There He Is - There's Seaweed

I heard this at a meeting: "I never pass up a chance to be miserable."  Very wise counsel from an old-timer.

This morning the chair read the part in The Book that compares the alcoholic to the director of a play, the guy in charge of everything, the guy in control, the guy who is not powerless.  You know the sentiment:  "If only everyone would . . . "  If only I could manage things well then everyone would be happy and by "everyone" I mean "me."  If only I didn't have any problems with people, places, and things, then I'd be happy.  If only I wasn't so powerless.

Everyone loves unsolicited advice.  Please, please, tell me how to live my life, unbidden.  Some guy said to me when I was struggling to get sober: "Seaweed, you don't have a job or a car or any money.  Your family can't stand you, you're not in a relationship, and you don't have any friends.  Your furniture is constructed out of cinder blocks and lumber.  I don't know what that thing is that you're driving but I wouldn't get it going faster than  35 MPH.  So maybe, just maybe, you're not in the strongest position to be doling out advice."

I have been going to these 7AM meetings for about 6 weeks.  I didn't like them at first because no one was fawning over me, welcoming me effusively, putting me on a pedestal.  There wasn't any buzz when I walked in the room: "There's Seaweed.  There he is, that's Seaweed."  But now I'm starting to get a few waves and nods of recognition - I wouldn't call it buzz exactly but I don't feel like I'm being ignored, either.

Maybe the meetings really are OK.