Stupid: In a state of stupor; dazed; stunned; stupefied; lacking normal intelligence or understanding; slow-witted; dull.
It's not that I don't do stupid things anymore. I don't mean to imply that. It's more along the lines that I don't do as many stupid things or that I don't do really stupid things or at least I pause a couple of beats before doing something stupid. That seems to be the big advantage to having some clean and sober time under my belt. It's not that I'm no longer stupid. I'm still stupid. I'm just not as stupid as I used to be.
I heard at a meeting that we still have all of the defects we had when we got sober; it's simply that they aren't as bad as they used to be. I'm still trudging down the path of life. I'm under no illusion anymore that I'm not going to get knocked off course or stray right into the brambles all by myself. However, I don't get absolutely blasted 50 yards off track any more. I used to wander so far off the path that I couldn't find it with a GPS and certified guide.
I talked to my buddy EMC this morning about something big he has been dealing with in his life. We discussed the importance of kicking the can forward, using terminology appropriate for the emotional 10 year olds that we still are. I kick the can. Sometimes I don't get too much distance when I kick the can. Sometimes I whiff and pull a groin muscle. Sometimes some asshole trying to impede my halting progress in getting what I want comes out of nowhere and and punts my can 10 yards backward, erasing all of my steady 6 inch incremental gains.
That's OK today. Today I go back and start kicking the can again.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Everything Makes Sense . . . In Retrospect.
Retrospect: A looking back on or thinking about things past; contemplation or survey of the past.
I ran into Tree Man at a meeting last night. Not literally, of course, although I did back into his car and take off without leaving a note. He mentioned that he is thinking about transitioning from his current line of work which is . . . well, I'm going to assume that it's doing something in trees or with trees or to trees -- I'm not interested enough in what he's doing to actually ask him -- and going back to the kind of work that he did before The Troubles took him down.
It reminded me of my start in this Great Way of Life. I've documented it or at least planned on documenting it or thought about documenting it but got the thinking and the doing confused and am not sure whether I actually did it or just thought about doing it, which is not at all unusual. You can imagine how confusing it was making it through the day when I was smoking a lot of dope. I said the same things over and over, I'm sure. I'd sit there and think: "Did I already say that or did I just think about saying it?"
Did I mention that I documented something?
Anyway, I had my ass transitioned for me by an angry company when I was newly sober. I went from a job where I had some responsibility to one where I had none. I was basically a typist. Now there's nothing wrong with being a typist except that I can't type, don't like to type, have no training as a typist, and had to move to a much more expensive city where I was going to be making less money to take up my typing responsibilities.
It was actually kind of funny. Or it's kind of funny in retrospect -- it was decidedly not funny at the time. I was assigned a desk in a huge warehouse of an open office space. There were probably 75 women there and me, a six foot three Ichabod Crane figure, towering a foot over everybody else. Maybe god was trying to jump start my love life. If he was, I didn't take the hint, probably because I was engrossed in all of my typing responsibilities. God should know that if you want to get my attention you have to get right in my face and scream at the top of your lungs. Or better yet, use a bullhorn, an amplified bullhorn. Even then I might not pay attention. When I'm thinking about myself, which is all of the time, I'm focused to the point of delusional psychosis, should such a thing exist.
To increase my enjoyment and sense of self-worth, I was stationed right near the office door where all of my former equals came and went. My humiliation was on display for everyone to see. In retrospect, my job paid the bills and gave me the time to do what I needed to do: get healthy. I started at 8, ate lunch, and quit at 5. I went home and ate dinner -- notice that I ate two meals? big improvement -- went for a jog, then hit a meeting. I got there early and stayed late. Then I went to bed and got a good night's sleep. I didn't need a lot of stress or responsibility or long hours at work. I needed to eat, sleep, and recover.
Eventually, of course, the time came to move on.
I ran into Tree Man at a meeting last night. Not literally, of course, although I did back into his car and take off without leaving a note. He mentioned that he is thinking about transitioning from his current line of work which is . . . well, I'm going to assume that it's doing something in trees or with trees or to trees -- I'm not interested enough in what he's doing to actually ask him -- and going back to the kind of work that he did before The Troubles took him down.
It reminded me of my start in this Great Way of Life. I've documented it or at least planned on documenting it or thought about documenting it but got the thinking and the doing confused and am not sure whether I actually did it or just thought about doing it, which is not at all unusual. You can imagine how confusing it was making it through the day when I was smoking a lot of dope. I said the same things over and over, I'm sure. I'd sit there and think: "Did I already say that or did I just think about saying it?"
Did I mention that I documented something?
Anyway, I had my ass transitioned for me by an angry company when I was newly sober. I went from a job where I had some responsibility to one where I had none. I was basically a typist. Now there's nothing wrong with being a typist except that I can't type, don't like to type, have no training as a typist, and had to move to a much more expensive city where I was going to be making less money to take up my typing responsibilities.
It was actually kind of funny. Or it's kind of funny in retrospect -- it was decidedly not funny at the time. I was assigned a desk in a huge warehouse of an open office space. There were probably 75 women there and me, a six foot three Ichabod Crane figure, towering a foot over everybody else. Maybe god was trying to jump start my love life. If he was, I didn't take the hint, probably because I was engrossed in all of my typing responsibilities. God should know that if you want to get my attention you have to get right in my face and scream at the top of your lungs. Or better yet, use a bullhorn, an amplified bullhorn. Even then I might not pay attention. When I'm thinking about myself, which is all of the time, I'm focused to the point of delusional psychosis, should such a thing exist.
To increase my enjoyment and sense of self-worth, I was stationed right near the office door where all of my former equals came and went. My humiliation was on display for everyone to see. In retrospect, my job paid the bills and gave me the time to do what I needed to do: get healthy. I started at 8, ate lunch, and quit at 5. I went home and ate dinner -- notice that I ate two meals? big improvement -- went for a jog, then hit a meeting. I got there early and stayed late. Then I went to bed and got a good night's sleep. I didn't need a lot of stress or responsibility or long hours at work. I needed to eat, sleep, and recover.
Eventually, of course, the time came to move on.
More Things That I'll Never Get . . .
Don't you wish that you could see the consequences of something before you took action? How sweet would that be? You could just say: "Well, I'm not going to change jobs because the new one isn't going to work out." You could make the best, wisest decisions all of the time. You would never regret an action because you would always be doing the right thing. You would absolutely glow with self-confidence.
This would be helpful in almost every situation but it would be golden with the big decisions. I think that when we ponder something that takes a big leap of faith -- a huge leap of faith -- like having children or getting married (not necessarily in that order) or moving to a new city or divorcing a wife who is really getting on your nerves, we have to step off of the cliff at some point. I ask people considering such things if they have done their due diligence: prayed about it, written about it, discussed it with friends and colleagues, and the like. Then you do something or you don't. It works out to your liking or it doesn't.
If I wait for the timing to be exactly right in my own head, I never do anything. I'm still a little afraid of pain, of failure, and I'm still a little too addicted to ease and pleasure. I want somebody to tell me that it's going to work out. This is why I need that Steve to God hot-line on my bed stand. A quick call before I take action for confirmation.
"Uh, god, this is what I'm planning on saying to SuperK."
"B-Man, I'm going to recommend against that. Here's what will happen."
"D-oh!"
This would be helpful in almost every situation but it would be golden with the big decisions. I think that when we ponder something that takes a big leap of faith -- a huge leap of faith -- like having children or getting married (not necessarily in that order) or moving to a new city or divorcing a wife who is really getting on your nerves, we have to step off of the cliff at some point. I ask people considering such things if they have done their due diligence: prayed about it, written about it, discussed it with friends and colleagues, and the like. Then you do something or you don't. It works out to your liking or it doesn't.
If I wait for the timing to be exactly right in my own head, I never do anything. I'm still a little afraid of pain, of failure, and I'm still a little too addicted to ease and pleasure. I want somebody to tell me that it's going to work out. This is why I need that Steve to God hot-line on my bed stand. A quick call before I take action for confirmation.
"Uh, god, this is what I'm planning on saying to SuperK."
"B-Man, I'm going to recommend against that. Here's what will happen."
"D-oh!"
Monday, September 7, 2009
Digging Holes, Filling Holes
It's not such a bad life being in recovery. I didn't think that way when I first came in. I really loved to drink and take drugs, conveniently blocking out the devastation the stuff was causing in my life and the fact that drinking didn't work any more, causing more problems than it solved. I was hopelessly lost in the happy, delusional fantasy world of Euphoric Recall, that lovely time when alcohol scratched my itch. Apparently the Hole of Emptiness that I had to fill kept getting bigger and bigger. It sure got impossible to fill. At the end it was quite a large hole.
I was terrified of losing the only thing in my life that meant anything to me - the focus of all of my fun -- and replacing it with something of dubious value -- not drinking at all. It didn't appear to be much of a trade. I didn't see too much to look forward to. I didn't see what I was going to get in return. Peace of mind seemed to be a crappy trade off for tons of excitement.
Then I strolled into a meeting, looked at the people in the room, and thought: "Holy shit, I'm in some serious trouble." Things didn't look too promising to me. Little did I know.
My friend Farmer Bill once said: "I know that I'm loved. I can't even tell you what I mean by that but I know that I'm loved." What a mish-mash of mismatched people crammed together on hard folding chairs in old church basements. I never thought I would look forward to seeing these people
The good news is that there's a solution. The bad news is that it's us.
I was terrified of losing the only thing in my life that meant anything to me - the focus of all of my fun -- and replacing it with something of dubious value -- not drinking at all. It didn't appear to be much of a trade. I didn't see too much to look forward to. I didn't see what I was going to get in return. Peace of mind seemed to be a crappy trade off for tons of excitement.
Then I strolled into a meeting, looked at the people in the room, and thought: "Holy shit, I'm in some serious trouble." Things didn't look too promising to me. Little did I know.
My friend Farmer Bill once said: "I know that I'm loved. I can't even tell you what I mean by that but I know that I'm loved." What a mish-mash of mismatched people crammed together on hard folding chairs in old church basements. I never thought I would look forward to seeing these people
The good news is that there's a solution. The bad news is that it's us.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Well, Irritable and Discontented, Anyway.
Restless: Never or almost never quiet or still; always active or inclined to action; seeking change.
I think that it's possible to be restless without hauling around the irritable and discontented baggage that frequently accompanies it. Don't get me wrong -- everybody, more or less, irritates me all of the time. I am intimately acquainted with irritability. I'm not suggesting that I stand atop the Rock of Contentedness, which has fallen on me from a great distance on more than one occasion.
And some day I hope to turn the Winter of My Discontent into some kind of regular contention or contentedness or the like. Of course some day I want to be a rock star in outer space, or maybe thrive in an underwater basketball league, and that stuff's not happening either.
I figure that I spent enough time in dark bars with no windows in the middle of the night, or sitting in front of a television, smoking dope and watching bad TV shows that I knew I wouldn't remember the next day. I'm not sure why I even turned the thing on. I could have pasted a picture of Homer Simpson on the screen and saved the electricity. I could have bought one movie and then watched it over and over again, secure in the knowledge that I wouldn't remember what happened.
For someone who is a little suspicious of change I sure spend a lot of time tracking it down. I don't sit on my ass and stare into space very well. I like to try new things and go to different places. If you gave me a nice cabin on a quiet lake in the woods somewhere, I wouldn't take it. I figure that once I've seen something it's time to see something else.
Do I have some bad experiences? Absolutely. Do I get some bad meals, turning down my favorite dish for boiled intestine stuffed with haggis and minced intestine? Yowser. (I actually did order stuffed intestine in France once and it tasted roughly the way that you might imagine it would taste. I should have told the garcon to scoop whatever was in his slop pail into a bowl and garnish it with fresh mint.)
Garcon! Three bowls of the haggis, stat!
I think that it's possible to be restless without hauling around the irritable and discontented baggage that frequently accompanies it. Don't get me wrong -- everybody, more or less, irritates me all of the time. I am intimately acquainted with irritability. I'm not suggesting that I stand atop the Rock of Contentedness, which has fallen on me from a great distance on more than one occasion.
And some day I hope to turn the Winter of My Discontent into some kind of regular contention or contentedness or the like. Of course some day I want to be a rock star in outer space, or maybe thrive in an underwater basketball league, and that stuff's not happening either.
I figure that I spent enough time in dark bars with no windows in the middle of the night, or sitting in front of a television, smoking dope and watching bad TV shows that I knew I wouldn't remember the next day. I'm not sure why I even turned the thing on. I could have pasted a picture of Homer Simpson on the screen and saved the electricity. I could have bought one movie and then watched it over and over again, secure in the knowledge that I wouldn't remember what happened.
For someone who is a little suspicious of change I sure spend a lot of time tracking it down. I don't sit on my ass and stare into space very well. I like to try new things and go to different places. If you gave me a nice cabin on a quiet lake in the woods somewhere, I wouldn't take it. I figure that once I've seen something it's time to see something else.
Do I have some bad experiences? Absolutely. Do I get some bad meals, turning down my favorite dish for boiled intestine stuffed with haggis and minced intestine? Yowser. (I actually did order stuffed intestine in France once and it tasted roughly the way that you might imagine it would taste. I should have told the garcon to scoop whatever was in his slop pail into a bowl and garnish it with fresh mint.)
Garcon! Three bowls of the haggis, stat!
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Where Do They Find These People?
"So what's your part in all of this?"
Whenever I'm ticked off or upset about something I try to share it with my sponsor or one of my recovery paisanos, one of those guys who are decidedly not afraid to say something that they know I don't want to hear. Sometimes I think they enjoy saying something I don't want to hear. At some point in the conversation the comment about my part comes up. I visualize guns, knives, and other heavy weaponry while I think: "My part in this is that I'm not going to pour my hot coffee in your lap." I don't like thinking about my part in anything. My specialty is thinking about your part. I can see the error of your ways.
It gets tricky when I'm dealing with someone who isn't behaving very well. It gets extremely tricky when it's my first encounter with someone who isn't behaving very well. I'm always taken aback when someone isn't very nice or thoughtful, even though I've taken being self-centered to dizzying new heights.
"My part in all of this is that this guy's an asshole." This is all I can come up with some of the time. I mean, it's not like there isn't the odd jerk walking around out there. And everybody gets to have a bad day. When I behave a bad day I want some understanding. When you have a bad day, I want an apology.
Still the solution is in my hands. If I walk up to someone who lets loose a string of obscenities unbidden, a good solution is to skirt this particular individual the next time.
That's a pretty good solution.
Whenever I'm ticked off or upset about something I try to share it with my sponsor or one of my recovery paisanos, one of those guys who are decidedly not afraid to say something that they know I don't want to hear. Sometimes I think they enjoy saying something I don't want to hear. At some point in the conversation the comment about my part comes up. I visualize guns, knives, and other heavy weaponry while I think: "My part in this is that I'm not going to pour my hot coffee in your lap." I don't like thinking about my part in anything. My specialty is thinking about your part. I can see the error of your ways.
It gets tricky when I'm dealing with someone who isn't behaving very well. It gets extremely tricky when it's my first encounter with someone who isn't behaving very well. I'm always taken aback when someone isn't very nice or thoughtful, even though I've taken being self-centered to dizzying new heights.
"My part in all of this is that this guy's an asshole." This is all I can come up with some of the time. I mean, it's not like there isn't the odd jerk walking around out there. And everybody gets to have a bad day. When I behave a bad day I want some understanding. When you have a bad day, I want an apology.
Still the solution is in my hands. If I walk up to someone who lets loose a string of obscenities unbidden, a good solution is to skirt this particular individual the next time.
That's a pretty good solution.
Horseface Scorsese
Direct: To move, turn, or point (a person or thing) toward a place, object, or goal; aim; head.
I love the section in The Big Book that talks about The Director. There should be a little picture of me on that page, scowling in disgust. The gist of the story is that there is a class of people who insist on getting their own way and they become frustrated and unhappy when they don't. Alcoholics, of course, have subjected this tendency to a strict regime of metabolic steroids. We view the world as a play and we try to control all of the players. What happens? Things don't go very well for our poor director. People don't like to be moved around like chess pieces. So we get upset. If only every one would do exactly what we want them to do we think that we would be happy.
To compound our difficulties the world is packed tight with directors and they aren't limited to alcoholics. There are plenty of people pushing and shoving and trying to get their own way. I have developed a three step technique for dealing with these individuals. I tried to come up with 12 steps but I lost interest and wandered off somewhere for a while. When I got back I forgot what I was doing. There wasn't enough time left to do what I started to do so I quickly made up a few things.
1. Start out with the people pleasing. Do whatever the other directors want you to do. If you don't do what they want these people won't like you any more and where will you be then? You'll be friendless. You'll die alone in a dark and cold place. All alone, all alone.
2. Develop a resentment and decide to go Toe to Toe as your own director. Try to get everyone else to do what you want to do. You can even pretend to be fair when you do this, as in: "Last night we did what you want to do so tonight we get to do what I want to do." Stick to your guns even if you are asking someone to do something that you know they don't want to do. Develop a resentment when they develop a resentment at being forced to do something they don't want to do. Justify your behavior by pointing out that last night you did something you didn't want to do, even though you moaned and bitched and got all passive aggressive about it, and generally made the other person miserable.
3. There really isn't a third step. At this point you should be so disgusted with yourself and your poor behavior that you call your sponsor then go to a meeting.
Sometimes I have to simply separate myself from other individuals. I realize that I can't always do this -- sometimes I have to just endure -- but there are plenty of people that I'm around by choice. If someone doesn't ever give an inch, I go somewhere else.
I love the section in The Big Book that talks about The Director. There should be a little picture of me on that page, scowling in disgust. The gist of the story is that there is a class of people who insist on getting their own way and they become frustrated and unhappy when they don't. Alcoholics, of course, have subjected this tendency to a strict regime of metabolic steroids. We view the world as a play and we try to control all of the players. What happens? Things don't go very well for our poor director. People don't like to be moved around like chess pieces. So we get upset. If only every one would do exactly what we want them to do we think that we would be happy.
To compound our difficulties the world is packed tight with directors and they aren't limited to alcoholics. There are plenty of people pushing and shoving and trying to get their own way. I have developed a three step technique for dealing with these individuals. I tried to come up with 12 steps but I lost interest and wandered off somewhere for a while. When I got back I forgot what I was doing. There wasn't enough time left to do what I started to do so I quickly made up a few things.
1. Start out with the people pleasing. Do whatever the other directors want you to do. If you don't do what they want these people won't like you any more and where will you be then? You'll be friendless. You'll die alone in a dark and cold place. All alone, all alone.
2. Develop a resentment and decide to go Toe to Toe as your own director. Try to get everyone else to do what you want to do. You can even pretend to be fair when you do this, as in: "Last night we did what you want to do so tonight we get to do what I want to do." Stick to your guns even if you are asking someone to do something that you know they don't want to do. Develop a resentment when they develop a resentment at being forced to do something they don't want to do. Justify your behavior by pointing out that last night you did something you didn't want to do, even though you moaned and bitched and got all passive aggressive about it, and generally made the other person miserable.
3. There really isn't a third step. At this point you should be so disgusted with yourself and your poor behavior that you call your sponsor then go to a meeting.
Sometimes I have to simply separate myself from other individuals. I realize that I can't always do this -- sometimes I have to just endure -- but there are plenty of people that I'm around by choice. If someone doesn't ever give an inch, I go somewhere else.
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