SuperK On A Grouch and A Brainstorm

I get mad all the time.  It's no big deal.  Nobody likes it but it doesn't surprise them, either.  SuperK, on the other hand, doesn't get mad very often.  When she does get mad I pull out the camcorder because it's quite the show.

We dealt with a vendor here in Vacation City as we were trying to get situated in our new place.  It was one of those situations where we explained what we wanted to do and the representative assured us that the solution he was proposing was going to do just that.  He had to take us at our word that we were indeed going to do what we said we were going to do and we had to assume he was telling the truth that his stuff was going to get that thing done.  There was a certain amount of trust in the transaction.  There was also the possibility that everyone was lying like a biker.  The guy seemed really nice and we trusted him.  I'm no sucker but I also don't spend all my time assuming I'm going to get screwed, even though I'm getting screwed all the time.  My life is really terrible with all of the liars taking advantage of me.  It's a wonder that I can even get up in the morning.

This trust serves SuperK and me well.  For the most part we're honest with people and they're honest with us.  In this instance, as I'm sure you've surmised, the solution was not a solution at all.  The stuff didn't work as advertised so we took it back, as permitted under our 14 day trial period.  There was a restocking fee and a usage fee which together added up to roughly 182% of what the entire monthly charge was supposed to be.  We found this distressing as we had the equipment for 3 days, or roughly 10% of the time that can be found in your average month.

I'm not going to recount the pissing match that went on for a couple of days in great detail.  Let's just say that there was a lot of pissing going on.  Our sales-guy was on vacation so we assumed, of course, that he was a lying liar who lied to us to meet some kind of sales quota, unconcerned as to whether or not we were happy with his product and services.  We met with another sales-guy and an assistant manager; we called technical support; we called the corporate offices; if by "we" you mean "SuperK."  I'm not permitted to speak generally but when I think I've been lied to and money is involved I'm not on the bus.  I'm not going to tell you how much money was involved, either, because it wasn't very much - between $22 and $43, if you just have to know.

A lot of the time I'll pay a small charge that I find objectionable because I know peace of mind is priceless.  But I'm also willing to stick to my guns if I think I've been lied to.  This was a big company and I think they thought that we were going to go away- they didn't know that they were dealing with a couple of alcoholics who thought they were getting screwed.

Poor big company.

More Whining From Seaweed

I made three calls yesterday: my sister, my mother, and Little Westside Johnny, a guy I've irritated probably more than anyone else on earth, and I got one return call.  I'll give you one guess as to who picked up the phone.  Don't you love this program?  Doesn't family drive you insane?  My mother did call back today . . .  to give me the details of her latest foray into the medical profession while not mentioning a word about my trip.  And I purposely timed the visit so that I'd be home during a county fair held annually in my parent's home town that they've almost never missed in the last 80 years or so.  I said I'd be happy to drive them the two hours so that they could attend.  I've got good money that says they don't go.

 

I'm just trying to be of service.  I'm trying not to criticize, to assume I know what's best for everyone else, but goddang it's hard when someone else really IS behaving worse than me, as rare as that may be. 

 

The Foreboding

Terrible:  Dreadful; causing alarm and fear.

Things are going so well that I'm certain that something terrible is going to happen.  I feel guilty when I'm getting my way, when my life is pleasant.  I still hang onto the idea of a pissed, vengeful, bullying god, bouncing thunderbolts of pain and misery off my bloody brow.  Where the hell did I get the idea that god wants me to suffer?  I think that god wants me to quit wailing like I'm being tortured every time the slightest difficulty comes my way.  I think god is all: "C'mon, already.  Would you quit your bitching for like 5 minutes and give me some peace and quiet?"  But I cling to the idea that god is gleefully trying to stick it to me.

I saw a red Ferrari with new tags parked in a handicapped spot yesterday.  It was legal - it displayed a handicapped placard - but still . . . 

The meeting this morning was a Birthday Cake meeting.  This is not a tradition that was followed in the other places I've lived in sobriety so I had forgotten about this.

"Oh, that's why you showed up today," one of my new friends whispered to me.  Yeah.  I showed up because I'm a psychopath, not because I want a piece of cake and some attention; both appreciated by the way.  He was mostly joking, I hope, but I can surely forgive his cynicism, should any exist, given my predilection to seek the limelight for the flimsiest of reasons.

Another Birthday Boy said this: "We're not showing off here - we do this to show new people that it can be done."  That mostly applies to me although I generally need two chairs - one for me and one for my ego.

Part of the point is that it's now fun to share my good fortune with my friends.  I find that I'm genuinely happy when good things happen to them.  I used to hate it, preferring to revel in misfortune of others.

Disaster!

Disaster:  An unforeseen event causing great loss, upset or unpleasantness of whatever kind.  

Things are going so well here in Vacation City that I'm sure something terrible is going to happen.  I'm not sure what it is, exactly, but I have all day to leisurely come up with a whole array of disasters.  I'm good at this.  I'm good at disasters.  They rarely happen but I'm sure today is going to be different, disaster-wise.

When I was down here a few months back I got a call from Willie when I was out looking for places to live.  He was trying to be helpful, trying to make common sense suggestions about the search.  I interrupted him.

"Willie," I said.  "It really doesn't matter for guys like you and  me.  In a few months I'm going to be unhappy with whatever I've got."

We laughed long and hard.  Good laughter, funny laughter, not snarky, cruel, dismissive laughter where we're enjoying the misfortunes of others although he was probably glad it was me and not him who had no place to live.  I was only mildly interested when he went through the same thing a few years back.

"Truer words were never spoken," he said.

This isn't actually totally true for either of us but there's enough truth in it that we have to watch where we tread.

One Times Two Equals Three

On my first day in the trauma ward - moving out day - I got a call from Spandex.  I've known this man a long time so I was able to explain my situation - massive trauma to the head - and blow him off politely.  He was gracious and understanding which helped although I would have blown him off had he been abrupt and self-absorbed, as he so often is.  Wait a minute - that's me.  I forgot.  I got confused.  I'm blind to my many and various defects.

He called again a week later right at the end of my last day in the trauma ward - moving in day.  I was quite tired and needed to stop doing what I was doing because I was overdoing it and I could expect only to break something or hurt myself at that point.  I'm a bad stopper.  I move around, zombie-like, doing more more more while getting nothing productive done.  He graciously excused himself again, but I protested.  I needed to talk to a friend not move more of my crap around in a desultory fashion.

He had two stories to tell me if by "two" you mean "three.  He may have had other stories, and he may have told them, but three is all I can remember.   Three is the biggest number I can handle on a good day.  Anyway, one was about money and one was about family and one was about starting a huge 9 month project the next day.  There I sat -  traumatized by all of the money I had spent moving and traumatized by a family member's behavior and totally traumatized by the huge project facing me, starting a whole new life.

I could barely keep a straight face.  I can't believe how we help each other out. It's eery.

Trauma Ward

Traumatize:  To injure, e.g. tissues, by force or by thermal, chemical or other agents.

Day 1: Load Truck with crap.
Day 2: Drive 8 hours with overloaded car and overstimulated cat and over-everything wife.  Eat Subway sandwich and rest fitfully.
Day 3: Drive 8 hours to hotel in Vacation City.
Day 4: Unload crap from truck.  Pile crap up to crown molding in every room in entire house. (Ed. note: we have no crown molding which is worrisome).
Day 5: Unload crap from boxes.  Take crap from boxes directly to refuse bin.  Make note to self about the stupidity of paying to have crap moved 1000 miles.  (Ed. note: I did not throw away my precious, precious crap).

The phrase "I am never, ever, ever doing this ever again" has been bandied freely about the last few days.

Over, Under, Sideways, Down

Waste:  Extravagant consumption or ineffectual use.

As I stay alive and stay sober one of the most enduring surprises in my life is how rarely things that I worry about come to pass.  I mean . . . it has to be approaching 100%.  I waste vast amounts of time worrying about things that don't happen.  Sometimes I get stuff in my head that gets stuck in there but good for a day or two or three and then doesn't come true.  It's bad enough when I waste a few hours worrying about something stupid but a few days?  The self-knowledge that I'm wasting my time can be helpful but it hasn't relieved me of the tendency.

Making things worse is that when something that I'm worrying about does happen it's almost   never as bad as I imagine it will be.  And I handle it.  When something unpleasant happens I deal with it and I learn from it.  Not always quickly but I get something out of almost everything, good or bad.  I evolve.

I also give myself a break.  I'm a human dude despite my god-like tendencies and supernatural wisdom.  I can't get through this vale of tears without some things happening that I don't like.  It's the fighting it instead of going with the flow that makes me nuts.

Over, under, sideways, down.

The Mouse . . . Is Real

Another saddish day here in The New City, soon to be the Last City.  Honestly, I'm starting to lose track of where I am, exactly.  I feel invisible some of the time, like I'm not Making A Difference.  I know this isn't the case but I enjoy feeling sorry for myself.  Most of us have a tendency to take others for granted.  I do it to you and you do it to me.  I don't mean to do it but I'm just so wrapped up in myself that I can't help it.

My buddy with 50 years was called on to speak this morning.  He passed with this bon mot: "I've been talking to myself in my own head so much that I'm sick of hearing from me."

A guy I know from the meeting stopped his car this morning, yelled out how much he's going to miss me.  Another guy - scary looking dude- never heard him share, came over after the meeting and said how much he has enjoyed what I've had to say.  I don't know his name.  This stuff meant a lot to me.  I never know when I'm making a difference.

I spoke on the phone tonight to Little Westside Johnny who reminded me how nice it's going to be once I land in Vacation City.  I needed to hear that.  I've been spending way too much time concentrating on what I'm going to miss and the stress of the move.  I forget to be happy.

The mouse does not exist.
The mouse does not exist.
The mouse does not exist.

The Gloaming

Gloaming:  Twilight.

Off into the gloaming we go.  I didn't know what gloaming was until I looked it up.  It's the time right before everything goes completely black.  Perhaps I should leave earlier in the day.

Remember:  It's always the darkest right before everything goes completely black.

There's always some buyer's remorse when I'm facing Big Changes.  I look around at what I'm going to miss and wonder why I didn't appreciate it more.  I look into the future and imagine it won't work out.  I have euphoric recall about everything.  I'm not the only one who does it - I've had more invitations to coffee in the last two weeks than I've had in the last six months.  I marvel at how I take things for granted: people, places, and things.

Still.  Onward and Something-ward.  Change drives me nuts but I'm compelled by it.  Looking forward big time to the adventure.

That's It?

I had coffee today with a man who was just released from prison after serving 6 years of a 6 year prison sentence.  We've become friends in the 3 weeks he has been on the street.  This is NOT a guy that I would have been friends with when I was runnin' and gunnin', mostly because he would have scared me to death.

"So what were you in for?" I asked him a few days ago.  I don't have much of a filter between my brain and my mouth and frankly, I could care less what he did.  I ask people personal questions because we drunks aren't great at letting secrets out of the bag, referring instead to let them steep and stew in a frothy emotional soup of fear and paranoia.  Ask me anything you want.  If I don't want to tell you I won't tell you.  It's not that complicated.

He declined to answer, politely.  Frankly, who cares?  We're all free to do and say what we want - we can keep as many cats in as many bags as we want.  Meetings are not where we do 4th Steps and some cards we need to play close to the vest.

On the way to coffee today he told me what he had done.  Frankly, I couldn't believe he served any time at all let alone 6 years of a 6 year sentence.  Every now and then I steel myself to hear something really awful.  I've never heard anything really awful.  I haven't heard many things that I found all that interesting.  Mostly it's little things that some guy has kept hidden for so long that it has been warped so that it doesn't recognize anything human.

I enjoyed coffee.  I'm going to miss this guy.

Progress, Not Something Or The Other

The topic of today's post is "What the Hell Is the Matter With Me, Anyway?"  That could very well be the title of the entire blog.  I could write about why I still go to meetings or how I hide selfish intentions under the guise of a good action or speculate on how clever I am at complicating everything.

I sent my relative a check for $100 in a nice card with a nice note.  I tried to be sincere with the note but it didn't work very well.  The note itself was nice but I didn't mean very much of it.  I still think a favor is a favor and I still think I did a lot of nice things - always picking up the check for meals and coffees and the like - and I still think I didn't get the credit that I so richly deserve.

My relative cashed the check without comment.  I was fairly sure that this would happen but it still stunned me into a temporary resentment.  Apparently my generosity is so much bullshit, something I tell myself to ease my own struggles with the demons Power, Sex, and Money.  Man, those demons are huge.  They never quit.  They never take a day off.  They're hard-wired into my consciousness.  I'm better with them but I'm not as good as I think I am.

Enough already, right?  A new guy could say: "Hey, maybe you should leave these people alone?"  This isn't a complicated situation - these folks stand on my buttons with all of their weight every time I see them. 

$100

Several years ago a relative asked me for money as my contribution to a family meal she was hosting.  I was thinking more along the lines of picking up a pie or some good rolls.  I had offered to host alternate meals at my place but my no alcohol policy took the starch out of that idea almost immediately.  My relatives tried it once, fleeing as soon as the coffee was served as if the house was radiating toxic gas.

Incensed at this affront I called my friend Shorty who interrupted me and said, bluntly: "Here's what you're going to do.  You're going to send her the check."  Which I did, muttering curses, quickly freeing myself from what would surely have been a lingering, poisonous, utterly useless resentment.

I bought my Vacation City relative a Thank You card, wrote a nice note, and stuck in a hundred dollar check.  I mailed it off.  I hate giving up the money but if you had told me that I could have avoided two or three days of angst I would have sent her a two hundred dollar check.   

False Information Given Intentionally

Lie:    To give false information intentionally (verb).
           An intentionally false statement; a statement intended to deceive, even if literally true                  (noun).

This moving thing is causing me all kinds of emotional problems.  My ability to handle massive change has greatly improved but, once again, I'm unable to rise above the human condition.  I'm better but I'm not great.  I'm getting good, slowly.

I left my beloved car with relatives in Vacation City.  These are good people, kind people, who drive me to distraction.  It's not so much their behavior - which isn't that bad - but my reaction to their behavior.  Both of them fall firmly in the category of people Who Do Exactly What They Want.  This doesn't make them bad people.  A little selfish, maybe, but that's hardly an indictable offense.  I know something about being selfish.  Complicating matters a bit in this case is their tendency to get pissy when they Don't Get To Do Exactly What They Want.

They agreed to let me park my car on their property while I was away in The New City wrapping up my affairs.  I offered to wedge the thing in an unobtrusive corner of their large lot but they waved me off cheerily.  I offered to plug the car into an electrical outlet to keep the battery charged . . . or to let them drive the car once or twice to accomplish the same thing.  It's a nice car so they seemed eager to take it for a spin.

I was uneasy doing this.  I'm a car guy.  I don't think I'm much of a stuff guy but I am a car guy.  If I won the lottery I'd be down at the Ferrari dealership that afternoon buying a convertible in every available color.  I repeated myself to my relatives: it would be enough to drive the car once or twice.  They know about me and cars - they joked about it a few times before I left.

A few nights ago I got an email from them asking what kind of fuel I put in the car.  This upset me.  I had left the car with a full tank.  I stewed about it for a few days.  I was embarrassed about being upset over a thing but we all have our unimportant things to be upset about.  I wish I could let everything roll off my back but I'm sure as shit not there yet.  I think I would have been sorta kinda OK with it if I hadn't been under the duress of the move, a stressful thing under the best of circumstances.  I didn't leave the car there for them to use - I left it there so I could fly home.  I wasn't sure how much they were actually driving it.  I didn't want them to drive it at all.  Any driving was too much.

I thought about calling and saying something along the lines of: "Quit driving the fucking car." That seemed to be an over the top reaction so I opted for the white lie - I told them I had temporarily suspended the insurance to save money as we transferred the policies from The New City to Vacation Town.  I asked them to quit driving the car.

This was a bad move on so many levels that there isn't enough digital storage on all the servers on earth to hold it.  Telling a lie never works out for me even when my motives are good.  I just wanted them to stop driving the car - which they were doing against my clearly articulated wishes, being People Who Do Exactly What They Want To Do.  I didn't want a confrontation; I didn't want them to feel bad; I wanted them to simply do what they had agreed to do.  No more and no less.

After I sent the note to them I called the next day under the guise of wishing my cousin a happy birthday.  "What luck," I thought.  "A good reason to check up on the effectiveness of my lie."  My cousin called me out immediately.  As a general rule I don't lie very often mostly because I hate getting caught in the lie.  The lying itself I still enjoy doing and I have demonstrated some real talent in that area to go along with my considerable experience, the above botched lie notwithstanding.

And my cousin wouldn't let me off the hook.  She made a series of jokes about it.  Poking at someone who is uncomfortable is a marginal business, especially when the joke has hooked barbs.  I know I do it - I plow into someone I want to wound under the cloak of humor.  Sarcasm: Hate with a smile.  The kind thing to do would have been to leave the lie unmentioned when it wasn't hurting anyone.  Probing it with white hot needles was unnecessary.  She wanted me to be uncomfortable but not have to take any responsibility for it.  Frankly, Id' rather have someone tell me to piss off than pretend that everything's OK.

When I suspend my car insurance it saves me X dollars per month so part of my lie - this always happens to lies: they get more involved and complicated and hard to remember - was mentioning the amount of money I would have saved by cancelling the insurance had I actually cancelled the insurance.  Hopefully, I've established the fact that this is lie part.

Ah.  So this was about money.  She was not doing me a favor - she was providing a service that she expected to be compensated for.  I misunderstood.  I like doing favors.  They make me feel good.  I don't expect anything in return.  That's a transaction.  If I don't want to actually do a  favor I don't' offer to do the favor.  I say no.  It's not complicated.  I've learned that when I'm unsure about something the best answer is always No because it can be more easily changed to Yes than the other way around.

I do take full responsibility here.  I told the lie.  There's no nuance to the word.

More about the money tomorrow. . . .