trick for me is to be careful that I'm not planning outcomes.

The Big Rubber Band

Rubber Check: a check that is worthless because of insufficient funds in the drawer's account (from the notion that it "bounces").

I watched a documentary once about aircraft carriers. Not to be too technical about it, but my understanding of the process of launching the planes off the deck of the carrier is that the army men move the plane into position, hook a Big Rubber Band onto the back of it, then fling it off the end of the ship like they're operating a big sling shot. It must be quite a thrill to be in one of those planes.

After they hook up to the Big Rubber Band but before they get flung the jets lock their brakes and rev their engines up to full power, preparing to "floor it" when the army men activate the Big Rubber Band and the pilots take their foot off the brake, or whatever they have their foot on to make sure the plane stays put. I'm sure I've made the process a little more complicated than it actually is but you get the picture.

This is what I used to do as I nodded off at red lights late at night. "Why won't this car go forward?" I'd think, as I sat there with one foot on the brake and one foot on the gas and one foot on the clutch, listening to the engine make horrible noises that I couldn't easily explain.

"Wow, that's me," I remarked to SuperK.

"What's you?" she asked. "The plane that you can't fly or the boat that you can't sail?"

I feel like that jet most of the time. I feel like my engine is cranked up to full power and I'm ready to blast off. Most days I wake up in the morning, open my eyes, and I'm already at full power. And my rubber band shoots me right into the day irregardless of what's in front of me. It's OK when my jet is pointed in the right direction; it's less fun when there's a brick wall in front of me, or someone else's jet airplane. Sometimes there's a brick wall in a bramble patch hidden by some sticker bushes.

"No! NO!" I shout to the army men. "Hang on to the Big Rubber Band!"

Whoosh.

Advice or Just Vice?

"Live and Let Live" has got to be one of the most irritating of the many irritating slogans that can be seen in the frames that hang on the walls of so many meetings all over the world. For someone like me who has a brilliant insight on how everyone else should live their lives it is particularly frustrating. None of the slogans apply to me, and this one is no exception. I'm sure that it's disappointing for other people, too, and it's the feelings of other people that are most important to me, assuming that I have some spare time after I'm done thinking about myself, which is a rare and unusual occurrence. It's a full time job thinking about myself.

After all, I've been so successful managing my own life that I feel the need to help you manage yours. Give me a call if you want to learn how to throw up properly; lose, wreck, or sleep in a car; or to alienate everybody else who comes within a 100 miles of you -- these are my three areas of expertise. I'm like the neighbor who steps out of his burning house that has been sinking into a swamp to help you understand the finer points of Bonsai gardening.

"Uh, any plans to replace the roof on your house?" my neighbors would ask. "Or the front door?"

Busy bodies.

Today I figure if someone wants my advice that they'll ask for it.

No one ever asks for it.

I don't ask any of my friends for advice and I have some pretty cool friends. When I do ask for advice, I never do anything that anyone suggests, so they have pretty much given up dispensing any suggestions.

Why in the world would I think I can run someone else's life? I can't remember if I've actually said something or just thought it.

Familia

One of the most famous stories in our main text is about this dude who owned a pair of Reverse Glasses when he was drinking. This particular pair of spectacles magnified defects and marginalized attributes. I have owned a few pairs of glasses like that in my time. I'm very good at noticing defects but only when they're not my defects. I'm oblivious to any shortcomings I may have -- and I'm emphasizing the may part. I'm not admitting to anything. I can't see where I fall short and I don't think anyone else notices either. I can pick up the slightest flaw in sombody at 500 paces, in a blinding ice-storm, as I pass over in a supersonic jet breaking the sound barrier.

I am aware of the fact that I inherited my father's prickly temper and my mother's tendency to pessimism and melancholia. That woman can generate fear where no fear has existed before. When I'm with my family I'm hyper-aware of these tendencies, which makes me mad, then afraid, then depressed. Talk about buttons being pushed. Eventually, if I'm not careful, all I can see are the defects, which is hardly fair to these good and decent people. It's like when I'm at a meeting and someone I can't stand starts to talk. I can't block out even one word. It's very frustrating.

The funny thing is that I'm really pretty happy with the person that I've become in my sobriety, and my folks are obviously a big part of this. If you install the crappy buttons you also install the cool buttons. I can't blame someone else for my defects while taking the credit for all of the good things. Well, I can, and I do, but I shouldn't.

I've been trying to step back and concentrate on the positive.

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall

Mirror: To reflect, as in a mirror; give or show a likeness.

One thing I find interesting about myself is how easily I can justify behavior when I perceive that it's in my own self-interest. I can behave well, poorly, and all levels in between and rationalize what I'm doing until the cows come home, even though I don't have any cows or any place to keep them and, frankly, I'm scared to death of cows. They're huge animals. I won't even get started with bulls.

While alcoholics can get all jiggy with self-justification we don't have the market cornered on the practice. I see people act one way then say something altogether different, oblivious to the hypocrisy. I try to stay wary of leveling criticism at others; all too often I find the same behavior in myself. I like to stay aware of the concept that if someone upsets me then I better do a spot check inventory.

This is why.

I'm the Decider

Decision: The bringing to an end of vacillation, doubt, dispute, etc. by making up one's mind as to an action, course, or judgment.

I don't make very good decisions.

To be sure, my decision making process has gotten much better, but it's still a work in progress. I'm very selfish and I react too quickly, especially when I'm emotionally over-wrought, which is my specialty. You can paint a pretty good picture of me by adding prefixes like "hyper" and "quasi" and "super," as in: "That was a super stupid thing to do."

This is why I'm always communicating with people in recovery. It's like a big braking system, a big panel of highly qualified experts helping me to see the truth and the folly in whatever I'm thinking about. My brain has the ability to take a normal thought and corrupt it. I'm rash and defensive and arrogant.

My buddies don't tell me what to do. They barely know what they need to do. They don't have to tell me what to do. I can see it in their faces, hear it in their voices.

I need a lot of help with all of this stuff.