I recently gave a lead at an area clubhouse. This particular meeting features talks by people who have twenty plus years of sobriety. "Man," I thought. "This organization is in a world of hurt if I've crossed some kind of mythical threshold." Most of the time I'm in a Texas Death Match with that goat playing the ukulele. I'm lucky if I can act in a normal fashion 20 or 30 percent of the time. Otherwise it's any body's guess what's going to come out of my mouth .
A few good friends of mine came to hear me speak and I always make a point of emphasizing how important these relationships are to my sobriety. It's one thing to attend a meeting once a week and another all together to have long conversations with people who know me very, very well. I have a tendency to spin things when I'm speaking before a bunch of people. I want to be funny and profound in my message and well put together. If I'm having trouble at work I can paint a picture that would seem to place all of the blame on the job and none of it on me, as unlikely as this is. I don't even know I'm doing this most of the time. My capacity for bullshit and self-delusion is boundless.
So I have these friends who know they can shoot from the hip with me. In my opinion that's what a friend is. Someone who knows he can speak his mind and that there won't be long lasting repercussions. When I was drinking I had a Shit List, and you were on it. I didn't forget anything. I was a master grudge holder. So what happens? Nobody tells you anything you don't want to hear.
One time I was having coffee with Willy and he was laying it on pretty thick so I interrupted and told him what I really thought. He started to laugh then yelled to the waitstaff: "I'm going to need another cup of steaming hot coffee because I'm going to pour this one in this guy's crotch."
I can move surprisingly fast for an old man.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
Horseface Steve or Special S?
Special: Of a kind different from others; distinctive, peculiar, or unique; unusual; uncommon; exceptional; extraordinary.
All that applies to me. All of it. I am EXTRAORDINARY. Unfortunately, I'm extraordinary in the bad sense of the word, as in: "That was an extraordinarily inappropriate comment" or Your work habits are exceptionally bad." Peculiar seems to be a better fit.
I recall a conversation I had a while back with Harley, an old friend of mine. He was working outside of the city and had a long daily commute. On the drive home one night he got a speeding ticket. He was not happy about this gift from the state, and he spent a long time telling me why he shouldn't have been cited: it was a speed trap, everyone else was speeding, the radar actually got the guy ahead of him, etc. etc.
Mind you, I'm totally sympathetic. I believe that there should be a special set of Horseface Rules for someone as exceptional as me. My actions should be judged separately from the rest of society because of my exceptional persona. I always thought that I should be given a special driver's license, maybe marked with a big scarlet "S." For instance, if I was stuck at a red light and there was no cross traffic, I would be free to run the light. My exceptional driving skills would make this safe and acceptable.
I recall the last time I got a speeding ticket. Believe it or not, it was actually kind of a fun experience. I saw those oh-so-familiar flashing lights go on and felt the oh-so-familiar panic grab my genitals before I recalled that I was clean and sober. No quick check of the ashtray for the stray roach. No kicking beer cans under the seat. No mouthful of Tic Tac so that I smelled like Budweiser and spearmint. The cop was polite, quick, and efficient. He even gave me a flyer explaining that they were patrolling this particular stretch of road because there had been a recent spate of serious accidents, as if he had to explain to me why he was giving me a ticket for driving 20 MPH above the posted limit. "Sir, I clocked you at 75 in a 55 MPH zone." That's funny, because I had my cruise control set at 78.
My mentors in recovery help me work out the answers on my own. I don't listen to anyone when they talk to me. I have to think that I figured out something all on my own. Here's my exchange with Harley.
"What was the speed limit?"
"35."
"How fast were you going?"
"48."
"OK, I see. So you were, in fact, speeding?"
"Yeah, but . . . "
"But you were, in fact speeding?"
Maybe if start posting signs that say:"Speed Limit 35, Unless everyone else is speeding then it's 48."
All that applies to me. All of it. I am EXTRAORDINARY. Unfortunately, I'm extraordinary in the bad sense of the word, as in: "That was an extraordinarily inappropriate comment" or Your work habits are exceptionally bad." Peculiar seems to be a better fit.
I recall a conversation I had a while back with Harley, an old friend of mine. He was working outside of the city and had a long daily commute. On the drive home one night he got a speeding ticket. He was not happy about this gift from the state, and he spent a long time telling me why he shouldn't have been cited: it was a speed trap, everyone else was speeding, the radar actually got the guy ahead of him, etc. etc.
Mind you, I'm totally sympathetic. I believe that there should be a special set of Horseface Rules for someone as exceptional as me. My actions should be judged separately from the rest of society because of my exceptional persona. I always thought that I should be given a special driver's license, maybe marked with a big scarlet "S." For instance, if I was stuck at a red light and there was no cross traffic, I would be free to run the light. My exceptional driving skills would make this safe and acceptable.
I recall the last time I got a speeding ticket. Believe it or not, it was actually kind of a fun experience. I saw those oh-so-familiar flashing lights go on and felt the oh-so-familiar panic grab my genitals before I recalled that I was clean and sober. No quick check of the ashtray for the stray roach. No kicking beer cans under the seat. No mouthful of Tic Tac so that I smelled like Budweiser and spearmint. The cop was polite, quick, and efficient. He even gave me a flyer explaining that they were patrolling this particular stretch of road because there had been a recent spate of serious accidents, as if he had to explain to me why he was giving me a ticket for driving 20 MPH above the posted limit. "Sir, I clocked you at 75 in a 55 MPH zone." That's funny, because I had my cruise control set at 78.
My mentors in recovery help me work out the answers on my own. I don't listen to anyone when they talk to me. I have to think that I figured out something all on my own. Here's my exchange with Harley.
"What was the speed limit?"
"35."
"How fast were you going?"
"48."
"OK, I see. So you were, in fact, speeding?"
"Yeah, but . . . "
"But you were, in fact speeding?"
Maybe if start posting signs that say:"Speed Limit 35, Unless everyone else is speeding then it's 48."
Thursday, January 8, 2009
The Alcohol Keeps Coming At Me
I have learned over the years to be especially careful about my sobriety when I'm on vacation. I believe that if I quit working The Program one day at a time that I will eventually drink again, and I think that it not be during a time of stress or tragedy. When I'm in difficult circumstances, when I'm in pain or fearful, I tend to work on my recovery. It's when I get all relaxed and loosey-goosey and away from my support network that my thoughts drift toward alcohol and drugs. Alcohol, after all, did a good job making good times better.
Here are some of the things that happened to me in Belize.
When we checked into our hotel on the beach, we were shown the three beverages always available at no charge to the guests: coffee, fruit punch, and rum punch. Free fruit punch with rum. I would have just taken that container up to my room and suckled it like a new born baby. I think the fruit punch container had "Fruit Punch" written on it in magic marker; the alcohol had "Fruit Punch with Rum -- Enjoy!!" There may have been several exclamation points. The writing was more attractive and alluring, friendlier somehow. Were they suggesting that I shouldn't enjoy the fruit punch? That it was unlovable, less than somehow?
The first evening we walked the half mile from our hotel into the little party town that was the island's focal point. After a couple of hundred yards we came on a guy who had six or eight little hand made rope bracelets on a piece of cardboard. "This guy needs to work on his marketing," I thought. Friendly, he asked when we had gotten into town, what were we doing for New Year's Eve, did we want to buy some pot -- free sample, would we look at his bracelets? "Excuse me, what was that middle thing again?" This was repeated a half dozen times as we made our way into town. Apparently marijuana control was not a big issue here. I figured that with the tropical climate and a big crowd of Rasta dudes that the weed was probably top shelf. Free rum punch and free samples of weed. Where were these people when I was using?
We stop for dinner at a local restaurant overlooking the Caribbean. Nice breeze, great view, food smelling wonderful, and the waiter takes our order for a couple of cokes. "What, no drink? Mai Tai, margarita, beer? You're on vacation." I'm sure the markup on beer is a lot higher than the markup on beans and rice. I bet no one orders eight plates of beans and rice at one sitting. If he does, I bet he sleeps by himself that night.
I was not tempted by any of these very, very attractive temptations but I was very, very aware of them. This is how I know I'm an alcoholic. This hyper-awareness of the presence of alcohol is pretty typical of alcoholics.
Funny. There was always a full container of rum punch and never any fruit punch when we were thirsty.
Here are some of the things that happened to me in Belize.
When we checked into our hotel on the beach, we were shown the three beverages always available at no charge to the guests: coffee, fruit punch, and rum punch. Free fruit punch with rum. I would have just taken that container up to my room and suckled it like a new born baby. I think the fruit punch container had "Fruit Punch" written on it in magic marker; the alcohol had "Fruit Punch with Rum -- Enjoy!!" There may have been several exclamation points. The writing was more attractive and alluring, friendlier somehow. Were they suggesting that I shouldn't enjoy the fruit punch? That it was unlovable, less than somehow?
The first evening we walked the half mile from our hotel into the little party town that was the island's focal point. After a couple of hundred yards we came on a guy who had six or eight little hand made rope bracelets on a piece of cardboard. "This guy needs to work on his marketing," I thought. Friendly, he asked when we had gotten into town, what were we doing for New Year's Eve, did we want to buy some pot -- free sample, would we look at his bracelets? "Excuse me, what was that middle thing again?" This was repeated a half dozen times as we made our way into town. Apparently marijuana control was not a big issue here. I figured that with the tropical climate and a big crowd of Rasta dudes that the weed was probably top shelf. Free rum punch and free samples of weed. Where were these people when I was using?
We stop for dinner at a local restaurant overlooking the Caribbean. Nice breeze, great view, food smelling wonderful, and the waiter takes our order for a couple of cokes. "What, no drink? Mai Tai, margarita, beer? You're on vacation." I'm sure the markup on beer is a lot higher than the markup on beans and rice. I bet no one orders eight plates of beans and rice at one sitting. If he does, I bet he sleeps by himself that night.
I was not tempted by any of these very, very attractive temptations but I was very, very aware of them. This is how I know I'm an alcoholic. This hyper-awareness of the presence of alcohol is pretty typical of alcoholics.
Funny. There was always a full container of rum punch and never any fruit punch when we were thirsty.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Timing is Everything
Silence: The state or fact of keeping silent; a refraining from speech or the making of noise.
I was chatting with Serenity Stan yesterday about how difficult it is to determine, in any particular situation, when we need to act and when we need to wait patiently and let life proceed on its own terms. We debated the facts, exchanged ideas, pondered great mysteries and arcane truths, and tried to unravel the secret of successful living. And, once again decided that, in most cases, our lives would be better if we sealed our mouths with duct tape and sat quietly in a corner for the rest of the day. I can't remember where my car keys are half of the time. I'm going to solve your problems for you? I don't think so.
Here's a general recap of our conclusions:
Would I be better off if I did nothing? Yes.
Would things work out better if I didn't say a word? Yes, they would.
If I talk or act in any manner whatsoever, do I see an improvement in the lives of others? Not very often.
But in those instances where I do need to act the trick is getting the timing right. I have to make sure that I'm not agitated or upset. I need to consider the circumstances of others. Stan wanted to make a point -- a very good, justified point that needed to be made-- to a sleep deprived significant other. He was facing long odds that this was going to work out well.
Seal those lips.
I was chatting with Serenity Stan yesterday about how difficult it is to determine, in any particular situation, when we need to act and when we need to wait patiently and let life proceed on its own terms. We debated the facts, exchanged ideas, pondered great mysteries and arcane truths, and tried to unravel the secret of successful living. And, once again decided that, in most cases, our lives would be better if we sealed our mouths with duct tape and sat quietly in a corner for the rest of the day. I can't remember where my car keys are half of the time. I'm going to solve your problems for you? I don't think so.
Here's a general recap of our conclusions:
Would I be better off if I did nothing? Yes.
Would things work out better if I didn't say a word? Yes, they would.
If I talk or act in any manner whatsoever, do I see an improvement in the lives of others? Not very often.
But in those instances where I do need to act the trick is getting the timing right. I have to make sure that I'm not agitated or upset. I need to consider the circumstances of others. Stan wanted to make a point -- a very good, justified point that needed to be made-- to a sleep deprived significant other. He was facing long odds that this was going to work out well.
Seal those lips.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Always Learning
On the last morning of our vacation SuperK and I bought a couple of hand carved wood items to help us remember our trip, as if we were going to have trouble remembering 7 days out of the cold in sunny 80 degree weather: a small box (by "small" I mean "large") and a small end table (by "small" I mean . . . it's a table, for God's sake). We decided to pack these items, which we did not need, so that we could transport them home as "carry on" luggage. The only way these could rationally be called "carry on" is if we also had a small crane to winch them into the overhead luggage compartment on the plane, which is designed for small items, not furniture.
In my defense, I have tried to be considerate about airplane travel, as long as it doesn't inconvenience me in any way, shape, or form. I've never been one of those people who try to save 8 minutes at baggage claim by bringing 250 lbs of luggage into the plane cabin, using up enough overhead bin space for fifteen people. I glare at these people, typically. It gives me a comfortable feeling of superiority.
Here's the exchange at the ticket counter in Belize City:
SuperK: "Is it going to be OK to carry these items onto the plane? We don't want them to get damaged."
Agent: (eyeing the items dolefully) "I don't know. It's a pretty full flight."
Did I mention that I have a bad temper (by "bad" I mean "really pretty awful")? I have managed, by trying to practice these principles in all my affairs, to jam this temper way down deep inside my subconscious. It isn't gone by any means, just under control most of the time (by "most" I mean "some"). Even though it's locked away in a jail cell, swaddled in chains, and guarded by fearsome warriors it manages to get out from time to time.
I was trying to find out if we could check our furniture as carry on, not if the flight was full. I didn't give a shit if the flight was full. That's American's problem, not mine. Don't book so many passengers. Don't charge for checked luggage. Don't allow people to bring on furniture.
Horseface: "Can you guarantee they won't be damaged?"
Agent: (saying nothing, well trained in handling pissy passengers).
Horseface: "Well, then I'm taking these out to the gate. You can ask someone else to check their luggage."
As we walked away I felt a little tinkling of regret.
HF: "I was a little shitty . . . "
SK: "Yes, you were."
HF: "What do you mean by shitty?"
SK: "You know what you said."
HF: "You mean I was . . . shitty."
Funny thing happened. After standing in line for an hour to get through customs, we found out that we didn't have a form that the ticket agent should have given us, so we were booted out of line.
Had to be a coincidence, didn't it? Didn't it?
In my defense, I have tried to be considerate about airplane travel, as long as it doesn't inconvenience me in any way, shape, or form. I've never been one of those people who try to save 8 minutes at baggage claim by bringing 250 lbs of luggage into the plane cabin, using up enough overhead bin space for fifteen people. I glare at these people, typically. It gives me a comfortable feeling of superiority.
Here's the exchange at the ticket counter in Belize City:
SuperK: "Is it going to be OK to carry these items onto the plane? We don't want them to get damaged."
Agent: (eyeing the items dolefully) "I don't know. It's a pretty full flight."
Did I mention that I have a bad temper (by "bad" I mean "really pretty awful")? I have managed, by trying to practice these principles in all my affairs, to jam this temper way down deep inside my subconscious. It isn't gone by any means, just under control most of the time (by "most" I mean "some"). Even though it's locked away in a jail cell, swaddled in chains, and guarded by fearsome warriors it manages to get out from time to time.
I was trying to find out if we could check our furniture as carry on, not if the flight was full. I didn't give a shit if the flight was full. That's American's problem, not mine. Don't book so many passengers. Don't charge for checked luggage. Don't allow people to bring on furniture.
Horseface: "Can you guarantee they won't be damaged?"
Agent: (saying nothing, well trained in handling pissy passengers).
Horseface: "Well, then I'm taking these out to the gate. You can ask someone else to check their luggage."
As we walked away I felt a little tinkling of regret.
HF: "I was a little shitty . . . "
SK: "Yes, you were."
HF: "What do you mean by shitty?"
SK: "You know what you said."
HF: "You mean I was . . . shitty."
Funny thing happened. After standing in line for an hour to get through customs, we found out that we didn't have a form that the ticket agent should have given us, so we were booted out of line.
Had to be a coincidence, didn't it? Didn't it?
Monday, January 5, 2009
Back in the USSR
Vacation: Freedom from any activity; rest; respite; intermission.
I'm a big fan of vacations. I think that we all need to step back from our lives from time to time to get some perspective on ourselves and the world in general. Over the holidays SuperK and I visited a developing country in Central America which doesn't have the level of creature comforts that we are used to here in the US, to put it mildly. We had the same driver each day, a 32 year old guy named Alfredo, who was as delightful a man to be around as we could have hoped for. And a very happy man at that. He proudly pointed out his house as we drove to our lodge in the jungle. It was a bit smaller than my detached two car garage, which was built in 1928, and appeared to be a little more rustic.
We made a habit of asking the locals that we spent time with if they were happy. The universal response was: "Yes, we're happy. We don't have much but we're happy." Maybe they were lying. Who knows? I always lied when people asked me if I was happy unless I wanted to put on a big song and dance about how totally disastrous my life actually was. These people sure seemed happy. I'm a pretty good judge of misery and I couldn't detect very much.
Alfredo told us about one of his brothers who had managed to accumulate some material things. He also managed to accumulate some angst about them. He worried about someone breaking in and stealing them. Alfredo said: "You want to break into my house? Go ahead. There's not that much in there." He was happy that he finally got a couple of fans to mitigate the brutal heat and humidity. I could barely breathe it was so humid. I can't imagine sleeping in that pea soup even if I had a ceiling fan to slosh the air around.
What do I worry about on vacation? Is my stuff OK at home? Am I spending too much money? Is my job going to go to hell in a hand basket this year? I don't want to over simplify things. I have some nice stuff and I enjoy it from time to time but it also carries some baggage. Nice car? Nice car payment. Big house? Big mortgage.
I have to remember that my needs are food in my belly, clean water to drink, and a place to sleep. Everything else is wants.
I'm a big fan of vacations. I think that we all need to step back from our lives from time to time to get some perspective on ourselves and the world in general. Over the holidays SuperK and I visited a developing country in Central America which doesn't have the level of creature comforts that we are used to here in the US, to put it mildly. We had the same driver each day, a 32 year old guy named Alfredo, who was as delightful a man to be around as we could have hoped for. And a very happy man at that. He proudly pointed out his house as we drove to our lodge in the jungle. It was a bit smaller than my detached two car garage, which was built in 1928, and appeared to be a little more rustic.
We made a habit of asking the locals that we spent time with if they were happy. The universal response was: "Yes, we're happy. We don't have much but we're happy." Maybe they were lying. Who knows? I always lied when people asked me if I was happy unless I wanted to put on a big song and dance about how totally disastrous my life actually was. These people sure seemed happy. I'm a pretty good judge of misery and I couldn't detect very much.
Alfredo told us about one of his brothers who had managed to accumulate some material things. He also managed to accumulate some angst about them. He worried about someone breaking in and stealing them. Alfredo said: "You want to break into my house? Go ahead. There's not that much in there." He was happy that he finally got a couple of fans to mitigate the brutal heat and humidity. I could barely breathe it was so humid. I can't imagine sleeping in that pea soup even if I had a ceiling fan to slosh the air around.
What do I worry about on vacation? Is my stuff OK at home? Am I spending too much money? Is my job going to go to hell in a hand basket this year? I don't want to over simplify things. I have some nice stuff and I enjoy it from time to time but it also carries some baggage. Nice car? Nice car payment. Big house? Big mortgage.
I have to remember that my needs are food in my belly, clean water to drink, and a place to sleep. Everything else is wants.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Happy New Year
Resolution: The thing resolved or determined upon; decision as to future action; resolve.
I had time on vacation to ponder my New Year's resolutions. And I don't mean standard stuff like Lose 10 Pounds or Start Exercising or Quit Using Heroin. I knew I would never do those things. I'm talking about actions that I could actually consider thinking about doing some day in the distant future on a planet in a galaxy far, far away.
Here's a partial listing of what I came up with:
1. Quit acting like such an asshole.
2. If I have a headache, don't imagine the presence of a malignant tumor the size of a softball.
3. When I have a bad day at work, avoid the thought procession that has me getting fired, never getting another job ever again, losing my house and family, and living in a refrigerator box under a highway overpass.
4. If I have a stomach ache, don't assume that I have a tropical parasitic tapeworm 25 yards long.
5. When I want to say something -- anything -- just don't say it. The stuff that comes out of my mouth isn't that good.
6. If I wake up with a stiff back, don't worry that it's the result of chronic degenerative spinal scoliosis syndrome.
7. Bathe regularly.
I'm aiming low.
I had time on vacation to ponder my New Year's resolutions. And I don't mean standard stuff like Lose 10 Pounds or Start Exercising or Quit Using Heroin. I knew I would never do those things. I'm talking about actions that I could actually consider thinking about doing some day in the distant future on a planet in a galaxy far, far away.
Here's a partial listing of what I came up with:
1. Quit acting like such an asshole.
2. If I have a headache, don't imagine the presence of a malignant tumor the size of a softball.
3. When I have a bad day at work, avoid the thought procession that has me getting fired, never getting another job ever again, losing my house and family, and living in a refrigerator box under a highway overpass.
4. If I have a stomach ache, don't assume that I have a tropical parasitic tapeworm 25 yards long.
5. When I want to say something -- anything -- just don't say it. The stuff that comes out of my mouth isn't that good.
6. If I wake up with a stiff back, don't worry that it's the result of chronic degenerative spinal scoliosis syndrome.
7. Bathe regularly.
I'm aiming low.
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