Hard Rock

Hard:  With vigor, strength, or violence.


At today's meeting we discussed the tendency of alcoholics to be hard on themselves.  And by "hard" I mean "beat the shit out of."   As a group we are masters of self-flagellation.  This week I listened to a man share a 5th Step inventory with me.  Most importantly, is there any greater honor as a person than to have someone share their most personal, painful secrets with you?  I can't think of any.  The trust that requires is unbelievable, especially for your average paranoid drunk.


Anyway, 10 minutes into an hour long soliloquy I began to feel sorry for the guy.  He might as well have gotten out a brace of whips and boards full of nails,  and began beating himself.  It reminded me of that weird religious sect which has as its signature highlight a group of men stepping in cadence, pausing to lash themselves on the back with a chain, to what purpose I cannot imagine.  His stuff wasn't that bad, wasn't at all unique, and had stopped in his sobriety, which is the most important thing, but still he kept flagellating.


I think today I try to emphasize rigorous honesty in my behavior.  I look at what I've done and when I'm in the wrong I apologize, and then I try not to do it anymore.  I don't lose sleep over very many things.  I make mistakes, I apologize, and then I move on.  I'm a flawed human being, not a piece of garbage.  I don't spend a lot of time feeling bad about behaving bad.  It's a fool's errand.


And nobody can tell me different.

Bob Wilson

I'm going to take a short hiatus from talking about Problems, as much as this pains me.  I like to talk about Problems.  I'm quite the Problem aficionado.  It's my area of expertise.  I've got a lot of experience in Problem creation.  Too bad I can't get a job in that field because I'd make a LOT of money.


Anyway, I was mulling over the alien concept of service this morning in my meditation.  This is a good sign.  Normally, I mull over my many problems and how they are multiplying and getting worse and growing in intensity.   When I was trying to get sober in Indianapolis there was an old dude named Bob Wilson -- if ever there was a name with some portent that would be it -- who picked me up and took me to meetings in his big, old car.   A Buick or Mercury, as I recall.  Some huge car with deep leather seats and a killer heater.  I remember sitting outside my rat-hole apartment with Bob after the meetings were over, engine idling, talking about recovery.  I couldn't have been a very interesting conversation partner at that point, and that assumes I'm an interesting one now, which is a stretch by any measure.


I moved to Chicago after several marginally successful months in The Program in Indy, and it was there that I began working on my alcoholism in earnest and actually got sober.  I came back for a visit and I looked Bob up.  I was shocked to hear that he had lung cancer and wasn't doing very well.  I visited him at his home.  He was frail and fading, but we still had a good talk.  It dawned on me that he was sick already before I left.  I never knew.  He never talked about it.  I bitch to high heaven when I have a hangnail so the thought that someone who had a terminal disease would sat quietly while I prattled on about myself left me slack-jawed and awed.


I returned to Chicago and Bob died soon after, which is one of the reasons I use his full name.  He was not a guy I would have chosen to spend time with.  We would not have crossed paths socially or professionally.  But, boy, did I learn a lot about service, the kind of service that gives and gives and never takes.  I believe I am on record as saying that I never do anything unless I see that it shows practical results in someone else's life.  You can tell me it's going to work until you're blue in the face and I won't do it.  I'm like a child that way.  I watch and observe, and I follow someone's example when I can see good, practical results in their lives.


Like with Bob.  Pass it on, my brother.

Boredom

Bore:   To weary by being dull, uninteresting, or monotonous.
Boredom: The condition of being bored or uninterested; ennui.


I never considered boredom to be a personal character defect; I considered it to be a defect of life in general that was impacting me unnecessarily.  All of the routine and humdrum, all of the teeth brushing and work and family obligations, all of it was way, way beneath me.  I was arrogant enough to get upset while I was waiting in line to get my auto tags renewed on the rare occasions when I was solvent enough to have a car that was actually running, which is something that I'm required to do by law, irritatingly enough.  "I'm too important for this," I groused.


I'm embarrassed to admit that I thought life was going to be all fun all of the time, all gumdrops and lollipops.  I'm not sure that I could sell this concept to your average 5 year old which speaks to my emotional maturity at the time.  I didn't spend any time going to doctors or maintaining my car because it wasn't fun, with predictable results to my body and cars.  I had trouble making the connection between behaving poorly and outcomes that affected me.


Often, I dispensed with work because it wasn't as much fun as getting stoned and watching "The Beverly Hillbillies," as great as that show might have been.  And if I had to do something I considered routine and ordinary, I drank or used to ease the boredom, with more predictable results.  The last picture that I had taken for a driver's license before I got clean and sober shows me staring vaguely off into the distance at an odd angle.  I seemed to be watching a rocket ship land on the distant horizon.  When they said " look here and smile" I apparently couldn't handle that much concentration.  I'm surprised they gave me the license.


Today when I get bored I file under "Character Defect."  There's no reason for it.  It's not appropriate.  I'm taking a perfectly lovely and stimulating world and wasting my opportunities.  

Problem Persona

Problem:  A question, matter, situation, or person that is perplexing or difficult.


I've been a little too focused on The Problem here lately.  It might be the New Year and all the talk of resolutions, which I never make, far too aware of my ability to not follow through on anything that might be even slightly difficult.  I don't get too bent out of shape when I get Problem Centered anymore.  I think the ability to see problems is pretty common in human nature.  There must be something instinctual going on here: as in, "I don't have enough berries to eat tonight" or "That bear appears to be getting ready to eat me" or maybe "Man, is this cave a piece of shit."


I will say that alcoholics seem to have taken Problem Focusing into the next dimension.  We seem to have been  rocketed there by our problems.  I know that my nature is to say: "OK, what's wrong with this picture."  I can be looking at the Mona Lisa when I say this.  I don't like the frame or the museum is too cold or that guy talking next to me is a $#!! idiot and why won't he just shut up?


"If I focus on a problem, the problem increases; if I focus on the answer, the answer increases."

Dream On, Dream On

Dream:  To imagine as possible; fancy; suppose.


Dream on, dream on . . .


I like to dream every now and then.  This has changed in my sobriety from totally unrealistic dreams -- rock star, sports legend, Ferrari owner -- to totally implausible dreams.  But I've found out that dreams are free and mostly harmless, as long as I drift back into the reality of the real world from time to time, not always a sure bet in my case.  And I've also found that some of my implausible dreams come true.  I've had an interesting life and done some interesting things as the result of my flights of fancy.  This is a nice improvement over sitting in front of The Television, smoking weed and drinking beer, watching something that I wouldn't remember watching the next day.


I try to check in with friends and hoary heads of sobriety before I fly off to fast and far.  Sell all my possessions and try to replace Keith Richards -- not a good idea.  Save up some money and visit Vietnam -- might happen some day.

Anger and Indignation and Rage and Fury, O My!

Anger:  Implies emotional agitation of no specified intensity aroused by great displeasure.
Indignation:  Implies righteous anger aroused by what is considered unjust, mean, or shameful.
Rage:  Suggests violent outburst of anger in which self-control is lost.
Fury:  Implies an overwhelming rage of a frenzied kind that borders on madness.


There's a section in my dictionary right after the definition of a word that suggests some appropriate synonyms to help me understand the nuances of the definition.  What a nice progression this particular list is!  I start with emotional agitation which is usually full of self-righteous self-pity; I get violent -- in my thinking, at least -- and I lose self-control.  The anger becomes overwhelming and approaches insanity.


Yep.  That sounds like me.  That sounds like a typical progression for me.


This afternoon I found that I was somewhat annoyed at life for no particular reason that I could discern. I was in a mildly bad mood which I'm afraid is something that is going to happen to all of us from time to time.  When this happens I start looking for things to focus my bad mood on, and I get angry at them.  I focus on things that irritate me.  I guess I need to justify my bad mood.  Sometimes I pick whatever happens to be handy and sometimes I go to a tried and true list of stuff that I find upsetting in a historical sense.


I'm sure glad there are tomorrows.

New Year's Eve

New Year's Day, after a New Year's Eve spent with a group of drunks in recovery -- no fistfights, splintered furniture or ruined relationships, no cops, no missing fenders or bouts with the Porcelain God -- and I was still home, safe and warm, and asleep by midnight.


Nice to feel a sense of optimism and hope today.  I'd say optimism and hope for the new year but it's more appropriate to feel that sense for today, for this day.  I remember well the feeling that I was facing another disastrous year, full of remorse and regret for my life to this point, vaguely aware that I was going to be drunk and stoned in short order.  Say what you will but alcohol is an effective remorse killer in the short term.


Things are going to work out.