Calm Waiting

The longer I plug away at this the more convinced I become that waiting to make a decision is simultaneously one of the hardest and one of the simplest courses of action.  Someone once said: "All motion is easier than calm waiting."  The truth of the matter is when I slow down and let things unfold that answers appear, solutions present themselves, problems evaporate.  But I'm in such a hurry to rush headlong into the future that I don't give life a chance to play out.

Simple but not easy.

I can see that my plans for the trip are the best for everyone involved.  They really are.  If it's not me making the plans, who then?  You?  Please.  I position, I maneuver, I set up excellent, excellent plans, and very few people go along.  It's quite frustrating.

I gave up trying to force my family to help me out in a way that I think I should be helped out, and voila! solutions appeared to my left and to my right.  And after I calmed down I could see that people didn't want to do what I wanted them to do.  OK.  What exactly is the matter with that?  

Today a friend suggested to me that the answer is control!  more control!! take control!!!

A wise man, that guy.

Pushing Buttons, Pulling Levers, Crashing Planes

So, here I am, sitting pretty, living large, on top of the world, with a solution to my vexing problems and a very viable back-plan firmly in place.  I go to my 7AM meeting and yuck it up at my family's expense, to a few desultory laughs.  (Actually, I don't do that - I yuck it up at my expense because everyone finds that a lot more hilarious.  They know who the %$!! problem is, after all).

I texted a friend a few days ago whose mother lives in the same retirement community as my parents.  He comes over for the Sunday brunch often and we usually eat together when I visit - he's in the same Program class as I am and there's a bond there that's hard for outsiders to comprehend.  He was the kind soul who let me use a car for an entire week the last time I was in town at a total cost to me of approximately nothing.  We penciled in the second Sunday of my visit for a meal as he is out of town on vacation for the next 10 days.

This morning, after my meeting, I get this text: "I have a car at the airport that you can use until we get back."  I do not question the sincerity of offers like these when they come from Program people.  He made the offer because he wanted to, and I accepted because it is very, very helpful.  I thanked him a couple of times, and I let it go at that.  I think it devalues the offer to refuse a gift given - an offer is an offer sincerely made.  Thanks means thanks.

The point is that once I let go solutions came my way.  I'd like to say that the solutions are always convenient like they are in this case - lamentably not the case - but the situation clears up.  The important thing is that when I'm pulling the levers and pushing the buttons I can never get the damn plane to take off.  When I go back to my seat in coach and let the damn pilot fly the damn plane I get where I'm supposed to go.

Now, I still don't want to go back but that's a whole 'nother topic.

The Best Defense Is A Big Offense

Offend: To hurt the feelings of; to displease; to make angry; to insult.  

I was going to deliver a blow by blow analysis of how badly I have been treated/am being treated/will be treated on my past/current/future trips back to visit my family.  Then, I thought: " Maybe I better read what may have already written about these outrages."  "Hmmm," I thought, after completing my review, "Here it is - you've already vented your spleen, in exhaustive detail, only yesterday, and you don't even remember doing it."

Lot of good this daily writing is doing me.

Today I was so offended by these outrages that I thought I'd fabricate a lie to simply make the trip go away - I missed my flight, there weren't any other flights that day, the cost of any flights there might be was so outrageous, etc. etc.  I was so offended that I was willing to eat the cost of the entire ticket to get out of the obligation of this trip.  However, SuperK and I have this exercise where, if one of us is planning to tell a little white lie/somewhat larger lie/great, big, ol' whopper to evade a little/some/a huge shitload of discomfort, then the other person says: "It's never worth the lie - come up with a solution that involves the truth."  I'm not saying the person on the receiving end of this bromide is happy about it but it's always good advice, in the long run.

I thought: "Maybe I should pick up the phone."  I spoke to my sponsor, who didn't think too much about the lying idea,  and we hashed out a pretty good solutions.  Then I spoke to LWSJ who said: "Why didn't you call someone and ask for some help?"  I think a lot of the time it's more fun/more vexing/more grandiose to take a small problem and make it big, keeping it to yourself, complicating it where possible, and then feel really, really offended by the whole matter.

More good solutions.  Ask for some help and you get some help.  What a concept.

True Family

I went to a big Program barbecue today that was followed by a big meeting, outside, under a big tent, on a gorgeous day, at a ranch in the hills outside of Vacation City.  There were probably 125 people there and I didn't experience anything but good cheer, hale fellows well met, and all of that.  It's always amazing to me to see common folks stand up in front of a large group and speak like they're reading from a script.  There is a very low bullshit to truth ratio, assuming I'm not asked to share.  The words are from the heart.

I spent a short period of time in the morning pondering my family resentment, swishing the taste around my mouth like I was testing fine chocolate.  I looked around the gathering today and thought: "This is what my family sees when we get together."  What I see is something different, more of a low-grade toothache visually presented.

All in all, it was a lovely contrast. 

The Coup de Grace

Coup de grace: A death blow to end the suffering of a severely wounded person or animal.

I thought that I had moved past my resentment at having to travel back to The Old City for reasons that aren't pleasing to me.  And it is, of course, all about me and my comfort.

Complicating matters is the fact that The Old City has kind of a minor league airport that nonetheless manages to sustain the highest average fares of any airport serving a major city, and it has held this distinction continuously for many years, except for the odd occurrence of dropping down into second place.  In this case the statement: "We're Number One!" holds little appeal unless you're the one major airline servicing the place.  They're probably tickled pink at this award.

For a while I could get a reasonable flight out of a regional airport near my home but the dominant airline obviously killed this option as it vanished from the metaphorical radar screen, and went the way of the great woolly mammoth.  Now I have to take an expensive shuttle a couple of hours down to the main airport servicing Vacation City.  This adds a nice chunk of money that I have to spend on this trip that I don't want to take in addition to the two extra hours.  And because I'm heading into a minor league airport after 11PM all but a few of the biggest car rental places will be closed.  In lockstep with the dominant airline these guys are comfortable charging an amount in the neighborhood of a down payment on a Maserati to rent a Ford Focus.  All in all, I'd rather fork over the down payment for a Focus and get a Maserati instead but that isn't coming up on the Options list.

My sister, with whom I have a pleasant but distant relationship, will not pick me up, has never picked me up, offering a panoply of excuses.  I wish she'd just say: "Naw, don't feel like it."  It would be easier for me to accept than half-baked and lukewarm excuses.

Note to self: try to tell the truth more often.  Sometimes would be a goal to shoot for.

I'm kind of shit out of luck here.  I can take a very expensive cab; I can sit at the airport for 5 hours until the fucking car rental place opens; or I can rent a hotel room.  I'm leaning hotel because this would pack the greatest passive-aggressive wallop while costing the least amount of money.  It's not like I'm in a big hurry to see these people.

The coup de grace is that I doubt I get to accomplish any of the tasks I'm going back to accomplish.  This, in and of itself, is OK - after all I'm there to help others, not to complete my agenda.  I don't think the coup is a mean-spirited one - I think these people are not thinking of me at all.  Unfortunately, I foresee at some point, a phone call asking me to come back to help them accomplish the very same things that I want to accomplish this trip but will certainly be thwarted from accomplishing.  These things require a bit of planning to finish off and I don't think any planning is going on.

There's a great Seinfeld episode where Jerry buys dinner for a guy that he doesn't like to repay a debt.  The guy shows up, says he isn't hungry, that he had a hot dog earlier, and he orders soup, which isn't really dinner, to his thinking, so the debt still stands.

"No," Jerry says.  "Who told you to have a hot dog?  This is the dinner."

"This is just soup," the guy protests.  "That's not a dinner."

"So order anything you want," Jerry says. "This is the dinner!"

It's not a good thing when a Seinfeld episode serves as one's model for good living.

27

Cistern:  In a flush toilet, the container in which the water used for flushing is held.

I realize this is shocking news but I ignored my friend's example about humility and service that should hold true even on a Program anniversary - especially on a Program anniversary - and decided to Take a Cake to celebrate with my brethren and sistern.  The desire to be the center of attention was transcendent, overriding my desire to be humble.

What I forgot was I forgot that Friday is a book study so the attendance goes down by half - if you want to reduce attendance trot out some literature and ask people to read it - and that it was a Tradition study to boot, halving the already decimated attendance even further.  I mean you could hear crickets in the corner of the room.  When people talked there was a distinct echo.  I had just assumed on my anniversary it would be SRO, that my sponsor would have arranged a big screen TV and powerful speaker system so that all the folks who wanted to laud the shit out of me but who couldn't get into the basement would still be able to catch my remarks in kind of a flash mob that would spill into the street, blocking traffic and attracting reporters and law enforcement and paparazzi.  

I was still working on my shtick while Michael was reading How It Works.  I was going to KILL this morning.

I'm not making this up.

I guess I thought I was up for an Academy Award or something.  If I had said everything I had said to myself in my own head before actually coming to the meeting no one would ever get to leave.

I was brief.  This isn't a comedy club.  No one wants to hear me work the room.

Still, I'm proud of 27 years.  There is a certain amount of diligence required to add up that amount of time continuously.  I am proud of the considerable work that I've done.  It takes some time.  The payoff is unimaginable but it still takes due diligenc.

Taking a Cake

The day that I quit drinking and using drugs 27 years ago is coming up in the next few days, more or less.  I'm not sure of the exact day, to be honest with you - things were a little hazy at the end. I had been in and out and in and out so many times that I kind of quit paying attention to whether or not I was still using.  Does probing the pipe stem of a giant bong with an unraveled metal hanger, wiping the blank gunk that comes out onto a piece of cigarette paper, and then smoking that unholy mess in the exact same bong constitute a relapse?  I'm guessing "yes" even though that eventuality isn't specifically prohibited anywhere in our literature.  I probably smoked more metal shavings and plastic scratchings than I did THC.

In The Old City we called this day an Anniversary; here in Vacation Town it's a Birthday.  In The Old City you got to announce your Anniversary every day for a week, which was pretty cool, while here you only get to speak up on the exact day of your Birthday, which is kind of stingy, BUT you can actually get a real cake on your Birthday.  We actually have a Cake Commitment here which is a hell of a commitment if you've got to do service work.  I bet the Cake Person licks the batter spoon.

In The Old City I noticed that on my anniversary week I usually went to a meeting every day and I attended a few large meetings as well, meetings that I didn't even really like.  While I've always been active in my meeting attendance I've never gone every day and I've never been a big fan of large meetings, seeing a little too much posturing and preaching by some of the members, like me.  I began to question my motives, wondering if I was doing some posturing and preaching:  "Look at me!  Look at how great I am!"

Someone said once: "The Fellowship: the only organization in the world that celebrates the fact that our members decided, at one point, to run out of a burning building."

How'd I do it, you ask?  Don't drink and don't die.  It isn't rocket science.

I congratulated a friend of mine a while ago on 30 something years - he looked at me and said: "You know, Seaweed, I thought I'd be a lot further along than I am."

True dat.

On my 15 year anniversary I was in the 4th row of a Black Sabbath concert.  Kind of hard to top that one.  LWSJ and I were so pumped that we forgot where we parked our car and ended up circling the parking lot until almost everyone else was gone.  

I called an old anniversary class mate this week to ask him about Taking a Cake, as they call it here, because I know that he doesn't even announce his anniversary any more.  He didn't say don't do it.  I wouldn't have listened if he did.

That's humility.

Anyway, I waited until the penultimate day before ordering my cake.  I don't trust myself, the center of attention in front of a group of people.  Humility isn't my strong suit.  The last thing the world needs is me talking about myself.

Finally, I decided to Take a Cake.  The desire for sanctioned cake at 7AM overrode my admittedly small desire to appear humble.

Taken to School by a Six Year Old

I put $2 in the basket at my meetings unless I'm in a bad mood - then I put in $1.  I'm showing somebody, I'm just not sure who.  The thing is I should be throwing in a twenty once a week.  Have you looked at the prices of alcohol lately?  Holy shit, a pack of smokes and a 12 pack is some serious money.

Our neighbors have a grandson who is about 6.  This kid worships the ground I walk on, for some reason - probably because we're about the same age emotionally.  His dad told me a story about the two of them running into a homeless guy outside a baseball stadium, and the boy asked if it would be OK to toss the homeless guy a couple of bucks - a couple of his own personal dollars.  Talk about an inspiration for me.  Talk about shaming my cheap ass.  Two dollars is a lot of money when you're 6.

People, places, things, money, all of this stuff grows in power when I let it take on an out-sized place in my life.  God, I LOVE this stuff, too.  I can't get enough of it even though it rarely makes me happy. 

Restraint of Tongue and Pen

Because I believe that the essence of my recovery is simplicity itself I will repeat this oft repeated fact: Family is hard.

We can jettison potential friends.  We can attend new meetings.  We can find different colleagues.  But we cannot deny blood.

On the golf course last week SuperK had what she thought was a productive conversation with my relative who is . . . ahem . . . flexible with her planning skills.  SuperK - god love her - stood her ground, insisting to my relative that she is indeed less than reliable, being as kind and diplomatic as possible.  True to form, as a good justifier, my relative was dumbfounded, arguing that this was simply not the case.  Clearly miffed, she let me know a few days later that from now on we would no longer be using the Catch as Catch Can formula -a formula we insisted on after having been stood up so many times - and would now be operating on a Firm Plans Only schedule. 

Here's the thing: SuperK and I would love to be on a Firm Plans Only schedule.  We're precise Germans.  And we have absolutely no problem with an occasional audible - everyone gets to change plans from time to time, even at the last minute, even for no good reason.  Nobody likes an inflexible dude.

Shortly thereafter my relative sends out an email to SuperK asking her to join two other women for a round of golf at a specific time and at a specific place.  Then she sends me a note asking if I'll be at my home at a specific time so she can stop by afterwards.  As you can imagine, neither event transpires.  The cancellations came at the last minute and had a lot of pretty complicated and implausible contingencies.  SuperK had gracefully pirouetted away from the round of gold, wise woman that she is, even though it cost her some emotional capital trying to figure out how to say Fuck Off diplomatically.  I took a nap and turned off my phone.

My relative wondered if she could stop by tomorrow at a specific time instead.  The woman has chutzpah, I'll say that.

"Sure," I said.  "I should be around."

Then I thought about following up with a "this is why we don't make plans with you" email.  Not angry in tone, not resentful, as neither of us had taken the very rotten bait this time, but explanatory in nature.  I feel taken advantage of and wanted to pass this info along - I'm dealing with someone believes that her time is much more important than my time is when the fact of the matter is that my time is really fucking important.  Everybody knows that.  

Restraint of tongue and pen.  I called my sponsor first.

I got to send precisely nothing.

Patience, Etc.

Patient:  Content to wait if necessary; not losing one's temper while waiting.

My take is this: sometimes I have to hang in there and wait to let situations with people/places/things resolve of their own accord.  This is hard for me to do - as an alcoholic and as a man - because I'm a fucking brilliant genius who has the right answer for everything.  I don't have to know the question, for god's sake, to have the right answer.

And sometimes I have to take a necessary action.

The trick is knowing which is which.  That's the essence of The Serenity Prayer: Help me do what I need to do and help me not do what's none of my business and help me figure out which is which.

For me All Motion is Easier Than Calm Waiting.  Doing something - even if it's a terrible idea - is easier than being patient.

The New Guy

There was a newish guy here that called me a while back.  It's always a thrill when a new guy takes my number and actually calls.  Maybe it's me.  Maybe new guys call you people but they sure as shit aren't burning my phone up.  Come to think of it the old-timers aren't calling me, either; my friends don't call me.  Why the hell am I on the phone all the time?

It wasn't always like this.  I hated the phone when I was starting out, too.  The 1000lb phone.  I said that I didn't want to bother anyone, that I didn't have anything pressing to talk about, although the fact of the matter is I didn't want to pick up the fucking phone.  I had all of the answers.  I didn't require any help from any of you lesser mortals.

I could tell this guy was in a hurry to get off the phone.  He may have called one more time but probably not.  I called him a few times which he seemed to appreciate and I texted him a few times to similar effect.  Then, a couple of texts with no response.  I called today.  One more call.  I don't mean to sound any more arrogant than I already am but I do think it's the responsibility of the new people to reach out.  Gotta do the work.

I didn't enjoy the conversation today.  It sounded like he may have picked up recently although I couldn't get a straight answer about that.  He spent a lot of time talking about his anxiety and how severe it is and how he stays sober for a bit until the anxiety gets so bad that he doesn't have anyway else to relieve the pain.

I had coffee with him a while back and shared some of my struggles with anxiety (what's that LWSJ?  "Prone to anxiety?") and some of the things that I do to help tamp down the symptoms: meditation, yoga, exercise, etc.  I think I mentioned that these are accessories to The Steps.  I hope I did.  All of this stuff is helpful but if I'm not in The Program working on The Steps I got nothin'.  

I heard a lot about classes and deep breathing and guided meditation tapes but not a word about The Fellowship.  I deleted his contact from my phone.  I don't mind receiving calls from people trying to find their way and listening to the occasional flights of delusion.  That's one thing.   It's another thing altogether to make the call myself and take that kind of abuse.  If the dude is trying I'm cool with that - if I'm bothering him at his home when he's not trying then I'm not being of much help.

I Got Nothin'

As a general rule I'm not a big fan of prayers.  They seem too regurgitated to me, too "this is the way you're supposed to do it."  I'm especially not a big fan of prayers by famous people that a lot of people all say at once.  That's freaky mindless stuff.

Don't tell me what to say.

We read, as part of my Saturday 11th Step meeting, the prayer of Saint Frank of Assisi.  Pretty good prayer, really.  I was struck by the part that suggests we try to love rather than be loved, understand rather than be understood, comfort rather than be comforted.  It twists my thinking around so that the other person is the focus.  I concentrate so much on what I'm taking out of a relationship and not what I'm putting into it, and my relationships suffer as a result.

I need to think about this as I prepare to head home where people are definitely not going to do it the way I want it to be done.

Help! I Need Somebody!

Help: To provide assistance to (someone or something); to contribute in some way.

Here's me repeating some things I should have learned a long time ago . . . 

Whenever I find myself struggling - angry, frustrated, intolerant - I have taken back The Power.  I do not have The Power, I have never had The Power, yet I'm taking it back.

It is not help if I'm not doing something that someone wants done.  It is not helpful to help someone else as I think they should be helped.  I don't know where my car keys are - why do I think I can run somebody else's life?  I should concentrate my energies on not walking out in front of a truck.  That's about the extent of my talent.

As I prepare for my visit back to The Old City I find myself lining wondering why these people are going to ask me to do things that make no sense whatsoever when I could be solving all of their problems.  I can't believe how they want me to spend my time.  I can't believe they won't accommodate me during my visit as I want to be accommodated.  

Bullshit Shitstorm

As long as I'm talking about powerlessness and family I may as well work some shit out concerning powerlessness with my family.  I think one of the interesting things about blood relations is that there is a lot of similarity in make-up and constitution and behavior that really complicates everything.  It's like getting two bullshitters together in one room.  One bullshitter is bad enough but two of them trying to talk to each other is a veritable bullshit shitstorm.

Your folks are like everyone else - they have good qualities and they have bad qualities, in varying degrees -  and they inevitably instill some of their characteristics in you, and then when you try to work through something you're dealing with people that have some of the exact same prejudices and viewpoints and defects that make you so irritating, and you're all stumbling around in the Hexagon of Death with sharp swords and flaming pitchforks trying to get the other person to do what they want themselves want to do.

A veritable bullshit shitstorm.

I've got a relative here in Vacation Town who has a flaming pitchfork collection.  There are antique flaming pitchforks.  There are flaming pitchforks from the far corners of the globe.  This kind of weaponry can be problematic in its own right but when she tries to use them on my very large, very impressive sword collection the whole Hexagon of Death becomes a very, very dangerous place to be.  There are jabbing pitchforks and slashing swords all over the place.

My relative has not proven to be reliable about honoring plans that she's made with us.  And I mean never being reliable.  I think I have maybe one flexible bone in my body - those of us who have German blood coursing through German veins aren't known for our light-hearted, devil-may-care, frivolous approach to life, and while I understand that plans change and people are late or have to cancel or call late to cancel from time to time when "time to time" becomes "all of the time" then I start unsheathing my swords.

I don't trust her to do what she says she's going to do anymore so I'm loath to make plans.  Most people back off after a while when they realize the person they're trying to manipulate is no longer playing ball.  I mean, if you ask someone out on a date like a 1000 times and never get a yes then maybe it's time to move along.  Good for you for being persistent but maybe it's time to ask someone else out.  My relative just keeps asking.  I'm all like: "Really?  Again with the asking?  Isn't there someone else you can try to unsuccessfully manipulate?"

I think you can recognize that it ain't going to happen and still be amicable with someone.  I love my relative and she's a very nice person but we obviously aren't seeing life through a similar prism.  I don't like country music; I've said I don't like country music; quit asking me to go to a country music concert.  Not only am I not going to go I'm going to dig my heels in even deeper like the stubborn, arrogant, inflexible ass that I am.  After a while I start turning down free lottery tickets simply because I'm not going to loose the mental manipulation war.

Is it any wonder I drank?

Letting Go

Semantics:  A branch of linguistics studying the meaning of words.

I'm reminded of the story of the drunk who decides to wander around the top of a steep cliff after a night of drinking.  Inevitably, he stumbles over the edge and escapes death on the jagged rocks below by miraculously grabbing onto a tree branch poking out about half way down.

He starts to scream for help.

"Help, help," he screams.

Cracking the silence is a deep voice: "I can help you, my son."

"Who is it?"  the drunk screams, somehow holding on even though he's drunk enough that he thought it was a good idea to wander around the top of a cliff while he was drunk, at night.  Did I mention it was night?  This guy is a real horse's ass.

"It's god, my son," says the voice.

"Thank god, god," the drunk screams, clearly not thinking through the semantics of his reply.  "What do I have to do?"

"You have to let go," god says.  "Let go and I will save you."  

The drunk, tiring, thinks for a minute.

"Is there anyone else up there?" he screams.

The Way Things Are

Status Quo:  The state of things; the way things are, as opposed to the way they could be.

I'm heading back to The Old City again.  Apparently I have some more to learn about powerlessness and tolerance and it's not all about me-ness.  While I'm always trying to improve my tolerance skills there's nothing like a dose of family to show me how much further I have to go.  And, you know, I really like where I am right now which makes leaving to go someplace hot and humid less of a draw.

I spent about half of my swim this morning pre-arguing with an old friend from home.  He wasn't there and he was not thinking about me and if, by some miracle, he was thinking about me it wasn't in the context of an aggrieved soul wronged by the world.  This is one of those guys who managed to pick up the pieces of his ruined life after I left town and somehow forge ahead with a happy and productive life.  I don't know how these people do it.  I half-expected a mass suicide when I left town.  How could people even manage to move on after I left?

This guy has never called, emailed, or texted me since I left.  This doesn't make him unusual and I'm not angry or surprised by this behavior.  Most people have continued to live their lives.  I'm the one who left after all.  If one is interested in maintaining a status quo one can't throw the status quo into the wood chipper - The Old City status quo is in The Old City.  This doesn't mean that these relationships aren't real or meaningful, just that they're in a state of suspended animation.  There's a lot of binder in being able to chat about the weather or local politics or why the local baseball team can't seem to hit the ball out of the infield.

Where this dear old friend oversteps a boundary with me is by trying to arrange a meeting when I'm in town while not changing his behavior at all.  So my difficulty is this: if I call him then I'm surely in for a browbeating while not getting to see him and if I don't call him then I'm certainly in for a browbeating for not calling him.

So, you see, I'm kind of screwed.

The Wisdom of a 5 Year Old

Pain:  The condition or fact of suffering or anguish especially mental, as opposed to pleasure; torment; distress; sadness; grief; solicitude; disquietude.  

I still harbor deep down inside me the belief that I can make my way through life pain-free.  That desire is still there.  Intellectually, I know this to be bullshit and my experience confirms this, along with the counsel of many friends, and the wisdom I've gleaned through my intellectual and spiritual pursuit of ways to avoid the opposite of pleasure.

Sponsor (speaking directly to me):  "What are you - 5 years old?"

I wish.  I aspire to the wisdom of a 5 year old.  Maybe some day.

$7.20

Willie told a story yesterday about giving some money to a guy who approached him in a church parking lot.  Willie was a little bit suspicious of the guy after the fact.  He had a pretty good story that he told pretty well - almost practiced-like - and he first asked to use Willie's phone to call someone who Surprise! wasn't home.  Then came the request for money and not a vague amount like a dollar or two, either, but $7.20, an number which helped reinforce both the dubiousness and the plausibility of the plea.  Willie tossed the guy a tenner and wondered if he had been sold a bill of goods.  He wasn't upset - just curious.

I told him my opinion - irregardless of his interest in receiving it - about money: give it away if you can afford it.  Don't worry about where it ends up, even if it may end up in someone's pocket or in the cash register of a liquor store, because most of the time it helps out someone who needs the help.  I know I've been screwed before but I don't care because I think I've done more good with the occasional buck or handful of change that I let loose from my cold, greedy grip.  I don't want to be the guy refusing some much needed help to someone in tough circumstances because I'm worried the money might go for a pack of cigarettes or a bottle of wine.  So be it.   I'd rather concentrate on the homeless guy who's now going to be able to get something to eat.

As my grip tightens on a thing the amount of power it has on me grows exponentially.