No Rest for this Wicked Drunk

Insidious: Characterized by treachery or slyness; crafty; wily; more dangerous than seems evident.

Today my alcoholism is looking for a foothold. It doesn't care that much about a big victory right away. It wants to start the process. I'm a big piece of granite and my alcoholism is a tiny patch of green moss hiding in a cold, dark, damp crevice, out of sight. I'm a pretty tough rock and I laugh at the insignificant moss. Each day, imperceptible to me, it grows just a little bit bigger. Then it catches a drifting seed which takes root. The seed grows into a tree, which one day splits me in two. "How the hell did that happen?" I think. "I sure didn't see that coming."

When I got to AA the fog machine was at full capacity. I couldn't see two inches in front of my face. I got sober and blew all the fog away with some big turbo recovery exhaust fans. But my alcoholism keeps blowing little puffs of fog back into the room, hoping I won't notice. It puffs at night or when I'm distracted. It never stops puffing. Every day I fan the fog away. Every day my alcoholism tries again. It never quits. It is inexhaustible.

Not today. Maybe tomorrow, but not today.

Alone Again, Naturally

Isolate: To set apart from others; place alone; in medicine, to place (a patient with a contagious disease) apart from others to prevent the spread of infection.

I'm going to assume that Webster's is talking about minor conditions like the Black Death or bubonic plague when it mentions contagious diseases. Alcoholism laughs at the Black Death. It eats the Black Death for a bedtime snack. It cleans its teeth with the bones of those who have died from typhoid fever. Alcoholism thinks leprosy is a board game. The Four Hideous Horsemen won't hang out with alcoholism. They don't want to catch it. They know a disease when they see one.

Alcoholism is populated with people who are inexorably drawn to aloneness. We like to steal away and think. We like to turn things over in our minds. We figure stuff out. We come up with solutions. Unfortunately, the most egregious shit starts to make sense if we can just dedicate enough time alone to figuring it out.

This isolation can take many forms. The best kind, of course, is when we are actually all alone, but many of us have developed the ability to feel apart no matter what the circumstances are. We can be in a crowd of people and feel alone. Alone is a state of mind for an alcoholic. It's who we are.

This is why we have meetings. This is why the telephone exists.

So You Wanna Be a Rock and Roll Star?

Dream: A fanciful vision or fancy of the conscious mind; daydream; reverie.


I am a dreamer. I live in a dream world. Fanciful images flit through my mind, coming and going like a thief in the night. I wish I could say I have no control over this process, which would make me conventionally insane, but I actually encourage these thoughts, which means I'm trying to make myself insaner. Reality is a drag and a bummer. I have no use for reality


People see me sitting quietly, my brow furrowed in concentration, staring into the distance, and assume that I am deciphering arcane problems or pondering the great mysteries of abstract philosophical theories. Actually, I'm imagining myself prancing back onto the stage at Wembley Stadium for my ninth or tenth encore -- a wold record -- as lead guitarist, singer, and songwriter of the Incredible Horseface Steve Rock and Roll Revue.

I bask in the glory that is Horseface Steve.

Worker Among Workers

Special: Unusual; uncommon; exceptional; extraordinary.


Today I feel special. I don't think that I should have to do all of the stuff that ordinary people do. I want to retire rich today, on my private island in some tropical paradise. It never rains there. The grass doesn't have to be cut and I can eat whatever I want without getting fat or waking up at 3AM, regretting my use of Dave's Insanity Sauce on my huevos rancheros. I am certainly not going to exercise, which is time consuming and boring and frequently painful. And I can assume everyone has a good idea what I think about work.

I still find myself frustrated from time to time about the general pace and tenor of life. I start adding up all the time I spend doing things that I have to do or should do, and it comes up to a hell of a lot of time. Almost all of the hours in an ordinary day, to be honest with you. This seems patently unfair. If I have to decide between lying in a hammock on my tropical island or cleaning out the cat litter box -- which I make my wife do, by the way, so I'm not sure what I'm complaining about in this particular instance -- the choice is clear.


It has never occurred to me that for most of us life is mostly fulfilling obligations. The trick is developing my spiritual being, my care and love for others, so that I actually take some pleasure in being one of the masses. Our literature suggests that we have never tried to be an ordinary person.


I'm so extraordinary.

I'm Not Sure This is Going to Work Out . . .

Optimism: The tendency to take the most hopeful view of matters or to expect the best outcome in any circumstance; practice of looking on the bright side of things.

The first few days after an election are usually marked by an incredible surge of pessimism in the folks on the losing end of any campaign. It's like Dawn of the Dead for politicos. People who normally behave pretty well rise from their graves, all glassy eyed and dyspeptic, dripping blood and brains, and start predicting gloom and doom. They dissect every comment. They analyze every phrase. They look for the Downside.


When I first walked into The Rooms I was sure that this wasn't going to work for me. Nobody could say anything to change my mind. I argued about everything. I debunked every possibility. I didn't listen to anything anyone said because my mind was fully engaged preparing my defense. I was terrified of change. I was sitting in my own poop but didn't think much of the suggestion that I get up and move. The poop might be deeper somewhere else, and stinkier.


Most of us find, of course, that we aren't very good at predicting the future. It's not part of our skill set. We find that things work out well in the long run as long as we try to do the next right thing. Sometimes we get unexpectedly good results. Sometimes we get what we want and wish that we hadn't.

Be careful what you pray for.

Winners and Losers

Election Day has come and gone. Time for the winners to sneer in the faces of the losers. Time for the losers to plot venomous acts of revenge. Time to put a human face on the concepts of Poor Loser and Arrogant Victor. Dance on the graves of the vanquished. Sabotage the plans of the triumphant. How could those idiots have voted for the other guy? How could they be so stupid?

I don't care which political party that anyone supports. The last twenty years of presidential elections have provided both sides plenty of opportunity to moan in despair and shriek in triumph. There hasn't been a lot of middle ground to occupy. It has been Them versus Us. I don't think, in my essence, that I'm any better or worse than the average partisan. I don't think I would behave any differently without the tools of my Twelve Step Program. I'm competitive. I hate to lose.

I came into Recovery awfully certain that your pathetic plan wasn't going to work. I argued until I was red in the face and steam was coming out of my ears and I fell to the ground, frothing at the mouth. You were simply wrong and I felt compelled to prove it. I wasn't interested in listening to the opinions or experience of anyone else. This was the place that I learned that if I listened to people that I disagreed with that I could learn some good stuff.

It's all going to be OK.

I'm Pretty Sure I'm Right

Compromise: A settlement in which each side gives up some demands or makes concessions.

Today I'm going to go ahead and assume that I'm right. I'm going to ignore any nagging little misgivings or concerns that someone else might have a better idea. It's just too implausible. It would be a waste of my valuable time. I might have to listen to someone else talk. Not pretend to listen, either. Actually listen. I think I did this once long ago in a blackout; but this might be euphoric recall or an LSD flashback. I seem to recall that Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin were there, which isn't a good sign.


Naturally I won't have to seek the counsel or advice of anyone else in the world. I can keep my thoughts to myself, unless I need to correct the mistakes of others, which I will have to do often and with confidence, aggression, and barely concealed disdain. If I'm right, they must be wrong. Middle ground is a myth. Compromise is for losers, people without the confidence to destroy the competition.

This tendency of mine becomes especially pronounced around election time, when I must suffer the opinions of the tragically misinformed.