If: Expressing a supposition, condition, or hypothesis; on condition that; in case that; supposing that: as if I come, I'll see him.
It's not about me.
If it's not about me, then who is it about? You? I don't think so. If it's not me then it sure as shit isn't about you. It isn't about anyone else within a hundred miles of me, either. It may be about someone a continent over but I even have my doubts about that.
If it's not about me . . . and that's a huge If . . . then it's not about anybody.
In case that it's not me. I like that turn of a phrase better. It sounds like the only way it can't be about me is on the condition that something terrible would then happen. In case of fire, break glass, that sort of thing. In case we have a nuclear attack, put your head between your knees and kiss your ass goodbye.
Anyway, semantics aside, the point is that I need to spend my day today making sure that everyone else has fun. It's not to make sure that I have fun because when I do that then I trample all over everyone else's fun and I have very little fun myself.
I tried a new meeting this morning. It's a pretty big meeting so I didn't get to talk which is to the group's detriment because clearly I'm the smartest, funniest, most insightful and humblest person there and everyone's life would be enriched immeasurably if I spoke, at length. In the past I'd get a big honking resentment about this but today I know what to do. I made a beeline for the two guys who indicated that they had under 30 days of sobriety. That's who I need to talk to because they are so completely not interested in me that it does me a lot of good.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Ball o' Confusion!
Contradict: To be contrary; go against.
I am a perfectionist. I get a lot done and I do much of it well but I'm never satisfied with anything once I'm finished. I am a man who tends to the dark side. I'm not especially uncomfortable there, either. It can be an oddly satisfying place to hang out with all of the doom and fog and heavy metal chords. I have a lot of energy; this is a politically correct way to say that I'm restless. We're not going to discuss irritability and dis-contentedness at the moment. I'm self-absorbed but I listen well. I have a lot of empathy for other people - not sympathy, which is a condescending word - but empathy. I feel their pain even though I don't care what happens to them unless it then affects me in a way that I don't like. THEN I care. I'm pretty calm until I start throwing punches and hurling invective. I believe in a god or series of gods; unfortunately, I think that many of them are me. I exercise and read and think overly much about myself, worrying that I won't get what I want or that I'll lose something that I already have. I don't worry much about the future where terrible things are going to happen to me and those that I love; I'm at peace with the past as I lay awake at night and worry about all of the bridges that I burned behind me, returning occasionally to bomb and dynamite the rubble. I'm happy and gloomy and positive and negative.
Ball o' confusion! That's what the world is today!
I am a perfectionist. I get a lot done and I do much of it well but I'm never satisfied with anything once I'm finished. I am a man who tends to the dark side. I'm not especially uncomfortable there, either. It can be an oddly satisfying place to hang out with all of the doom and fog and heavy metal chords. I have a lot of energy; this is a politically correct way to say that I'm restless. We're not going to discuss irritability and dis-contentedness at the moment. I'm self-absorbed but I listen well. I have a lot of empathy for other people - not sympathy, which is a condescending word - but empathy. I feel their pain even though I don't care what happens to them unless it then affects me in a way that I don't like. THEN I care. I'm pretty calm until I start throwing punches and hurling invective. I believe in a god or series of gods; unfortunately, I think that many of them are me. I exercise and read and think overly much about myself, worrying that I won't get what I want or that I'll lose something that I already have. I don't worry much about the future where terrible things are going to happen to me and those that I love; I'm at peace with the past as I lay awake at night and worry about all of the bridges that I burned behind me, returning occasionally to bomb and dynamite the rubble. I'm happy and gloomy and positive and negative.
Ball o' confusion! That's what the world is today!
Friday, June 22, 2012
Seriously.
Staying in the moment - simple and surprisingly difficult and one of the keys to my serenity. And also way up on there on my list is trying to generate a little $#!! gratitude for all of the amazing blessings that I have. I'm not sure why this is so difficult for me and most of the drunks I know. Hell, it's difficult for a lot of people, drunks or not. Life can be scary and difficult and it's hard to get down with the good stuff. But seriously, c'mon.
It makes me laugh to think that I have to make a Gratitude List every morning and say it out loud. Dude, seriously? You get up in the morning and you can't naturally work up any gratitude as you sit right in the middle of an unbelievable embarrassment of riches?
Dude.
It makes me laugh to think that I have to make a Gratitude List every morning and say it out loud. Dude, seriously? You get up in the morning and you can't naturally work up any gratitude as you sit right in the middle of an unbelievable embarrassment of riches?
Dude.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Not Good Yet
Tolerate: To recognize and respect (other's beliefs, practices, etc.) without necessarily agreeing or sympathizing.
I'm in a meeting this morning and the guy who chaired Did It Wrong. This is inexcusable. This is a capital offence. Powerful empires have been overthrown for less. The published format is for the chairperson to speak for about 5 minutes to establish an alcoholism related topic. We actually read that before we start the meeting. It's written down in ink and we read it out loud so obviously what happened today has happened before; namely, the dreaded mini-lead. This is bad enough when the speaker has a significant chunk of time allotted in which to speak, but when time is short it becomes quite difficult. Who thinks that they can tell their life story and how they got sober AND what their recovery means to them in 5 minutes? This guy and me, apparently.
Anyway, after about 20 minutes I picked up my coat and left, like the rude asshole that I am. I was going to begin screaming if I had to listen to him say one more word. I didn't think the situation through very well, however, because SuperK stayed in the room like the polite human being that she is, and she had the keys to our apartment. After about 15 more minutes of wandering around the deserted clubhouse - this was a 6:30 AM meeting - I went back upstairs, figuring I could listen to other people share in the aftermath of the mini-lead and get in half a meeting at least. As I cracked open the door to the room, I could hear that the guy was still speaking. I scuttled away, like a cockroach.
While my character defects aren't quite as insistent as they used to be they're clearly still active. I was impatient and intolerant and angry, and this was in a meeting where I go to be peaceful and recover. My behavior didn't bode well for any upcoming interactions I might have with irritating Earth People.
When I lived in The Old City there was a woman there who drove me to distraction. I ran into her every week at this big meeting that I attended, and she felt the need to share every time. When she started to talk I invariably got up and went to the bathroom, not because I had to pee, but because I did not want to her this woman talk. I stood in there until I could hear that someone else had begun to share. This woman, in all honesty, irritated a lot of other members, but I NEVER ran into anyone else in the bathroom that didn't have to pee. Apparently, I was more intolerant, impatient, and angry that anyone else who attended this large meeting.
This is not making me sound too good.
I'm in a meeting this morning and the guy who chaired Did It Wrong. This is inexcusable. This is a capital offence. Powerful empires have been overthrown for less. The published format is for the chairperson to speak for about 5 minutes to establish an alcoholism related topic. We actually read that before we start the meeting. It's written down in ink and we read it out loud so obviously what happened today has happened before; namely, the dreaded mini-lead. This is bad enough when the speaker has a significant chunk of time allotted in which to speak, but when time is short it becomes quite difficult. Who thinks that they can tell their life story and how they got sober AND what their recovery means to them in 5 minutes? This guy and me, apparently.
Anyway, after about 20 minutes I picked up my coat and left, like the rude asshole that I am. I was going to begin screaming if I had to listen to him say one more word. I didn't think the situation through very well, however, because SuperK stayed in the room like the polite human being that she is, and she had the keys to our apartment. After about 15 more minutes of wandering around the deserted clubhouse - this was a 6:30 AM meeting - I went back upstairs, figuring I could listen to other people share in the aftermath of the mini-lead and get in half a meeting at least. As I cracked open the door to the room, I could hear that the guy was still speaking. I scuttled away, like a cockroach.
While my character defects aren't quite as insistent as they used to be they're clearly still active. I was impatient and intolerant and angry, and this was in a meeting where I go to be peaceful and recover. My behavior didn't bode well for any upcoming interactions I might have with irritating Earth People.
When I lived in The Old City there was a woman there who drove me to distraction. I ran into her every week at this big meeting that I attended, and she felt the need to share every time. When she started to talk I invariably got up and went to the bathroom, not because I had to pee, but because I did not want to her this woman talk. I stood in there until I could hear that someone else had begun to share. This woman, in all honesty, irritated a lot of other members, but I NEVER ran into anyone else in the bathroom that didn't have to pee. Apparently, I was more intolerant, impatient, and angry that anyone else who attended this large meeting.
This is not making me sound too good.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
A Good Game Plan
Moderation: A moderating, or bringing within bounds; avoidance of excesses or extremes; absence of violence; calmness.
How about this for a game plan for today . . .
I'm not a piece of garbage and I'm not the Supreme Ruler of the Universe, although from time to time, with disturbing frequency, I think that I'm one or the other. One of my many, many pejorative nicknames over the years has been All or Nothing Seaweed. Not that any one ever called me that; it's more like a nickname that I just made up. I've been hoping for a nickname more along the lines of Serenity Seaweed or Soothing Serenity Seaweed but I'm not having much luck in that department, seeing as I'm not often serene and am rarely soothing.
I try to think of myself as important but not indispensable. I'm a tiny, tiny part of a large, complicated piece of machinery and my goal should be to help the machine run smoothly today. I do my job, helping the other tiny but important parts to do theirs. I try to make myself better and this seems to make some of the other parts better, too.
I believe that every character defect that I possessed when I came into The Program I still have today. The good thing is that the heat under most of them has been turned down; they're still on the stove but they're only simmering. Every now and then I turn the heat up to Max Power and scald a pot or two to keep things interesting but mostly they're lurking in the background, like evil little cousins.
I don't know what I'm talking about, either.
How about this for a game plan for today . . .
I'm not a piece of garbage and I'm not the Supreme Ruler of the Universe, although from time to time, with disturbing frequency, I think that I'm one or the other. One of my many, many pejorative nicknames over the years has been All or Nothing Seaweed. Not that any one ever called me that; it's more like a nickname that I just made up. I've been hoping for a nickname more along the lines of Serenity Seaweed or Soothing Serenity Seaweed but I'm not having much luck in that department, seeing as I'm not often serene and am rarely soothing.
I try to think of myself as important but not indispensable. I'm a tiny, tiny part of a large, complicated piece of machinery and my goal should be to help the machine run smoothly today. I do my job, helping the other tiny but important parts to do theirs. I try to make myself better and this seems to make some of the other parts better, too.
I believe that every character defect that I possessed when I came into The Program I still have today. The good thing is that the heat under most of them has been turned down; they're still on the stove but they're only simmering. Every now and then I turn the heat up to Max Power and scald a pot or two to keep things interesting but mostly they're lurking in the background, like evil little cousins.
I don't know what I'm talking about, either.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Old Man Seaweed
Meditate: A word that suggests quiet, deep meditation.
Sometimes I get up and the river is just flowing on by. It hasn't vanished, leaving a rocky arroyo in its place, and me all dusty and wild-eyed, sitting on a stone; and it's not a rushing torrent sweeping my birch wood canoe over the rocks. I heard a woman share about going to a favorite spot in the mountains from time to time and sitting by a stream. She notes which way the stream is flowing. Up until now it has been flowing from left to right, heading downhill. If it's still flowing from left to right, heading downhill, the next time she visits, she's comforted. When the stream begins to go the other way then she'll know that something's up. Until then, she assumes that the world's still operating normally. Normal can be reassuring.
I believe that my meditation helps me out here. Sometimes my mind is moving at the same speed as the river. Usually, however, I'm either exposed to the blasting sunshine in my beached canoe, stranded high and dry, or hanging onto the gunwales as the thing rockets downstream, out of control.
I don't find that I'm often caught up in the tragedies and mistakes of the past anymore; I'm not afraid to look at who I was and what happened. I've worked through that stuff; I'm done with it. I'm not as good at staying out of the future but I'm a good sight better than I used to be. I'm not often quaking with terror, imagining all of the bad stuff that could happen, having learned by experience that what I think is bad often leads to something good, but I confess to worrying over much that I'm not going to get what I want. And I find that my connections to the physical stuff of the world: people, things, stuff, is on a constant ebb. I like it but I'm not owned by it.
This is why I meditate. Not because I have a natural aptitude for it, I'll tell you that much.
Seaweed in the river.
Sometimes I get up and the river is just flowing on by. It hasn't vanished, leaving a rocky arroyo in its place, and me all dusty and wild-eyed, sitting on a stone; and it's not a rushing torrent sweeping my birch wood canoe over the rocks. I heard a woman share about going to a favorite spot in the mountains from time to time and sitting by a stream. She notes which way the stream is flowing. Up until now it has been flowing from left to right, heading downhill. If it's still flowing from left to right, heading downhill, the next time she visits, she's comforted. When the stream begins to go the other way then she'll know that something's up. Until then, she assumes that the world's still operating normally. Normal can be reassuring.
I believe that my meditation helps me out here. Sometimes my mind is moving at the same speed as the river. Usually, however, I'm either exposed to the blasting sunshine in my beached canoe, stranded high and dry, or hanging onto the gunwales as the thing rockets downstream, out of control.
I don't find that I'm often caught up in the tragedies and mistakes of the past anymore; I'm not afraid to look at who I was and what happened. I've worked through that stuff; I'm done with it. I'm not as good at staying out of the future but I'm a good sight better than I used to be. I'm not often quaking with terror, imagining all of the bad stuff that could happen, having learned by experience that what I think is bad often leads to something good, but I confess to worrying over much that I'm not going to get what I want. And I find that my connections to the physical stuff of the world: people, things, stuff, is on a constant ebb. I like it but I'm not owned by it.
This is why I meditate. Not because I have a natural aptitude for it, I'll tell you that much.
Seaweed in the river.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Fun In The Shade
Part of the trouble I have with all of these fun people having so much fun is that it aggravates my expectation machine, suggesting that there are tons of ways that everyone else has fun and that I'm not doing any of them. I sit at the coffee shop in the sun and drink a cup of coffee and watch people walk by, judging most of them harshly. I do that a lot or whenever the sun shines. On cloudy days I sit in the shade. I also read the paper and write about how horrible it is that life is screwing me so completely. While I consider these very enjoyable, a pleasant past time, I get the impression that many people consider this non-productive fun, and there's nothing that I've found to be more productive than imagining all the bad things that come to people's minds when they're thinking about me.
I had fun today. Not a LOT of fun but I had fun.
I had fun today. Not a LOT of fun but I had fun.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Lively, Gay Play
Fun: Lively, gay play or playfulness; merriment; amusement; sport; recreation; joking.
The next time that some one says to me: "So . . . what do you do for fun?" I'm going to deck them. Out of nowhere, big round house sucker punch right on the nose. I've read that the nose is the place to target - soft, painful, incapacitates the other guy while not doing much damage to your hand. I've heard the mouth is no good - too many hard teeth. And this from a guy who's never been in a fight in his life.
"What do you do for fun?" is a comment from someone who is laying down the gauntlet. They don't give a shit what you do for fun - they're all wound up to tell you what they do for fun. It's kind of a fun-off, a fun competition. Our society is so competitive that we have to have more fun than the next guy. Everything's a race with us.
"Well, I had so much fucking fun today that I could barely stand it," I'm going to say next time. "I was paralyzed with overwhelming, knee-buckling fun. I'm having heart palpitations just thinking about much fucking fun I had, and I'm going to have even more fun tomorrow," I'd add, jabbing my finger in their chest.
If I'm really rolling I'll snort when they tell me what kind of fun they had. That'll show them.
The next time that some one says to me: "So . . . what do you do for fun?" I'm going to deck them. Out of nowhere, big round house sucker punch right on the nose. I've read that the nose is the place to target - soft, painful, incapacitates the other guy while not doing much damage to your hand. I've heard the mouth is no good - too many hard teeth. And this from a guy who's never been in a fight in his life.
"What do you do for fun?" is a comment from someone who is laying down the gauntlet. They don't give a shit what you do for fun - they're all wound up to tell you what they do for fun. It's kind of a fun-off, a fun competition. Our society is so competitive that we have to have more fun than the next guy. Everything's a race with us.
"Well, I had so much fucking fun today that I could barely stand it," I'm going to say next time. "I was paralyzed with overwhelming, knee-buckling fun. I'm having heart palpitations just thinking about much fucking fun I had, and I'm going to have even more fun tomorrow," I'd add, jabbing my finger in their chest.
If I'm really rolling I'll snort when they tell me what kind of fun they had. That'll show them.
Steadfast Seaweed
Steadfast: Constant; not changing, fickle, or wavering.
“Can
we steadfastly content ourselves with the humbler, yet sometimes more durable,
satisfactions when the brighter, more glittering achievements are denied us?”
I can say confidently that my life before I started recovery was not a huge lump of steadfastness. I was less than constant. I changed, I fickled, I wavered, oh my. I was not a fan of humble satisfactions. That sounds like a piece of dry toast to me. Durable is a washing machine, not a Ferrari, which glitters brightly.
Glitter: To be showy, colorful, and attractive.
This doesn't really describe me, either. A black trench coat and mirror sunglasses, at night, in a dark alcove of a dark bar playing dark music is not colorful. It was depressing and vaguely menacing.
Big, big Seaweed tries to get right-sized.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Deep Truths
From the "I Can Relate" Department . . .
Marge: "Homer, this is the worst thing that you've ever done."
Homer: "You've said that so many times that it has lost all meaning for me."
Marge: "Homer, this is the worst thing that you've ever done."
Homer: "You've said that so many times that it has lost all meaning for me."
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Simplicity
Simplicity: A simple state or quality, as of form or composition; freedom from intricacy or complexity.
I'm sure I've written about this topic before but I often forget the simplest truths, the ones that, for me, spell the difference between happiness, emotional sobriety, contentment, and their great nemesis, Restless Anxiety. I think of these truths sometimes and it's almost as if I've gotten an electric shock. The sense of wonder over the beauty of these simple rules for good living overwhelms me.
"That is so GREAT," I'll think. "How in the world could I have forgotten about that?"
I've been pondering the knowledge that I don't know what's best for me. Not even close. But I am so often convinced that I have a perfect understanding of what's best for me even though my experience is that I have almost no clue as to what's best for me. This helps remind me that I need to stay in today. I am perfectly equipped to handle this day. I'm like Robocop or the 6 Million Dollar Man or whatever passes for a super hero today - I've armed to the teeth with fantastic, futuristic weapons and tools, sheathed in impenetrable armor, and connected to the latest intelligence network. That's when I stay in today. When I go into tomorrow I'm a skinny old man in a ripped loincloth holding a limp carrot, facing Genghis Khan and his Mongol Horde.
I have to laugh - a weepy, chagrined laugh, not a pleasant belly laugh - at how much time I spend in the future trying to solve problems in the future. The thing is that future problems don't often become present problems. Present problems need to be addressed. Future problems are bullshit.
I'm sure I've written about this topic before but I often forget the simplest truths, the ones that, for me, spell the difference between happiness, emotional sobriety, contentment, and their great nemesis, Restless Anxiety. I think of these truths sometimes and it's almost as if I've gotten an electric shock. The sense of wonder over the beauty of these simple rules for good living overwhelms me.
"That is so GREAT," I'll think. "How in the world could I have forgotten about that?"
I've been pondering the knowledge that I don't know what's best for me. Not even close. But I am so often convinced that I have a perfect understanding of what's best for me even though my experience is that I have almost no clue as to what's best for me. This helps remind me that I need to stay in today. I am perfectly equipped to handle this day. I'm like Robocop or the 6 Million Dollar Man or whatever passes for a super hero today - I've armed to the teeth with fantastic, futuristic weapons and tools, sheathed in impenetrable armor, and connected to the latest intelligence network. That's when I stay in today. When I go into tomorrow I'm a skinny old man in a ripped loincloth holding a limp carrot, facing Genghis Khan and his Mongol Horde.
I have to laugh - a weepy, chagrined laugh, not a pleasant belly laugh - at how much time I spend in the future trying to solve problems in the future. The thing is that future problems don't often become present problems. Present problems need to be addressed. Future problems are bullshit.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Never Never Land
Dream: To spend in dreaming (with away or out); to imagine as possible; fancy; suppose.
My goal today is to acquire and then maintain, against all costs and facing insurmountable odds, a tenuous grasp on reality. For a German peasant I spend a lot of time in Never Never Land, lost in implausible flights of fancy.
Ed. Note: Neverland is the dwelling place of Peter Pan, Tinker Bell, and others. Although not all people in Neverland cease to age, it's best known resident famously refused to grow up, and it is often used as a metaphor for eternal childhood (and childishness), immortality, and escapism.
Little children and big alcoholics spend a lot of time in weird little fantasy worlds. It's OK to do some dreaming - the problems start when the dreaming takes the place of reality. These people are called INSANE people. We mention them at the end of our 3rd Step and suggest that we can restore some of their sanity, while being careful to note that the restoration project can take a long time and involve a huge amount of hard work.
All sound achievement is based on a vision of something.
I'm not making that up.
My goal today is to acquire and then maintain, against all costs and facing insurmountable odds, a tenuous grasp on reality. For a German peasant I spend a lot of time in Never Never Land, lost in implausible flights of fancy.
Ed. Note: Neverland is the dwelling place of Peter Pan, Tinker Bell, and others. Although not all people in Neverland cease to age, it's best known resident famously refused to grow up, and it is often used as a metaphor for eternal childhood (and childishness), immortality, and escapism.
Little children and big alcoholics spend a lot of time in weird little fantasy worlds. It's OK to do some dreaming - the problems start when the dreaming takes the place of reality. These people are called INSANE people. We mention them at the end of our 3rd Step and suggest that we can restore some of their sanity, while being careful to note that the restoration project can take a long time and involve a huge amount of hard work.
All sound achievement is based on a vision of something.
I'm not making that up.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Peasant Vs. Backpack
Out of nowhere this morning I asked SuperK: "Why do you think it is that I'm so restless?" For people who have been married a long time two of the most popular pastimes are criticizing your partner and baiting your partner into criticizing you so that you can go totally ballistic at the unfairness of being criticized without the slightest provocation. It's more fun than it sounds.
She plopped heavily into a chair. The poor woman never knows what's going to come out of my mouth, and I know how she feels. I don't know, either. I'm always thinking: "What? What am I talking about?" I could see her furtively feeling around in her pockets. I assume she was trying to find a small weapon of some sort, either to wing me or shoot herself or go up onto the sun deck of our tall building and start blasting away at birds and airplanes and anything else flying by.
Restless, restless, restless. Always looking for the next adventure or the next challenge. A chunk of this can be chalked up to my alcoholism. The Book talks about drunks working hard and long on some particular challenge only to get bored and distracted at the last minute and simply walk away.
I've always been embroiled in this existential death match between Midwestern German Peasant Seaweed - gets up, feeds the kids, hitches up the mule and starts plowing, in the rain, in the cold and snow, or on the most beautiful summer day imaginable, doesn't matter - and Delusional Hippie Seaweed - gets up, straps on a backpack, and heads off down the Silk Road to Tajikistan. It's a very fair fight between two very closely matched opponents who are actually on the same team, the dumb asses.
I've been in The New City for one and a half years. The transition was difficult but challenging, stimulating. I loved the challenge, mostly, but it was a lot of very hard work. I ripped my life up by the roots and then reconstructed it somewhere else. I wanted to do this. I'm glad I did it but, you know, I'm feeling a little established and it makes me a little nervous. The backpack is calling me. So I indulge my sweet tooth for change to satisfy Backpack Seaweed, work my ass off settling in and establishing the routine and stability that Peasant Seaweed craves, temporarily marginalizing Backpack, who is now getting restless and beginning to move in on Peasant's nice safe little existence.
"What do you do with your time?" people ask me. I understand the question - they want to hear times and dates and schedules and tasks. So much of our lives are consumed with work and child-rearing and completing things that we are clueless when all of that stops. I know some of them are in the clutches of their own inner Peasants, determined to keep Backpack at bay. Part of me gets nervous when I hear this. I feel like I'm not measuring up to some standard not of my own making.
Peasant is on top right now but Backpack is packin' some heat.
She plopped heavily into a chair. The poor woman never knows what's going to come out of my mouth, and I know how she feels. I don't know, either. I'm always thinking: "What? What am I talking about?" I could see her furtively feeling around in her pockets. I assume she was trying to find a small weapon of some sort, either to wing me or shoot herself or go up onto the sun deck of our tall building and start blasting away at birds and airplanes and anything else flying by.
Restless, restless, restless. Always looking for the next adventure or the next challenge. A chunk of this can be chalked up to my alcoholism. The Book talks about drunks working hard and long on some particular challenge only to get bored and distracted at the last minute and simply walk away.
I've always been embroiled in this existential death match between Midwestern German Peasant Seaweed - gets up, feeds the kids, hitches up the mule and starts plowing, in the rain, in the cold and snow, or on the most beautiful summer day imaginable, doesn't matter - and Delusional Hippie Seaweed - gets up, straps on a backpack, and heads off down the Silk Road to Tajikistan. It's a very fair fight between two very closely matched opponents who are actually on the same team, the dumb asses.
I've been in The New City for one and a half years. The transition was difficult but challenging, stimulating. I loved the challenge, mostly, but it was a lot of very hard work. I ripped my life up by the roots and then reconstructed it somewhere else. I wanted to do this. I'm glad I did it but, you know, I'm feeling a little established and it makes me a little nervous. The backpack is calling me. So I indulge my sweet tooth for change to satisfy Backpack Seaweed, work my ass off settling in and establishing the routine and stability that Peasant Seaweed craves, temporarily marginalizing Backpack, who is now getting restless and beginning to move in on Peasant's nice safe little existence.
"What do you do with your time?" people ask me. I understand the question - they want to hear times and dates and schedules and tasks. So much of our lives are consumed with work and child-rearing and completing things that we are clueless when all of that stops. I know some of them are in the clutches of their own inner Peasants, determined to keep Backpack at bay. Part of me gets nervous when I hear this. I feel like I'm not measuring up to some standard not of my own making.
Peasant is on top right now but Backpack is packin' some heat.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Convinced of My Own Greatness
Here's another thing that I learned during the great group conscience affair . . . By the way, I'm oh for two on group conscience votes which annoys the hell out of me even though I was pretty sure both losses were coming and had prepared myself emotionally to the best of my ability, if by "prepared" I mean "did not prepare at all. I have to laugh at my impression of the size of my ego when it's not being tested versus when it's being shat upon. Big difference. I'm humble as hell normally unless someone is disagreeing with me about something.
There were a couple of individuals who I knew disagreed with me vigorously on the matter at hand. They were at the group conscience and I could see that they were loaded for bear. As I told everyone about the information I had collected I could see that they were chomping at the bit to speak, even though I thought my material was pretty neutral, but then again when I think I'm right - and in this case I'm really, really convinced of my rightness - I'm pretty sure I'm being neutral. When I was still doing sales presentations I was careful to note who was chomping at the bit to say something, to make a point, to further expound on the situation - we call it "The Tip of Tongue" phenomenon - because these people were simply not listening to what I was saying, so that I was basically not making any noise at all. They were tolerating me, waiting for me to stop speaking, so they could say what they wanted to say - their comments were on the tips of their tongues, ready to be discharged. As soon as I paused for a millisecond, they'd unleash a torrent of words that usually had nothing to do with what I had just said. Sometimes there would be a question or a point raised that I had addressed in what I had just said that they weren't listening to. This didn't make them bad people - it made them humans with egos that needed to be heard. But I sure learned not to waste my time talking to people who weren't listening. Sometimes I could wear them down but sometimes I never got through.
The folks at the group conscience made their point. They were agitated and passionate. Agitated usually trumps measured. It's more compelling, more noticeable. It gets people's attention in no small part because most folks don't want to deal with agitated people. They can be intimidating. It was clear to me that no one had listened to what I had said; it never came up in their remarks. Who knows - maybe what I said wasn't that interesting. I didn't think what they said was interesting and they clearly thought they were being very interesting.
It appeared to me that the financial problems that we had been discussing disappeared magically by the end of the meeting. I don't know where they went but they were gone.
There were a couple of individuals who I knew disagreed with me vigorously on the matter at hand. They were at the group conscience and I could see that they were loaded for bear. As I told everyone about the information I had collected I could see that they were chomping at the bit to speak, even though I thought my material was pretty neutral, but then again when I think I'm right - and in this case I'm really, really convinced of my rightness - I'm pretty sure I'm being neutral. When I was still doing sales presentations I was careful to note who was chomping at the bit to say something, to make a point, to further expound on the situation - we call it "The Tip of Tongue" phenomenon - because these people were simply not listening to what I was saying, so that I was basically not making any noise at all. They were tolerating me, waiting for me to stop speaking, so they could say what they wanted to say - their comments were on the tips of their tongues, ready to be discharged. As soon as I paused for a millisecond, they'd unleash a torrent of words that usually had nothing to do with what I had just said. Sometimes there would be a question or a point raised that I had addressed in what I had just said that they weren't listening to. This didn't make them bad people - it made them humans with egos that needed to be heard. But I sure learned not to waste my time talking to people who weren't listening. Sometimes I could wear them down but sometimes I never got through.
The folks at the group conscience made their point. They were agitated and passionate. Agitated usually trumps measured. It's more compelling, more noticeable. It gets people's attention in no small part because most folks don't want to deal with agitated people. They can be intimidating. It was clear to me that no one had listened to what I had said; it never came up in their remarks. Who knows - maybe what I said wasn't that interesting. I didn't think what they said was interesting and they clearly thought they were being very interesting.
It appeared to me that the financial problems that we had been discussing disappeared magically by the end of the meeting. I don't know where they went but they were gone.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Flame Retardant
I volunteered at my home group to do some research on how we might close a somewhat troubling budget gap. I sort of realized what I was in for when I volunteered. I knew that I had better find my flame-thrower resistant fire suit because nothing gets drunks all agitated and perturbed like money. Normally rational people become quite irrational very quickly, and the irrational among us become completely unhinged. I actually took the time to paint a big red bulls-eye on my forehead so that all of the people that I pissed off would know exactly where to aim.
As you can imagine I have a pretty strong opinion about money and The Program myself. I believe that we need to carefully balance the necessity of paying rent and providing coffee and heating the room in the winter - Tradition Seven - while being careful not to ever make anyone uncomfortable about attending a meeting, no matter how dire their circumstances might be - Tradition Three. This isn't a country club. Nobody has to pay anything to attend. In fact, the richest dude in the west doesn't have to give a stinking quarter if he doesn't want to. We definitely don't want to make anyone who can't afford to kick in a buck feel unwelcome.
That being said we are tasked with paying our own bills. We can't accept a free meeting space from a church or civic institution because it's critically important that we never let anyone dictate what we're trying to do. I need to have a chair that's paid for in which to place my spiritual butt. I don't want to wonder if the free meeting space is being provided in the hopes that I become a Methodist or vote Republican or anything even more outlandish.
For groups struggling with money the solution is to spend less or collect more. Our group manages expenses well which indicated, to me, that we needed to find a way to gently prod those members who could afford to increase their contribution from one to two dollars to do so. Our central office offered several great suggestions on how to do this without injuring the dignity of those who can't afford to contribute. Because I have a tendency to go off half-cocked I made sure I collected information from different sources before presenting my findings. No drunk likes to be hectored into anything, especially by a self-righteous prig like me.
You would have thought from the reaction in the room that I suggested that we hire a couple of large men to grab each member as they passed through the door, hold them upside down while shaking vigorously, and then putting all of the money that fell on the floor into the basket. I had hoped that maybe, possibly, we might have found a way to compromise so that folks that weren't contributing but who could afford to do so might have their conscience jogged. Some times we forget how important finances are or we aren't aware that we're running a shortfall. One of my friends rationalized his decision to up his contribution this way: "A buck for me and a buck for the guy who can't afford it."
The group conscience seemed to be something along the lines of "Everything will work out OK by magic." This didn't prevent my dignity from being seriously dented. In fact, I felt a little hustled. There have been many meetings where the basket has traveled between 10 or 15 people and gotten to me with so few contributions that I couldn't break a five. I don't mind pulling my own weight and kicking in a little extra for the guy who is struggling but c'mon, can't we come up with a kind way to remind everyone that we got to have money to pay bills?
When I was getting sober every day for a few months I put the amount of cash that I spent on booze, drugs, and cigarettes into a jar by my front door. I was ASTOUNDED at how quickly I accumulated some serious cash. It was expensive to drink and drug like I did, and I was doing it at home. I couldn't have come up with the money to drink like that at bars.
Whatever, Bleeding Deacon.
As you can imagine I have a pretty strong opinion about money and The Program myself. I believe that we need to carefully balance the necessity of paying rent and providing coffee and heating the room in the winter - Tradition Seven - while being careful not to ever make anyone uncomfortable about attending a meeting, no matter how dire their circumstances might be - Tradition Three. This isn't a country club. Nobody has to pay anything to attend. In fact, the richest dude in the west doesn't have to give a stinking quarter if he doesn't want to. We definitely don't want to make anyone who can't afford to kick in a buck feel unwelcome.
That being said we are tasked with paying our own bills. We can't accept a free meeting space from a church or civic institution because it's critically important that we never let anyone dictate what we're trying to do. I need to have a chair that's paid for in which to place my spiritual butt. I don't want to wonder if the free meeting space is being provided in the hopes that I become a Methodist or vote Republican or anything even more outlandish.
For groups struggling with money the solution is to spend less or collect more. Our group manages expenses well which indicated, to me, that we needed to find a way to gently prod those members who could afford to increase their contribution from one to two dollars to do so. Our central office offered several great suggestions on how to do this without injuring the dignity of those who can't afford to contribute. Because I have a tendency to go off half-cocked I made sure I collected information from different sources before presenting my findings. No drunk likes to be hectored into anything, especially by a self-righteous prig like me.
You would have thought from the reaction in the room that I suggested that we hire a couple of large men to grab each member as they passed through the door, hold them upside down while shaking vigorously, and then putting all of the money that fell on the floor into the basket. I had hoped that maybe, possibly, we might have found a way to compromise so that folks that weren't contributing but who could afford to do so might have their conscience jogged. Some times we forget how important finances are or we aren't aware that we're running a shortfall. One of my friends rationalized his decision to up his contribution this way: "A buck for me and a buck for the guy who can't afford it."
The group conscience seemed to be something along the lines of "Everything will work out OK by magic." This didn't prevent my dignity from being seriously dented. In fact, I felt a little hustled. There have been many meetings where the basket has traveled between 10 or 15 people and gotten to me with so few contributions that I couldn't break a five. I don't mind pulling my own weight and kicking in a little extra for the guy who is struggling but c'mon, can't we come up with a kind way to remind everyone that we got to have money to pay bills?
When I was getting sober every day for a few months I put the amount of cash that I spent on booze, drugs, and cigarettes into a jar by my front door. I was ASTOUNDED at how quickly I accumulated some serious cash. It was expensive to drink and drug like I did, and I was doing it at home. I couldn't have come up with the money to drink like that at bars.
Whatever, Bleeding Deacon.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Relapse
Relapse: To fall back into illness after recovery or seeming recovery.
The woman who chaired the meeting this morning had many, many years of sobriety and then she drank again. She was Out There for about 6 months before coming Back In. Fortunately, she didn't do too much in the way of permanent damage, not always the case when we go Back Out. I need to hear from people who are sober for a long time and then drink again, lest I do the same thing myself. The longer I'm sober the more impressed I am with the length of my own sobriety, as if that meant much beyond the fact that I haven't had anything to drink and I haven't died. It's an indicator of a good Program but not a guarantee as to the quality of my sobriety. It's the quality that matters after all. One guy brought up the difference between The Fellowship and The Program. The Fellowship is a critical part of my sobriety but if I'm not working The Program I'm sliding around on a slippery slope.
I did notice that she talked a lot about how long she had been sober. She repeated the year count many, many times. I'm a little uneasy when I hear people do that. I'm under the impression that she wanted us all to know how many years she had. She also talked a lot about how bedeviled she was by an avalanche of bad things that happened in the lead up to the first drink. She didn't identify any of the bad things but she definitely gave the impression that there were a whole lot of them and that they were really, really bad. I'm a little uneasy when I hear people do that, too. It suggests to me that there exists a particular set of circumstances that can make me drink, something I don't think is true. A lot of people who shared during the course of the meeting talked about bad things that had happened to them, too. This is why a good chairperson is so important. A good chairperson sets the tone of the meeting.
I need all of you. Each and every one.
The woman who chaired the meeting this morning had many, many years of sobriety and then she drank again. She was Out There for about 6 months before coming Back In. Fortunately, she didn't do too much in the way of permanent damage, not always the case when we go Back Out. I need to hear from people who are sober for a long time and then drink again, lest I do the same thing myself. The longer I'm sober the more impressed I am with the length of my own sobriety, as if that meant much beyond the fact that I haven't had anything to drink and I haven't died. It's an indicator of a good Program but not a guarantee as to the quality of my sobriety. It's the quality that matters after all. One guy brought up the difference between The Fellowship and The Program. The Fellowship is a critical part of my sobriety but if I'm not working The Program I'm sliding around on a slippery slope.
I did notice that she talked a lot about how long she had been sober. She repeated the year count many, many times. I'm a little uneasy when I hear people do that. I'm under the impression that she wanted us all to know how many years she had. She also talked a lot about how bedeviled she was by an avalanche of bad things that happened in the lead up to the first drink. She didn't identify any of the bad things but she definitely gave the impression that there were a whole lot of them and that they were really, really bad. I'm a little uneasy when I hear people do that, too. It suggests to me that there exists a particular set of circumstances that can make me drink, something I don't think is true. A lot of people who shared during the course of the meeting talked about bad things that had happened to them, too. This is why a good chairperson is so important. A good chairperson sets the tone of the meeting.
I need all of you. Each and every one.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Vroom, Vroom.
Today when I woke up I had a lot of nervous energy but not too much coherence as to direction. I was ready to head down any of 12 different roads with no clear idea which one to select. I wanted to go down ALL of them but NONE of them looked interesting enough to choose. I felt like a guy in the driver's seat of a very powerful car who has his foot on the accelerator with the parking brake engaged. The car is shaking violently, the engine is roaring and belching black smoke, but there's precious little in the way of forward motion.
I find this state of affairs to be disturbing. I felt agitated. My coping technique in recovery is to pick a direction that I know doesn't head directly off a cliff and release the brake a little bit - I know from experience that some action is better than no action at all. I guess I could also take my foot off the gas but that doesn't occur to me very often - that's a "smart person" thing to do. I try to limit my selection of the roads that I take when I'm agitated to a select few tried and true choices so that I can avoid cliffs, dead ends, and large, solid obstacles. Even though I'm still vaguely aware of the existence of all the other roads that I'm not taking I feel less distracted because at least I chose something. I'm killing the car seeing as the brake is still engaged but I've managed to relieve some of the pressure.
Road #1 was a meeting, definitely not a cliff road.
On the drive home from the meeting I released some more brake and headed for the park. I hiked for an hour, relieving still more pressure. I'm a big fan of exercise although you shouldn't infer by this that I always enjoy exercising. I swim, as you may know because I complain often and vociferously about pool etiquette, and by "etiquette" I mean "people not doing things the way I want them to be done," which is everyone all of the time. Swimming is not especially fun but it's really great exercise. I enjoy finishing the swimming more than the swimming itself. Hiking is good, too, because it's more interesting. It gets me outside where I can see god's handiwork in action. The hike I took finishes with a pretty serious 15 minute climb up a steep hill, forcing me to concentrate on my ragged, gasping breath and not on whatever inconsequential nits are whirling about my head.
Road #2 was exercise. Another good road.
That's pretty much it. I didn't take any more roads. I took a shower and I took a nap and all was well with the world.
I find this state of affairs to be disturbing. I felt agitated. My coping technique in recovery is to pick a direction that I know doesn't head directly off a cliff and release the brake a little bit - I know from experience that some action is better than no action at all. I guess I could also take my foot off the gas but that doesn't occur to me very often - that's a "smart person" thing to do. I try to limit my selection of the roads that I take when I'm agitated to a select few tried and true choices so that I can avoid cliffs, dead ends, and large, solid obstacles. Even though I'm still vaguely aware of the existence of all the other roads that I'm not taking I feel less distracted because at least I chose something. I'm killing the car seeing as the brake is still engaged but I've managed to relieve some of the pressure.
Road #1 was a meeting, definitely not a cliff road.
On the drive home from the meeting I released some more brake and headed for the park. I hiked for an hour, relieving still more pressure. I'm a big fan of exercise although you shouldn't infer by this that I always enjoy exercising. I swim, as you may know because I complain often and vociferously about pool etiquette, and by "etiquette" I mean "people not doing things the way I want them to be done," which is everyone all of the time. Swimming is not especially fun but it's really great exercise. I enjoy finishing the swimming more than the swimming itself. Hiking is good, too, because it's more interesting. It gets me outside where I can see god's handiwork in action. The hike I took finishes with a pretty serious 15 minute climb up a steep hill, forcing me to concentrate on my ragged, gasping breath and not on whatever inconsequential nits are whirling about my head.
Road #2 was exercise. Another good road.
That's pretty much it. I didn't take any more roads. I took a shower and I took a nap and all was well with the world.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Do What Now?
Communicate: To impart; pass along; transmit.
When I was earning my living as a salesman one of the little suggestions that I found helpful was this: "Tell 'em what you're going to tell 'em. Tell 'em. Tell 'em what you told 'em." I'm not sure why we couldn't have used "them" instead of the grammatically lazy " 'em" but these things have been known to happen, especially when I'm the one making them happen.
The implication is that what is said is often not what is heard. In a business situation there were all kinds of reasons for miscommunication: a distracted or adversarial customer; a noisy factory environment; a crappy salesman such as myself. I was so familiar with my product and my spiel was so practiced and second-nature that I assumed things about my customers that weren't accurate or on any given day I didn't have the skill or patience to explain things very well. Sometimes I just had a bad day, angry or tired or depressed. One of the solutions was to try to repeat the important points a few times to make sure that everyone was on the same page. I found that much of the time I wasn't even reading the same book as my customers. The fact of the matter is that effective communication can be a challenge in the best of times and under the best of circumstances.
One of the groups that I'm a member of has a By Invitation Only page on a social media website. That way we may speak freely about our alcoholism and recovery while still remaining anonymous to the general population. It has been a good venue to arrange parties, share anecdotes, connect with friends. It has also posed new challenges. One of our members -- with many years of sobriety - has become a little agitated and confrontational of late. It's my experience that it's easier to toss fire bombs into the crowd sitting by myself in front of a computer screen than it is in a face to face situation so I've been able to react to the fire-bombings with a fair amount of patience. I was going to say wisdom instead of patience but caught myself in time.
The source of angst has been a discussion about finances. I know, I know, imagine that: a member upset about money talk.
In my opinion he's way off base. He's clearly wrong. But instead of running my mouth from the isolation of my little hidey-hole here I decided to practice some restraint of tongue and pen and try to collect some facts before I went off on some self-righteous rant. I asked for and received some supporting documents from our central office to validate my position and posted them on the group's website. The purpose was to show this guy where he was WRONG! with the clear implication that I was RIGHT!
His response on-line, of course, was to thank me profusely for supporting his point of view. We hear what we want to hear, especially when we're agitated or upset. This is why I try not to act or speak rashly when my emotions are running hot: I jump to conclusions, I assume bad motives, I get defensive and then I quit listening to what's being said. I put words in people's mouths and this from a guy who can't even put the right words in his own mouth. I really try to keep my hands out of other people's mouths, inappropriate except for maybe dentists or orthodontists.
I'm not a dentist and I don't even know what an orthodontist is.
When I was earning my living as a salesman one of the little suggestions that I found helpful was this: "Tell 'em what you're going to tell 'em. Tell 'em. Tell 'em what you told 'em." I'm not sure why we couldn't have used "them" instead of the grammatically lazy " 'em" but these things have been known to happen, especially when I'm the one making them happen.
The implication is that what is said is often not what is heard. In a business situation there were all kinds of reasons for miscommunication: a distracted or adversarial customer; a noisy factory environment; a crappy salesman such as myself. I was so familiar with my product and my spiel was so practiced and second-nature that I assumed things about my customers that weren't accurate or on any given day I didn't have the skill or patience to explain things very well. Sometimes I just had a bad day, angry or tired or depressed. One of the solutions was to try to repeat the important points a few times to make sure that everyone was on the same page. I found that much of the time I wasn't even reading the same book as my customers. The fact of the matter is that effective communication can be a challenge in the best of times and under the best of circumstances.
One of the groups that I'm a member of has a By Invitation Only page on a social media website. That way we may speak freely about our alcoholism and recovery while still remaining anonymous to the general population. It has been a good venue to arrange parties, share anecdotes, connect with friends. It has also posed new challenges. One of our members -- with many years of sobriety - has become a little agitated and confrontational of late. It's my experience that it's easier to toss fire bombs into the crowd sitting by myself in front of a computer screen than it is in a face to face situation so I've been able to react to the fire-bombings with a fair amount of patience. I was going to say wisdom instead of patience but caught myself in time.
The source of angst has been a discussion about finances. I know, I know, imagine that: a member upset about money talk.
In my opinion he's way off base. He's clearly wrong. But instead of running my mouth from the isolation of my little hidey-hole here I decided to practice some restraint of tongue and pen and try to collect some facts before I went off on some self-righteous rant. I asked for and received some supporting documents from our central office to validate my position and posted them on the group's website. The purpose was to show this guy where he was WRONG! with the clear implication that I was RIGHT!
His response on-line, of course, was to thank me profusely for supporting his point of view. We hear what we want to hear, especially when we're agitated or upset. This is why I try not to act or speak rashly when my emotions are running hot: I jump to conclusions, I assume bad motives, I get defensive and then I quit listening to what's being said. I put words in people's mouths and this from a guy who can't even put the right words in his own mouth. I really try to keep my hands out of other people's mouths, inappropriate except for maybe dentists or orthodontists.
I'm not a dentist and I don't even know what an orthodontist is.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Chaos Theory
Chaos: Any great confusion or disorder.
The planning of dinner and for breakfast the next morning was the most entertaining episode of the weekend, as well as the most representative of what happens when a group of kind and well-intentioned alcoholics battle their own always powerful egos. We want to be thoughtful, we try to be thoughtful, but we don’t always succeed. We usually do pretty well, though, and we’re almost always getting better at it, but that #!$! ego does get in the way from time to time. I don’t think we're usually aware that we're allowing our egos to run amok, to be honest with you. I know my own personal ego totally confuses bad actions with good intentions. That I think I behave a certain way doesn’t make it so.
The planning of dinner and for breakfast the next morning was the most entertaining episode of the weekend, as well as the most representative of what happens when a group of kind and well-intentioned alcoholics battle their own always powerful egos. We want to be thoughtful, we try to be thoughtful, but we don’t always succeed. We usually do pretty well, though, and we’re almost always getting better at it, but that #!$! ego does get in the way from time to time. I don’t think we're usually aware that we're allowing our egos to run amok, to be honest with you. I know my own personal ego totally confuses bad actions with good intentions. That I think I behave a certain way doesn’t make it so.
For example, we all got
together to buy supplies for both the evening meal and for breakfast. The initial problem is that it's quite difficult to get ten drunks
to pay attention to one thing all at the same time. We get distracted. We start to talk. We futz around. Then, to get the drunks to vote honestly and
with consideration for others is to try to climb another tall mountain that really needs to be
climbed. We agree to things we don’t
agree with so that we appear pleasant and congenial – god forbid someone doesn't like us – or we insist, we demand, that we get our own way. And the final fly in the ointment is that we
don’t pay attention to what anyone else wants ANYHOW because we’re so hell bent
on getting our own desires met.
Here’s what I'm talking about: we took
a vote on what to buy for dinner. Let’s
say the choices were squid, snails, or kimchee.
Some of the drunks simply weren’t paying attention and didn’t vote or
didn’t vote very well or in a way that would be noticed by the talliers of the
vote. I could tell that there were
people keeping their mouths shut when they clearly disagreed with the
consensus - they wanted what they wanted. And the vote talliers seemed
to hear what they wanted to hear. I
thought that the choice of snails was the big winner but the shoppers
came back with a big bag of squid. Some of
the shoppers did, anyway; a couple of different groups of people got into a
couple of different cars and went to different grocery stores, no one talking with anyone else. Some of them were working off of a list and some were winging it, making selections and choices on the fly. We ended up with a hell of a lot of some things and a hell of a lack of others.
And how we like to
complicate things! I thought that
ordering a few pizzas or schlepping down to the local Mexican restaurant for
chips and tacos made the most sense.
Failing that – and I could see the allure of the team-effort home-cooked
meal - maybe a few pounds of hamburger and a tub of potato salad. We had different groups going to different
stores with different shopping lists that had arisen from the same consensus to
buy expensive organic foods or hard to prepare items. We managed to prepare organic almonds
perfectly toasted in olive oil and sea salt, finely diced for our salad,
but no cucumber or mushrooms or carrots and only three small tomatoes. For 10 people. It was hilarious.
And the grilling of the purchased meat was right out of Dante's Inferno; Level 3, I think. The coals took forever to ignite but when they did they gave off a fearsome heat. The chicken never had a chance -- it was flash seared, scorched, burnt, incinerated, while the inside remained a moist pinky pink. The grill was so hot that one of the protagonists had to lift the lid from time to time with a small scythe because the proper implement was not available. Eh, maybe it was available and he was using the hand sickle by choice, making the setting of the scene even more dramatic. When he raised the lid great clouds of smoke and leaping tongues of fire lit up the night. It looked more like the coke smelter at a steel mill than a backyard grill. I turned away, unable to look anymore. The group around the grill was laughing manically. It was great and clear to anyone watching that the chicken was in big, big trouble.
And the grilling of the purchased meat was right out of Dante's Inferno; Level 3, I think. The coals took forever to ignite but when they did they gave off a fearsome heat. The chicken never had a chance -- it was flash seared, scorched, burnt, incinerated, while the inside remained a moist pinky pink. The grill was so hot that one of the protagonists had to lift the lid from time to time with a small scythe because the proper implement was not available. Eh, maybe it was available and he was using the hand sickle by choice, making the setting of the scene even more dramatic. When he raised the lid great clouds of smoke and leaping tongues of fire lit up the night. It looked more like the coke smelter at a steel mill than a backyard grill. I turned away, unable to look anymore. The group around the grill was laughing manically. It was great and clear to anyone watching that the chicken was in big, big trouble.
I whispered to SuperK at one
point: “It’s no wonder that we drive earth people crazy, even when we’re not
drinking. We're not adults -- we're children.”
I’m really glad that I
went. I had a great time. I didn’t have
a great time every single minute but the overall experience was wonderful. I’m glad that it went down the
way it went down. I wouldn't have had it
any other way. Life is variety. Life is trying the new thing. My tendency is to try to separate things into the categories of Awful and Transcendent. I'm trying to lower my expectations so that I see the middle ground in much of living
Those are hard categories to get into.
Those are hard categories to get into.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
The Invite
Vague: Not clearly outlined; indefinite in shape or form; hazily, obscurely, or indistinctly seen or sensed.
SuperK and I were invited by a good friend in The Program to spend the recent holiday weekend at a cabin that he owns in a small seaside town not far from where we live. He invited a lot of other people from The Program as well which made me briefly question his sanity. I acknowledge the wisdom in the bromide "Anywhere that two alcoholics are gathered together then something or the other is going to happen or could happen in a generally positive sense." I may have messed up the wording a little but you get the point, or maybe you don't. What do I know?
Less familiar is the saying: "Anywhere three alcoholics are joined asunder then you better be careful because that's about two alcoholics too many." We're a little volatile is the implication. That's a lot of alcoholics to manage. There were many times in the past - when we were all still drinking - that just ONE alcoholic could draw the attention of local law enforcement; sometimes the feds showed up, too. More than one alcoholic was an invitation to mass chaos. You could expect a fistfight or at least someone saying something that would lead to a resentment lasting several years.
There aren't any little sayings suggesting what can happen when more than three alcoholics are gathered together. That's just way too many alcoholics all at once, outside of a meeting room. That's really pushing the limit of rational behavior. And this is a really excellent group of friends that I really enjoy being around, rare enough in its own right. We looked forward to the weekend, both for the spectacular natural beauty of the area and the chance to socialize in sobriety, a special treat for the recovering drunk.
We stopped on the way to the resort area and took a long hike up a tall mountain. It was a great hike -- normally from the top you can see many miles down the coast but this day there was a lot of heavy fog obscuring the view. As we took a break to eat our lunch the mist started to blow inland with a real vengeance so that the hike down, in woods cloaked in a heavy fog, was even more spectacular than the hike up. Plus, the downhill part was a real plus as compared to the going up part.
We arrived at the cabin mid-afternoon, whooped out and filthy and hungry as hell. The town in which the cabin was located was a nice town; I had hoped that by "cabin" my friend meant "really huge house with 30 or 40 bedrooms," similar to people in Newport, RI, calling their massive summer mansions "cottages." I have no idea why I thought that. Probably along the same lines that I thought when my boss said "Get the hell out of here and never come back" I heard something more along the lines of "I'm a little disappointed in your effort today so why don't you go home and get really drunk in front of the TV all by yourself, come in an hour or two late tomorrow, and we'll talk about it then."
The cabin was a very nice small house with one bedroom. I had pre-bitched about the accommodations so our host had given us the bedroom. "Sheesh, what a crybaby," I can imagine him saying. I didn't feel too bad about it as we were definitely the oldest people there. We looked around doubtfully - 10 people in a one and a half bath, one bedroom cottage seemed to be about 8 people too many in my prissy opinion. I want to be able to pee and poop in privacy, at my convenience, and go to sleep whenever I want to and wake up when I'm done sleeping and walk around with my fly open. I confess to some trepidation that this was going to happen. I was pretty sure that we weren't all going to be on the same page as far as sleeping, dining, and pooping schedules were concerned. And it was me that I was concerned about.
"Hey, can everyone clear out for a few hours so I can take a nap and read the paper?" I almost said. Some vague sense of social responsibility grabbed hold of my tongue, for which I'm quite grateful. I was vaguely aware that I was a guest in someone else's house. Everything is vague with me.
I had a great time socializing with my friends. If you want to really delve into the word "insanity" try to get 10 alcoholics moving in the same direction. Our host wisely tried to lay down a couple of the vaguest, most general, voluntary suggestions. As soon as he finished speaking I could see everyone move off in a different direction, like little children on a big red pop binge. We're drunks - we hear what we want to hear and we do what we want to do, and we don't even know we're doing it. I ask someone what their favorite color is and they say: "Blue." I walk away thinking: "Wow, their favorite color is yellow just like mine." I'm not trying to be a bitch but I can't help myself. I'm all wrapped up in my own head.
Tomorrow: dinner.
SuperK and I were invited by a good friend in The Program to spend the recent holiday weekend at a cabin that he owns in a small seaside town not far from where we live. He invited a lot of other people from The Program as well which made me briefly question his sanity. I acknowledge the wisdom in the bromide "Anywhere that two alcoholics are gathered together then something or the other is going to happen or could happen in a generally positive sense." I may have messed up the wording a little but you get the point, or maybe you don't. What do I know?
Less familiar is the saying: "Anywhere three alcoholics are joined asunder then you better be careful because that's about two alcoholics too many." We're a little volatile is the implication. That's a lot of alcoholics to manage. There were many times in the past - when we were all still drinking - that just ONE alcoholic could draw the attention of local law enforcement; sometimes the feds showed up, too. More than one alcoholic was an invitation to mass chaos. You could expect a fistfight or at least someone saying something that would lead to a resentment lasting several years.
There aren't any little sayings suggesting what can happen when more than three alcoholics are gathered together. That's just way too many alcoholics all at once, outside of a meeting room. That's really pushing the limit of rational behavior. And this is a really excellent group of friends that I really enjoy being around, rare enough in its own right. We looked forward to the weekend, both for the spectacular natural beauty of the area and the chance to socialize in sobriety, a special treat for the recovering drunk.
We stopped on the way to the resort area and took a long hike up a tall mountain. It was a great hike -- normally from the top you can see many miles down the coast but this day there was a lot of heavy fog obscuring the view. As we took a break to eat our lunch the mist started to blow inland with a real vengeance so that the hike down, in woods cloaked in a heavy fog, was even more spectacular than the hike up. Plus, the downhill part was a real plus as compared to the going up part.
We arrived at the cabin mid-afternoon, whooped out and filthy and hungry as hell. The town in which the cabin was located was a nice town; I had hoped that by "cabin" my friend meant "really huge house with 30 or 40 bedrooms," similar to people in Newport, RI, calling their massive summer mansions "cottages." I have no idea why I thought that. Probably along the same lines that I thought when my boss said "Get the hell out of here and never come back" I heard something more along the lines of "I'm a little disappointed in your effort today so why don't you go home and get really drunk in front of the TV all by yourself, come in an hour or two late tomorrow, and we'll talk about it then."
The cabin was a very nice small house with one bedroom. I had pre-bitched about the accommodations so our host had given us the bedroom. "Sheesh, what a crybaby," I can imagine him saying. I didn't feel too bad about it as we were definitely the oldest people there. We looked around doubtfully - 10 people in a one and a half bath, one bedroom cottage seemed to be about 8 people too many in my prissy opinion. I want to be able to pee and poop in privacy, at my convenience, and go to sleep whenever I want to and wake up when I'm done sleeping and walk around with my fly open. I confess to some trepidation that this was going to happen. I was pretty sure that we weren't all going to be on the same page as far as sleeping, dining, and pooping schedules were concerned. And it was me that I was concerned about.
"Hey, can everyone clear out for a few hours so I can take a nap and read the paper?" I almost said. Some vague sense of social responsibility grabbed hold of my tongue, for which I'm quite grateful. I was vaguely aware that I was a guest in someone else's house. Everything is vague with me.
I had a great time socializing with my friends. If you want to really delve into the word "insanity" try to get 10 alcoholics moving in the same direction. Our host wisely tried to lay down a couple of the vaguest, most general, voluntary suggestions. As soon as he finished speaking I could see everyone move off in a different direction, like little children on a big red pop binge. We're drunks - we hear what we want to hear and we do what we want to do, and we don't even know we're doing it. I ask someone what their favorite color is and they say: "Blue." I walk away thinking: "Wow, their favorite color is yellow just like mine." I'm not trying to be a bitch but I can't help myself. I'm all wrapped up in my own head.
Tomorrow: dinner.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Workin' For a Living
Work: The general word for effort put forth in doing or making something, whether physical or mental, easy or difficult, pleasant or unpleasant, etc.
Work was one of the many things at which I did not excel when I was drinking. Come to think of it, I wasn't all that great at it for a long time in sobriety, either. The phrase "to work grudgingly or under half steam" is one that sticks in my mind. I was cursed and then I was blessed in my work life. Before I got sober I was tormented by an amazingly evil and incompetent group of terrible bosses and supervisors and managers. I didn't report to one who was any good at all - not one, not a single one. Then I got sober and was blessed with an amazingly kind and talented group of managers and bosses and supervisors. Kind and generous to a fault -- every one of them.
Believe it or not, it took me many years to figure out what the connection was, the defining event that caused this paradigm shift. I really didn't see the correlation. I didn't see that if I showed up for work on time and stayed until quitting time, actually did what I was tasked to do when I was there, and tried to be pleasant and cooperative, then my work life went swimmingly. I got promoted and received good work reviews. I lost some jobs like everyone does but I wasn't fired with extreme prejudice by men and women who seemed to enjoy the process, or at least were relieved to be quit of me.
Here's a snippet of my recollection of an exchange with one of my past sponsors, clearly tired of listening to me complain about work.
"Do you own the company?" he asked.
"NO, BUT . . ."
"Are you the president or CEO or VP of anything?" he asked.
"NO, but . . . "
"Do you have any managerial or supervisory or consulting responsibilities of any kind, in any way, shape, or form at the place that you're implying that you could run better than it's being run by people with advanced degrees in business related fields and many years of on the job experience?" he asked.
"No . . . "
"So someone to whom you report is asking you to do something that he or she has the authority to ask you to do?" he asked.
". . . . "
"How about this. How about you shut your $#!! mouth and do what you're told to do, with something approaching a smile on your face, and see how that works out for you," he said.
You know what? It worked out pretty well.
Work was one of the many things at which I did not excel when I was drinking. Come to think of it, I wasn't all that great at it for a long time in sobriety, either. The phrase "to work grudgingly or under half steam" is one that sticks in my mind. I was cursed and then I was blessed in my work life. Before I got sober I was tormented by an amazingly evil and incompetent group of terrible bosses and supervisors and managers. I didn't report to one who was any good at all - not one, not a single one. Then I got sober and was blessed with an amazingly kind and talented group of managers and bosses and supervisors. Kind and generous to a fault -- every one of them.
Believe it or not, it took me many years to figure out what the connection was, the defining event that caused this paradigm shift. I really didn't see the correlation. I didn't see that if I showed up for work on time and stayed until quitting time, actually did what I was tasked to do when I was there, and tried to be pleasant and cooperative, then my work life went swimmingly. I got promoted and received good work reviews. I lost some jobs like everyone does but I wasn't fired with extreme prejudice by men and women who seemed to enjoy the process, or at least were relieved to be quit of me.
Here's a snippet of my recollection of an exchange with one of my past sponsors, clearly tired of listening to me complain about work.
"Do you own the company?" he asked.
"NO, BUT . . ."
"Are you the president or CEO or VP of anything?" he asked.
"NO, but . . . "
"Do you have any managerial or supervisory or consulting responsibilities of any kind, in any way, shape, or form at the place that you're implying that you could run better than it's being run by people with advanced degrees in business related fields and many years of on the job experience?" he asked.
"No . . . "
"So someone to whom you report is asking you to do something that he or she has the authority to ask you to do?" he asked.
". . . . "
"How about this. How about you shut your $#!! mouth and do what you're told to do, with something approaching a smile on your face, and see how that works out for you," he said.
You know what? It worked out pretty well.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Ambitious Seaweed
Ambition: Strong desire to succeed or to achieve something, as fame, power, wealth, etc.
And then just when I thought I would go insane with frustrated egoism I get this: "True ambition is not what we thought it was. True ambition is the deep desire to live usefully and walk humbly under the grace of god."
Mr. Webster notes that the concept of ambition has connotations that are both favorable and unfavorable. I like Mr. Webster's definition better than Bill W's, I think. I want to achieve fame, power, wealth, etc. Wealth, god, yes, wealth. The idea of a deep desire to be useful and humble is not really computing right now.
And then just when I thought I would go insane with frustrated egoism I get this: "True ambition is not what we thought it was. True ambition is the deep desire to live usefully and walk humbly under the grace of god."
Mr. Webster notes that the concept of ambition has connotations that are both favorable and unfavorable. I like Mr. Webster's definition better than Bill W's, I think. I want to achieve fame, power, wealth, etc. Wealth, god, yes, wealth. The idea of a deep desire to be useful and humble is not really computing right now.
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