The Tram Man

I got yelled at by a driver of some kind of public conveyance today, in kind of a typical New City low-key polite way.  In the Old City I would have been enduring obscenities and fending off spittle, worried about gunplay, so I was glad for the change of venue.  I was driving my car in the downtown area which has a confusing array of transportation choices: buses, light rail, and these trolley subway above ground things, all moving in and out of the stream of pedestrians and bicyclists.  Apparently, I did something wrong.  Honestly, I'm not sure what it was.  I'm still trying to figure out the rules.


"Can I drive in this lane with these tracks?" I asked SuperK, earlier in the day.
"I don't know," she replied.  "What are these tracks for, anyway?  The trains or those little cars?"
"That guy's driving on them," I pointed out.  "I'm going to get in front of that electric thing before it starts moving again."
"No, no, I don't think you can do that," SuperK said.


Anyway, at the next light the driver of the electric thing was gesturing at me.  My window was down.  His wasn't.
"What?" I asked.
He started talking and gesticulating.
"I can't hear you," I said helpfully, pointing out the obvious.


He put the tram in park and opened the passenger window.
"I was wondering if you had turn signals?"
"I'm sorry," I said.  "I'm new to the area and it's a little confusing down here."  The train and tram tracks weave across the driving lanes so I wasn't sure what the %$!! lane I should be following and I'm unfamiliar with the intersections and I'm gawking at all the newness to boot.


I really was sorry, even though I didn't know what I had done to piss this guy off.  In my drinking days I always knew what I had done to piss everyone off, which I was doing all the time, on purpose.  Someone actually had to point out to me that the horn installed on my car was a warning device, not something for I could use to scream at other motorists.


"I was just wondering if turn signals were an option on your car," he said.  


Really, that's pretty funny.  God knows how many jackasses he has to deal with driving a large vehicle in a congested urban area all day.  If I'm going to get yelled out that's not too bad.


I wonder what I did.  Something to do with turn signals, I guess.

The Escape Claus

I'm sure glad all of the Steps have so many built-in escape clauses for the suspicious drunk.  We make decisions, come to believe, develop willingness.  There aren't too many You Gottas in The Program.  I don't personally do anything if someone is pointing a finger at me and threatening dire consequences.  I glare back and push my hand farther into the meat grinder. 


"Man, does this HURT," I think, no closer to taking solid advice that's in my best interest.  "Who does that guy think he is, telling me what to do?"


"Once we have placed the key of willingness in the lock and have the door ever so slightly open, we find that we can always open it some more."  


Don't tell me what to do.

Ground Control to Major Tom

Control: To exercise authority over; direct; command.


I had a dream last night that I remembered.  Normally, I don't remember my dreams which is probably a good thing for a tortured soul like me.  My brain goes to bad places when I'm awake -- I can only imagine what happens when it has free reign to do whatever it wants.   


Anyway, I was entering a large church which had some pews in it and also some alcoves set up with dinner tables decorated as if for a wedding reception.  It was a nice space -- not too crowded, pleasantly lit, well-preserved wood floors, people milling about pleasantly.  I was dressed in some kind of court jester uniform, or maybe an outfit that Henry the Eighth would have worn.  I had those long slippers on with the curled up toes.  I don't remember any bells on the ends of the slippers but they were still hard to walk in.


I was looking for someone who could tell me where I needed to go to prepare for the play I was in.  I was vaguely uneasy.  It was the first time I had seen the church and I wasn't aware of having practiced my part yet with my fellow actors.  I think I had a main part in the production.  There were a lot of people in the church.


Often in my dreams I'm wandering about school buildings, late for a class or an exam that I haven't studied for.  I don't know where my books are.  Normally I would mention that I'm usually naked as I wander about but I think I'll hold off on that disclosure since the imagery here is already disturbing enough.  Sometimes I'm driving a car very fast along dark roads.  I can't see anything and I'm having a lot of trouble putting on the brakes or turning the steering wheel.


Think I have issues with control?

Horseface Steve: Bender of Truth

Bend:  To turn from a straight line; cause to swerve.


The thing about telling the truth is that you never have to remember what you've said.


My job as an independent contractor gives me the freedom to conduct my business as I see fit.  The company that I work with doesn't really know that I now live far, far away from my territory (ed. note: by "doesn't really know" I mean "definitely doesn't know").   In theory, I can conduct my business any way I see fit as long as I meet the quotas and other general requirements that they set for me; in practice, in the Real World, where I hate to hang out, it doesn't work that way.  If they knew that I now live far, far away from my territory they would boot my ass into next week, so I haven't exactly told them what I'm doing out here (ed. note: by "haven't exactly" I mean "definitely haven't").   Just because they haven't specifically told me I can't do what I'm doing doesn't mean that it's the right thing to do.  Laws and rules can help me tell right behavior from wrong but more importantly I have that %$#!! internal mechanism that speaks to me quietly and is increasingly hard to ignore.  I can't just slosh a bunch of beer on top of it to shut it up anymore.


Some of the time I can convince myself that I'm telling the truth by artfully using words to give someone the impression that what is happening is not happening.  Most people call this lying; I call it . . . well, lying, too, I guess.  I still hold on to the idea that if I can dance around an issue and make someone believe something that isn't true, it isn't lying if I don't actually use lying words.


This is the logic that I employed to convince myself that smoking crack cocaine wasn't technically a relapse.


Anyway, I told some people a few weeks ago that I was taking a vacation last week.  This morning one of them asked me if I was back in the office, and I said something along the lines of: "What are you talking about?"  That was bad enough but when he mentioned the vacation I was supposed to be on I said something along the lines of: "I wasn't on vacation."  In case I hadn't done enough damage to my reputation I said something along the lines of: "Where did you come up with that information?"  I remembered after I hung up the phone.  I looked foolish.  I looked like a liar.


I believe I have mentioned that the biggest motivator for me to behave well is that I hate getting caught behaving badly.  Regrettably, I don't think it's the lying itself that upsets me as much as the getting caught lying.


Homer Simpson: "I HATE being called a liar unless I happen to be lying or contemplating a lie or I've just finished telling a lie."

Type Cast

Type A Personality:   The theory describes a Type A individual as ambitious, aggressive, business-like, controlling, highly competitive, impatient, preoccupied with his or her status, time-conscious, and tightly-wound.  People with Type A personalities are often high-achieving "workaholics" who multi-task, push themselves with deadlines, and hate both delays and ambivalence.


I hear a lot of people in The Program protest when they're characterized as Type A individuals.  I thought I was a mellow, laid-back, easy-going Type B personality when I first started to get sober.  I was pointedly told that I was none of those things.  I had confused sitting in front of The TV, drunk and stoned, as an indication of a low key personality.  It was an indication of someone who was too drunk and stoned to get out and do anything, or too hung-over to tolerate the pain and nausea that any movement or sound caused.


I bet it's a 10 - 1 ratio in The Program, Type A to Type B.  I don't see too many low achievers in The Rooms.  I see folks with two speeds: off and 218MPH.  Not doing a Step or service work is more a consequence of fear or rebellion than laziness.  We have full schedules and busy lives and we accomplish a lot.  If you want to keep up with me you better have on your running shoes.


Lace 'em, boys.

Ka-Boom.

Non-alcoholic beer is for non-alcoholics.


Yesterday I made a casual remark about the laundry and SuperK bit my head off.  Now keep in mind I haven't done a load of laundry in maybe 10,000 years so it's in my best interest to keep my mouth shut if the topic has anything to do with clothes, washing clothes, drying clothes, or putting clothes away.  I haven't ironed anything sober.  I don't know where the laundry room is anymore.  For all I know, she goes to a laundromat.  I don't know what she does exactly when I shut the door to my office to give her a break from my presence.  I figure if I hear screaming or glass breaking or gun fire I'll come out, but otherwise I'm not budging.


She came in and apologized shortly after.  Earlier that day I had taken a phone call from someone in the New City and she was, quite frankly, jealous, thinking I was edging ahead in the new friends department.  We're both working away at reconstructing our lives here and we both get a little competitive about it.  Which is a bizarre thing to do to your %$#!! spouse, the person you love more than anyone in the world.  


Funny story -- when we swim it's very compelling for both of us to try to beat the other.  That's not the funny part -- the funny part is she beats me most of the time.  And when she doesn't I rip or tear or wrench something, since she's so much younger than I am.  Actually, she's not that much younger than me but I'm getting beat by my wife, for chrissake, and by most of the other women in the pool, so I have to say something.  I'm going to start drowning some people before too long or just giving in and start wearing skirts and hose.


Most of the time when she snaps at me I don't say anything because I figure it's not really about me.  Most of the time when I get mad at my friends and family it has very little to do with them.  I'm mad at myself for something I should be doing but am not, or something I shouldn't be doing but am, so I take a shot at someone else.  It's easier blaming another person for some imagined slight than doing any work on myself.


Eventually, I did tell her I was just as jealous when she went out to dinner with a few friends earlier in the week.  I do the right thing, usually, after I have exhausted all other options.

OK, Boys, Get Out There and Surrender!

Surrender:  To give oneself up to another's power or control.


Normally, I write for a bit and then look up the definition of a word that intrigues me.  But with surrender I had to do some investigation first.  It is not a concept that I am intimately familiar with.  This is a word that commonly implies the giving up of something completely after striving to keep it; as in, one's freedom, or one's will.


It was the topic of today's meeting.  It's a really irritating topic.  It implies powerlessness, the driving force behind Step One and by extension, our entire program.  I don't give anything up willingly.  I know when the fight's over because I'm lying on the floor trying to find my teeth.  I don't get beat up a little bit -- I get whaled on.  I get stomped into the dust.  I'm always the guy charging up the hill with a knife in my teeth, right into withering machine gun fire.  


Reminds me of the old alcoholic joke surrounding a Vince Lombardi type figure who is trying to fire up his team to go out there and win the big game: "OK, men, let's go, let's get out there and surrender!"  The obvious point being that our society doesn't give us a lot of reinforcement when we try to give things up willingly.  We're taught to be tough and self-sufficient, to solve our own problems, to put our efforts behind achieving whatever it is we want to achieve until we achieve it. 


This is admirable, of course, until the machine gun fire becomes especially withering.