Kinetic

Happiness really IS overrated.  I think that I confuse happiness with excitement.  When I get all worked up about something then I think I'm happy, so I'm always hunting for the next adventure.

Restless, irritable, and discontented.  I know I'm restless.  That's part of the alcoholism equation - we're restless people.  We're people who are on the move - the average meeting that I go to feels like a big wad of repressed kinetic energy, boiling, percolating, waiting to be unleashed.  When I put my cat on my lap - and my cat HATES to be held - she sits there quietly, without struggling, but I know that every fiber of her being is waiting for me to release the slightest bit of pressure.  She explodes off of my lap.  That's me.  I deserve that cat.  I'm ready to go, too.

I'm not as irritable as I used to be but that's faint praise.  I'm not irritable until I get irritated which happens with alarming frequency.  It's the people thing.  People who aren't me strain every fiber of my tolerance to the breaking point.  Why can't they do what I want them to do?  Without asking?

The Airing of Grievances

Happy:    Experiencing the effect of favorable fortune; having the feeling arising from the consciousness of well-being or of enjoyment; enjoying good of any kind, as peace, tranquility, comfort; contented; joyous.

Happiness really is overrated.  It's over-emphasized at the very least.  That being said I wonder why I spend so much time and effort pursuing it.  It's a phantom, always out of reach, just around the next corner.  Talk about a fool's errand.

I went to an early morning meeting today, a meeting I like.  I was hoping to attend a "good" meeting and by "good"  I mean "a meeting where I get to share to general acclaim and where everyone who talks says something that I think is good" - something that pleases me, conforms to what I think an appropriate recovery M.O. should look like.  Talk about a fool in action and right out of the chute, too.

The meeting really was kind of crappy but that's not the point - I have to remember eventually to take whatever happens in stride.  It's quite the fool who expects a bunch of barely sane alcoholics to get going in anything remotely approaching the same direction.  But today I could feel myself getting increasingly annoyed as events unfurled.  There was some Airing of Grievances quickly by a woman who totally ignored the excellent topic - she clearly had these remarks well prepared before she arrived - followed by some pointed, passive-aggressive cross talk.  If I'm the first person to talk and the next person mentions that sometimes the only thing they're going to take away from today's meeting is a realization that there are some really sick people at meetings, that's cross talk.  Finally, the old timers started in with all of the lies and misremembrances about the Good Old Days when groups of drunks Did It Right.  Shoot me if I ever do that.

I was just an ass in a seat this morning.

Making My Point

I bitch about many things.  Many, many, many things.  I readily acknowledge this.  I'm a bitcher and a fault-finder and pretty much of a pain in the ass in all phases of my game.  If there's something that I bitch about more than cold weather or chilly weather or cool weather or cool, chilly, wet weather at night I'd like to know what it is.  This is a not a new bitch, either - it's an ancient, well-established topic with me.  I would rather be locked in a sauna all day than be a little bit cold.  

I'm sure people get tired of me complaining about the weather, even though I firmly believe that it's a right ensconced in the Constitution somewhere, or maybe it's one of the major amendments.  I've complained about the winter in each of the seven cities where I've lived; I have no expectation whatever that I won't continue to complain about The Cold, by which I mean anything under like maybe 60 degrees - I might be persuaded to tolerate and occasional dip down to 55 but that's pushing it.  The New City has a fairly mild climate - damper than I'm used to but also a lot warmer.  It's the mildest place I've ever lived but it's still crappy in the winter.  One of my buddies in The New City reacts quickly, strongly when I complain about the weather.  I'm sure I do  it too much but I can't help wondering: "What does he care what I think about the weather here?"  He takes it very personally, quick to pounce on the vaguest of weather references.  I'm careful to avoid the subject when I'm around him but he still manages to get pissed at me.  It's as if he has his finger on the trigger, waiting for the topic to arise or forcing the issue when it doesn't.

Yesterday a somewhat stressful series of experiences with some People concluded with a brief discussion of the common practice of fluoride being added to public drinking supplies.  I know that some people don't like this - they believe it's some kind of vast conspiracy by Communists over the last 80 years to control our minds by poisoning our water with nuclear weapons by-products or something like that, despite the assurances of the World Health Association, the Centers for Disease Control, and the American Dental Association.  If I ever get hired as a Communist consultant I'm going to suggest that they try something that works a little more quickly and causes some slightly more serious side effects beyond healthy teeth.  Whatever.  I didn't bring the topic up and I had tolerated just about enough with these folks when the topic came up - I was 2 for 4 in the H.A.L.T. acronym - Hungry Angry Lonely Tired.  I argued with the topic introducer even though there wasn't a snow ball's chance in hell that I was going to change her mind, which I didn't care about anyway.  I started to bring up the conditions in plastics manufacturing plants - where my work took my hundreds of times - where molten plastic laced with proprietary chemicals is used to make the plastic bottles that she drinks distilled water out of.  THAT'S something to worry about

"Why did you argue?" SuperK said in the car.  "What do you care what you she thinks?"

D'oh!

Patience Right Now

When something good happens to me I feel guilty - I'm sure that it's going to be snatched away.  When something bad happens to me I nod my head knowingly - I deserved it, I expected it, I knew it was coming.  I'm like an abused dog - even if you come up to me to give me a pat on the head I flinch, expecting a kick.  And this from a guy who has been showered, absolutely inundated with blessings.  Clearly I'm not that smart.

OK, so I keep going to the large early morning meeting here in Vacation City - the one were no one is bowling me over to make sure I feel welcome.  I have met a couple of people with whom I engage the barest of pleasantries.  I feel like I have the barest of toeholds.  I forget just how impatient I am, how I want things RIGHT NOW.  It's no wonder it was hard to get sober; I had to compare the immediate effects of drugs and alcohol with day after day of consistent behavior, eyeing a nice future that I was dubious of.

God grant me patience immediately.

Fearsome

I picked up a sponsee at the transitional meeting I attend in The New City.  I mentioned that the guy totally astounded me by picking up the phone AND completing the reading/writing assignments that I gave him, stuff that I never did.  Frankly, I just wanted to see how much crap I could get someone else to do - don't get me wrong because it was good stuff, just not stuff I would do without some brutal arm twisting.  As the time approached for SuperK and I to leave for our long vacation I found that I was having trouble telling the guy I was skipping town.  I kept postponing and delaying and procrastinating  until I finally left without saying a word.  Then, when I spoke with him on the phone, I continued to waffle on my return date.  I couldn't bring myself to say how long I would be gone even though I knew exactly how long I would be gone.

It occurred to me that I was simply afraid of what the guy was going to say about me.  Unless I thought I was somehow indispensable to his working of The Program - god help us all if my ego is still that out-sized.  I finally came clean, saying that it was going to be along time before I was returning.  He fired me immediately: "I think that I need a sponsor who's here in town."  

That guy's going to be OK.

Doing Nothing

I read a nice piece of writing about an odd couple marriage recently.  The marriage didn't last. This is not the point.  The point is that the odd couple consisted of a hard-charging, task-oriented, over-achiever and a creative type.  The hard-charger was always accomplishing something concrete: cleaning out a garden, going somewhere and doing something, working, and the creative person read and wrote and thought.  This seemed like doing nothing to the over-achiever.

Frustrated, the creator finally said in exasperation: "When you see me sitting here doing nothing, I'm actually very busy."

There's a little bit of both of these people in most of us.  I like getting things done but I also like sitting quietly.  My morning meditation, after 25 years, is still a work in progress.  I have a few, short, discrete prayers and I have a whole lot of sitting quietly.  I used to really work hard at the meditation part - concentrating on my breath, watching thoughts flow in and out without judgment, coming back to the breath - and I got really frustrated a lot of the time because meditation is fucking hard.  Lately I've been enjoying the sitting quietly part - not actively praying but not forcing the meditation, either.  It's pleasant.  I pay more attention to the thoughts than when I'm actively meditating but it's still pleasant.  

When I was getting sober the most important part of my meetings was that I simply had to sit still for an hour.  This doesn't sound too impressive but for a guy whose skeleton was trying to climb out through his mouth and escape it was a big accomplishment.  It still applies today, frankly, and takes a lot of pressure off of me to hear something really profound in the meeting.  I don't have to accomplish a great meeting - I can sit down and relax for an hour.  I don't get so frustrated at what other people are doing because all I need to do is chill for an hour.  If I don't hear anything that rocks my socks in a meeting I still get a lot of benefit from attending.  I feel better the rest of the day even though I can't put my finger on the profound thing that I heard.

SuperK and I each have activities that don't look too impressive to each other.  We've both worked at letting the other person do the thing that they want to do even when it doesn't seem . . . well, productive, and we've both worked at seeing how the activity might be of great benefit to the other person.  Part of this is listening when the other person talks, something that I'm   terrible at doing.  She's better but you'll have to ask her whether or not progress could be made.  Part of it is letting the other person be.

We both thought the article was interesting.  It's nice to ponder the mix between overtly productive activities and internally productive activities.  I need both of them to maintain what little of my sanity is left.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum

So here's something funny that happened to me . . . 

My parents have been talking smack about coming out to visit relatives close to where we're staying.  My mother is a big smack talker in these matters but she doesn't usually follow up her smack with action.  If you're going to be guarding the star receiver in The Big Game you don't want to talk to the newspapers about how he isn't going to do squat against you unless you're pretty good.  Smack talkers should back up their talk or they look foolish indeed.  I've learned not to call my mother on her smack - it isn't worth it and it isn't an example of Being of Service.  Saying "there's no WAY you're coming out here" doesn't make anyone feel good.  Instead I try to be pleasant and agreeable.  This isn't offensive to anyone and I feel better about myself, the only person that I really care about.

Currently I'm renting a small one bedroom cottage.  I'd like to have a two bedroom place - and a Ferrari in the garage - but I'm saving a lot of money by sticking to the one bedroom.  When mom was hinting that she would like to stay with us when she allegedly visits I was able to play pretty good defense with the one bedroom deflection.  That, and the cat that's she allergic to unless it's my sister's cat which she doesn't have any problems with, what with the grandchildren and all.  I hinted back that we'd be happy to go with the extra bedroom if she wanted to kick in the extra money but that went nowhere fast.  She seemed miffed that I hadn't rented a bigger place just in case she wanted to visit.  I'm that way, too, about spending other people's money.  It doesn't offend me at all or put a dent in my wallet.

SuperK and I found a two bedroom place in a less desirable area for the second half of our vacation so I called my mother to let her know she had a bed if she came out.  The woman booked plane tickets in twelve nanoseconds.  The woman was moving.  I like my parents fine but the thought of the four of us in a two bedroom cottage is . . . ahem . . . daunting.  I'm out in the future enduring all kinds of tragedies already.  A new guy I talked to suggested that maybe I shouldn't live in the future.  When the new guys are scoring off of you it's not a good sign.

But I haven't been to The Old City in a good little while and the weather here is a LOT nicer than it is back there.  My parents like to do things that are always done, whether they like to do them or not.  You know, turkey at Thanksgiving and a Christmas ham even if you don't like turkey or ham.  They think it's time to get together.  They want to come out - not my dad, of course, but my mom does - so I can buck up for a few days.  I've offloaded some of the helpful children things on my younger sister, who lives near my folks, so I can surely do this thing.

Be careful what you ask for.