Humpty Dumpty

I was overdue for A Call about my father.  God bless my little sister who takes what I would call the brunt of the shit that surrounds my dad's drinking if it weren't for the fact that she takes all of the shit that surrounds my dad's drinking.  Part of this is because she was always closer to him than I was but mostly the deal is that I don't put up with too much shit when it comes to someone else's drinking.  It's harder when it's a loved one who's the train wreck but it's not as hard as you'd think once you practice the detachment thing for a while.  I've been practicing for a while.  The technique is simple: we'll give you all the help you want; we won't tell you what to do; don't expect us to snap to attention if you veer into the weeds.  

I know this sounds clinical, detached, a tad uncaring.  I've been consistent in my behavior the last several years - I support the right of an adult to live his or her life as he or she sees fit, assuming bank robbery or sexual deviancy isn't involved, but I don't feel an obligation to clean up messes caused by people who aren't behaving very well.  My dad knows this about me - I've been very clear about this.  You want to drink?  Fine with me.  You fall down and end up in the emergency room?  Deal with it.

That's what happened, obviously.  The ER people explained the extent of his injuries - fortunately not much more than aches and pains - and tentatively said that they weren't going to release him that day because of an elevated blood alcohol level.  He may have been walking right up to the edge of an attack of the DTs which kills people regularly.  I got the sense they were expecting an objection from me or an expression of disbelief.

"The guy drinks like a fish and he doesn't eat," I said.  "This happens all the time."

Frankly, I'm glad he's in a hospital bed.  At least he's safe there.  I totally trust that the social workers at the hospital and his retirement home will do what's best for him.  No one wants him to go back to his apartment which, now that's sobered up, is exactly where he wants to go.  I get that, too - there's a lot more alcohol there than there is in his hospital room.  He was clearly pissed about having to spend a few days in the hospital.  Ah, no shit?   Ah, you can tell this to someone else, dad, because I'm not helping you get out.

I wonder how much money his health care system has shelled out for all of this stuff.  I'd say a few hundred thousand dollars over the last five years.  That may be a conservative estimate.

What a mess we can make of our lives when we're drinking.

$7.81

Tomorrow I go in to get my new and improved Very Expensive Tire.  I assume everyone is sitting on the edge of their seats, hoping for up to the minute updates on that affair, assuming, of course, that they're not dozing off, battling the extreme insomnia brought on by extreme mental anguish at my tire-related plights.

A few Sundays ago I was in my local grocery store, standing behind a tiny, neatly-dressed grandma who was buying supplies for what looked like a festive Palm Sunday meal, her granddaughter putting the food into plastic bags at the end of the counter.  The cashier rang up the total and grandma put down a few twenties, then counted out a stack of ones.  I could hear the cashier tell her that she was a little short.  Grandma shook her head no, hands out, palms up: that's all I have.  The cashier gently asked her to start taking items off until she was within the amount she had provided.

I leaned in: "How much does she owe?"

$7.80.

"OK," I said.  "I've got it."

The cashier interrupted grandma as she was sorting her purchases and told her that "this gentlemen is going to take care of the extra."  Grandma looked a bit confused as the cashier handed her a receipt.  The granddaughter whispered a thank you and the two left the store. Nothing from grandma who may have been too proud to say anything, may have refused the money if I had offered it directly to her.

My hope is that this makes the front page of the local newspaper: "The Incredible Largess of an Incredible Man!" or some such shit.  I mean: what a guy, right?

I assume you know how much peace of mind that $7.81 bought me.

Rabid Pea-Foul

Today was Take A Hike Day so I drove inland about 15 miles to what passes for remote in my area.  Actually, it sort of is remote; remote-ish; remote-lite; remote-near, anyway.  A lot of times when I hike I see only a couple of people in a four hour period so that's remote for me although if I'm up in the hills I can see houses and roads far below me in the valley, and the ocean on the horizon if the day is clear, and it usually is, so I don't feel like I'm in deep, dark Africa or anything.  The drive today began in the mist, and then drizzle, fog blowing across the road. WTF? I thought, where did this come from?  The weather is so consistent that I'm not in the habit of reading daily reports.

I reached the trail-head and started off.  It was seriously foggy, scary foggy, can't see 20 yards away foggy.  This is unusual for this area which made it pretty cool but also kind of eerie. Spooky.  Monster spooky.  This particular trail is pretty popular, well-traveled, set in amongst farms and pastures, a few houses at the start, so I don't have that city-boy in the country unease that I often have when I get off by myself.  It was so foggy today, however, that I began to get creeped out.  I began to imagine mountain lines stalking me, big Hound of the Baskervilles beasts boiling over the ridge line and tearing me to bits, rabid pea-foul, enraged, pecking me unmercifully.

Fear: A strong, uncontrollable, unpleasant emotion caused by actual or perceived danger or threat. 

For most of my life I've lived in or near large cities.  I'm perfectly comfortable being in an urban environment which is a lot more dangerous than the country stuff.  It's just that I know the scene, I know what to keep vigilant about and what to ignore.  The thought of living in a small cabin in an isolated area make me sweat profusely.  I couldn't do it.

Of course, in hour three of my hike I passed a couple of pleasant older women hiking along.  They didn't seem to be sweating profusely, at least not out of fear.  Then maybe they wouldn't have been quite so blithe if they had to contemplate a trip to Cambodia, either.   When the subject of my next destination comes up a lot of times people ask: "Is it safe?"  I answer politely and roll my eyes discretely. 

Fear: an evil and corroding thread.  Our very existence seems to be shot through with.  

Takers of the World, Unite!

Take:  To get into one's hand, possession or control, with or without force.  (Ed. Note:  I like that they slipped the word "force" into the definition - it adds a sinister element of violence that I think is appropriate).

When I came into The Fellowship I was a taker.  Ah, who am I kidding - I'm still a taker, just not a gluttonous one with an insatiable, voracious appetite.  I don't think at its essence this makes me particularly unusual.  After all people are programmed instinctively to procure sex, self-worth, and stuff.  It IS true that as an alcoholic I had a pretty strong drive to overload the sex-power-money apple cart, which sometimes tipped over.  The Book suggests, gently but repeatedly, that we drunks have a tendency to overdo virtually everything.

Then I'm faced with this Program that offers me all of the help I could ever use as long as I ask for it, a nice mix of assistance and personal responsibility.  It does not promise to be able to read my mind and figure out magically what I need.  Because I always assumed that givers were suckers I had no experience asking for help.  I would never freely give help unless I was under extreme duress so I was unable to conceptualize how anyone else might do this weird thing.

I heard a woman describe her behavior around her birthday at a meeting once.  She labored under a strangely egotistical humility - she was uncomfortable being the center of attention so she wouldn't tell anyone it was her birthday and then when they didn't buy her presents and cake and make a big fuss she got pissed off.  Doesn't this sound familiar?  I wanted everyone to be a mind-reader.  I thought you should know what I needed without me saying anything, sort of a "if you loved me I wouldn't have to tell you what I want" scenario.

At my meeting the reading included the %$#!! Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi.  To quote: "Grant that I may seek rather to comfort than to be comforted - to understand, than to be understood  to love, than to be loved.  For it is by self-forgetting that one find.  It is by forgiving that one is forgiven."

And so on and so forth.

A Dubious Community

Community:  A group sharing a common understanding and often the same language, manners, tradition, and law.

Our meeting this morning centered around the fact that most of us stumble into The Rooms mighty distrustful of other people and are mighty surprised to find out how wonderful it is to find a place where there are people who seem to understand us.  Most of us had only a vague notion as to how thoroughly isolated we were and how injurious it was to be so alone.  I sat and drank and thought for so long that I was convinced that the shit I was coming up with in my own head made some kind of sense.  I did a lot of journaling when I was still drinking and I occasionally read this stuff.  I can tell you that there was a lot of weird stuff in there.  I have no IDEA how I managed to convince myself that this stuff made sense.

I make sure to differentiate alone time - as an introvert this is a very important part of my make-up - with isolation - as an alcoholic I have a long and storied history of wandering off on my own, to think weird thoughts and convince myself that they need to be thought.

Talk some of the time.  Listen most of the time.

Big In Europe

Responsible:  Answerable for an act performed or its consequences.

My sponsor says this: "We should break both index fingers of everyone who walks in the door." He's not a violent guy - he just thinks that we should quickly get past the idea that we can blame our drinking on anybody or anything else.  Isn't that also called the Al-Anon handshake?  You know - one finger pointing forward, three pointing back.

I drank because I liked the effect of alcohol on my body.  I drank because I couldn't stop once I started.  I thought I could get it under control. 

I used to hate myself in the morning.  Now I sleep 'till noon.

I'm big in Europe.

Tire-mageddon

I have spent some time processing the Very Expensive Tire outlay.  I did some research.  Yessir, I surely did.  It was inconclusive if by "inconclusive" you mean "not the information that I wanted to get."  The Very Expensive Car company said that they wouldn't even look at the damaged tire, suggesting that I remove it from the car like yesterday.  Fair enough - you don't waste a lot of time in the Very Expensive Car market by screwing around with cheapskates trying to save a few dollars on the tires, for chrissake.  You're trying to up-sell engines and navigation systems that cost many hundreds of dollars and you're trying to do this on new cars that no one has bought yet.  I'm guessing - as a non-participant in the Very Expensive Car business - that engaging in an extensive dialogue on the tires of someone's used car isn't way up there on the priority list.  

My next stop was the website for the Very Expensive Tire.  There was a whiff of nuance here but it was only a whiff and it blew away quickly in a stiff breeze.  They admitted that under certain circumstances repairing the damaged tire might work out while listing a whole lot of pre-conditions that would degrade the structural integrity of the tire.  In other words, buy a new tire.  Anytime the phrase "structural integrity" is paired up with the phrase "catastrophic failure" trouble is on the horizon.

Because I had yet to get information validating the opinion that I had wished to have validated, I visited some message boards and unregulated web sites where I assume a lot of other people who didn't want to replace Very Expensive Tires were trolling around.  These were my people. These were the people who thought buying a new tire when you could repair a damaged tire was the way to go.  Only an idiot would buy a new tire.  Finally, the answer that I wanted to hear.

When my emotions are running high I try not to do anything because whatever I do tends to be stupid.  I sat with the problem for a week.  I even made a follow-up call to the repair shop - an establishment that I love and really trust, by the way - to re-litigate my case.  I have been dealing with one of the junior technicians there who was somewhat flustered by the call but stood firmly by his recommendation, god bless him.  Eventually I worked my way through to the point where I realized I had the money and that if there was the slightest chance of a catastrophic structural failure while I was ensconced inside 2 tons of glass and steel moving at 80 MPH that I should avoid this possibility, especially since I know jack-shit about tires so what the hell was I doing, trying to outflank a tire expert?

At my morning meeting today I saw a good friend who's a mechanic.  I was on my way to the repair shop to make one last stab at doing what I wanted to do. After all I didn't have a successful career in sales by throwing in the towel at the first resistance.  I told him the situation.  He's not sober very long and I think that sometimes people look at us long-timers and figure they're not in a position to hand out device.

He listened to my tale of woe.

"Do you have the money?" he asked.

"Yes."

" I don't know a lot about run-flats but if your mechanic says replace the tire I'd go ahead and replace the tire," he said.

He was very polite.  I thought it was a kindness to ask if I had the money, not just assume this was the case, even though he knew I had the money.  I wouldn't have treated him nearly as politely, I'll tell you that.

The towel has been thrown in.

President Seaweed

I had a nice talk on the phone a couple of days ago with Spandex.  I think the general tenor of the conversation was along the lines of "Really?  This is what my life is like?"  This is actually a pretty common theme for us.  I don't want to suggest that either of us is unhappy or discontented for this is far from the truth.  Rather, I think, we fantasize from time to time about what it would all be like if our life was a blank canvas upon which we could paint the exact picture we want.  I think there would be a lot of free time and Ferraris and shit like that showing up.

I get this newsletter from my old high school.  In the last issue I saw that the guy who finished exactly one spot ahead of me in our senior class rankings is now the president of a major university.  This guy was a seriously smart dude.  I don't think I'm an idiot or anything but I attained my class rank by just basically outworking most people.  I was never destined to be the president of anything.

So I got up this morning and went to the Malcontent's meeting, which was excellent.  We read from our main text and had a good discussion.  I've got a lot of seriously good friends there that it was seriously good to see.  Then I had breakfast and drove inland about 15 miles and took an excellent, seriously good 4 hour hike.  We've had a lot of rain here in semi-arid Vacation City so the terrain - all uphill, for the excellent work-out - was surprisingly green.  I was by myself, thinking good thoughts, listening to the crunch of my hiking boats on the rocky trail, watching wisps of fog blow in and out, shrouding the peaks of the low mountain range that I was tromping right on up.  Coffee in the sun afterwards.  A good book and a good newspaper on the porch when I got home.  A quiet dinner, home-cooked in all aspects.

Hard to beat that. 

Even Steven

I was able to pick a tangerine from the tree in my neighbor's yard and eat it as part of my breakfast today.  And I have been pre-authorized to do this - by the neighbor - who owns the tree, relieving me of the burden of sneaking over and stealing a tangerine, unauthorized.  Cannot TELL you how cool this is.

So . . . because I recently shared, by popular demand, a pool etiquette story I'm going to revive more tall tales, of misery and woe and total unfairness, about the run-flat tires on my Very Expensive Car, even though this car is 7 years old and not that expensive any more.  The manufacturer of this car installs run-flat tires in the interest of weight management and distribution - according to their Very Slick Website - although I suspect that the real reason is that they get to charge the same amount of money for the automobile even though they don't provide a spare tire, jack, and the like, probably all for the good in my case.  I just can't see myself squatting on the verge of a busy CA highway fucking around with a flimsy jack that is tenuously supporting a car that has to weigh two tons, while my arms are under said car.  It would be easier for me if I just asked SuperK to whack me on the hands with a jack - or other iron rod, since I don't actually have a jack - than to wait for the car to fall on me in an inconvenient location.

Anyway, a small light was activated on the dash of my car alerting me to a low tire.  I squirted some air into the tire and the light went out temporarily.  It's back on.  I have an appointment to have the tire inspected where I'm sure some guy is going to tell me that this almost brand new tire is no good and could I please shell out $400 for another one?  Another feature of tires such as these is that they can't be repaired.  I have been briefly annoyed by this.  I guess my growth is that I spend less and less time worrying about things in the future that involve money that I can actually afford.

Here's the funny thing: the very next day I got a note from my father informing me that I'm going to get a small sum of money from an investment that my dear, departed mother had instructed be divvied up between dad, my sister, and me.  While I realize that life isn't set up to work like this routinely I'm also amazed at how often shit like this happens.  And I'm totally projecting the outcome of the tire escapade and I'm totally projecting a bad outcome even though that is not routinely the case.

Even Steven.

An Ancient Riff

One of the most ancient riffs in my sober life is my belief that I am who I am.  I like to think that I continue to examine myself and to work on the areas of my life that I feel are less than compelling.  I never want to get complacent, to think that I'm all done, all finished, all that.  I do believe that I'm not in a place where I'm making sea changes in my being - it's more like I'm working on sanding down rough edges and craggy corners.  I guess I don't want to spend a lot of time working on unworkable gears.  I try to behave well and to be consistent in my actions - I don't see that there are too many instances where my friends and comrades can say: "Wow.  I didn't see that coming."  Rather, I want people to nod their lovely heads and say: "Yeah, that sounds like Seaweed."  It may be to your liking and it may not.  So be it.

I say this because it's a great reminder for me to let others live their lives as they see fit.  Nobody but nobody needs me to tell them how to live.  Obviously I wasn't a big success before The Program and I'm not always tearing it up in my sobriety.  I know many, many people in recovery who are not going to change a lot.  They are who they are.  I can draw near or I can draw away but I can't live someone else's life for them.  It helps me to see this - it helps me to accept people for who they are.  It's no good to focus on behavior that I don't care for and to ignore behavior that is really quite nice.

Splenetic

Spleen:  A ductless vascular gland which destroys old red blood cells, removes debris from the bloodstream, acts as a reservoir of blood, and produces lymphocytes.  (Ed. Note: Why in the world did this perfectly respectful sounding gland acquire the reputation of being a source of spitefulness?  Hardly seems fair, does it, o noble spleen?)

Since I'm in a big theme Repeat-a-thon I'll mention that I've had some recurring, renewing, reviving thoughts about being responsible for my own happiness.  If I'm not happy that is . . . on . . . me.  If I'm angry or upset that is . . . on . . . me, despite the fact that I so dearly love to blame other people, places, and things for any negative feelings I have.   It is so tempting to look outside of myself for a reason for my unhappiness and it's especially tempting when I truly perceive some person, place, or thing to be at fault or somehow lacking.  The world is a flawed place and people are flawed beings so I can always find something upon which I can vent my considerable spleen.

Crazy For You

There was a section of the book that described the frustration a member experienced trying to deal with a neighbor (or could we say friend, colleague, or fellow group member?) who was highly emotional and afflicted with many problems.  The guy spent a lot of time talking about how crazy she was.

I get crazy.  I'm crazy.  If I don't like how you're behaving I assume you're crazy.  I also know how to create drama and use other very effective techniques for drawing attention to myself such as acting crazy.  I feed off of the attention and I drink deeply from the trough of chaos - I know it isn't good for me or anyone else but I take a perverse pleasure in the outcome.  And I'm of the opinion that if you want someone who is acting crazy to stop acting crazily that the least effective technique is to accuse them of being crazy.  It's very difficult to reason with someone like that - it's like trying to rationalize with a small child or a large, practicing alcoholic.  Did you see the light of reason and immediately change your behavior when someone made a pretty compelling argument that your alcoholic behavior was making things worst?  Yeah, me, either.

"I mentioned that the more insane he described the neighbor, the more insane it seemed to fight with her.  Obviously the woman is more experienced at fighting than my friend will ever be.  I suggested that, instead of fighting, my friend might withdraw, stay away; even try, in so far as possible, to be courteous and understanding."

"We have ceased fighting anything and anybody."

Self-Righteous-Osity

Self-righteous:  Piously self-assured and smugly moralistic.

My men's meeting is deep in the bowels of a book written by a pretty famous member of The Fellowship - not conference-approved so inappropriate for an official meeting but fine for our book study group.  There's a lot of good writing out there above and beyond the stuff our central office has vetted.  There's a lot of crap, too, he muses self-righteously.

So continuing on my self-righteous thread about self-righteousness I was confronted by this paragraph in the book last night.  I find that when I put myself in a position to be helped that help cometh, and it cometh briskly.

"Nothing is more useless than trying to change someone who thinks they are never wrong. Change for them is too frightening.  The only answer I know is to accept the fact that they are the way they are and will never change.  Then either leave and be happy, or stay and be happy. But don't stay and complain, or leave and complain.  It's a wast of time and energy.  You'll only hurt yourself."

SuperK is of the opinion that I never admit to being wrong.  To which I reply: "If I'm ever wrong I'll be the first to admit it."  She doesn't think this is very funny.

Come to think of it she says that I never say I'm sorry.  My answer to this, as I recall - also not very funny - is along the lines of: "If I ever make a mistake I'll apologize immediately."

You can see why I'm continuously in hot water.  You can see why I try not to talk.

Opinion V Fact

Opinion:  A belief that a person has formed about a topic or an issue; the judgement or sentiment which the mind forms of persons or things.

Four days hiking in the desert . . .   

I still give the jungle props for being the most competitive environment for plant life on this planet.  It is plant versus plant there and you better be tough or you're going to be subsumed. But the desert is no slouch, either, except that it's more of a plant versus the elements thing there. You better be good at capturing water and nutrients or you're going down.  Every single plant was equipped with what could only be described as large, stainless steel surgical needles except for the ones that had billions of tiny, titanium surgical needles.  I didn't touch nothing out there.  And it was hot and dry - I really respected the elements.  I didn't take anything lightly.

As I hiked I mused.  I spent some time thinking about the difference between personal responsibility and group support.  My experience in recovery has shown me that there is a tension most of the time between the two extremes of any spectrum.  Does everything boil down to personal responsibility?  You better believe it.  Most of us figure out right quick that we have to quit pointing fingers at other people, places, and things as the cause of our problems.  OK, so it's all up to me then?  I don't think so.  The first word of the first step is "We" which indicates to me that if I try to do this by myself then it's going to be a long slog.  I need the help and advice and suggestions that come to me from all kinds of different people, some of whom I dislike or disagree with vehemently.

I've learned in my life that if I set up shop at one end or the other of anything then I'm missing a big part of the puzzle.  The Program has taught me to open up my eyes and try to see the value in everything, not just in the principles that I'm convinced are some kind of inalienable right.  I'm grateful that this tendency has slopped over into a many other facets of my life - politics, religion, social values, morality, and on and on.  I don't mean to say that I lose my core beliefs, rather that I don't go bat-shit crazy when I hear something that I don't agree with.  So many things are opinions, not facts.