I'm sick. I'm pretty damn sick. I'm SICK!! SICK!! I'm one of those fortunate people who doesn't get every cold that drifts by and I generally slough off those that I do pick up. This cold, however, is a mother - I'm pretty sure that there are several billion demons with red-hot, poison-tipped pokers tormenting the lining of my lungs. I would have guessed by now that they'd grow tired of this torture but apparently not.
I get sullen and unresponsive when I'm ill - SuperK complains loudly, leading one to believe she's dying.
"For chrissake it's just a cold," I mutter.
"For godsake quit coughing," she seethes.
I'll leave it up to you to decide which is more irritating.
Thursday, May 7, 2015
Friday, May 1, 2015
Angry, Yelling Seaweed!!
A few nights later - still doing fine, no problems at all, "nothing to look at here, folks, please move along!" - I toodled into my regular Wednesday night meeting, aware that I was still a little off my game, that I shouldn't . . . you know . . . open my mouth and talk. A solid member was chairing the meeting so I thought it was going to be safe to sit quietly, listen and learn. Then, dude sitting next to me, in the front row, in full view of everyone, starts messing around with his cell phone. It really, really annoys me when people sit in a meeting and mess around on a cell phone, especially in the front row - if you're going to blatantly not listen to what someone is saying at least have the courtesy to tuck yourself into an obscure corner. I figure that it would only be slightly less disrespectful to bring in a newspaper to read, or to watch a football game on a portable The TV as long as you're using a headset. I understand that you can mess around on a phone and listen to the meeting proceedings, kind of, sort of getting the drift of what's being said, but I simply don't believe that very many of us are so important that we can't get through an hour without communicating with the outside world. I didn't see any emergency room surgeons or diplomats negotiating international arms treaties present that night. If people were doing that when I was new and trying to hork up the courage to share, to bear my soul, to talk in front of a group, I don't know if I would have come back. I realize cell phone use is more ubiquitous and accepted now, and I have to balance that with some rules of common courtesy.
"Don't talk, don't talk, don't say anything," I was mumbling to myself as I leaned in and quietly said: "Could you not do that?" Dude whispers back that he was just doing something or the other, an explanation that I didn't listen to because, frankly, I didn't care what he was doing. Put the phone down! Dude was a big dude; dude shared later about spending a couple of years in prison; Seaweed Dude started to regret sticking his nose into Prison Dude's business. I mean - who made me President of The Fellowship?
(Ed. Note: I spoke to the guy after the meeting, apologized halfheartedly, more out of fear that genuine regret, and we seemed to clear the air and come away with no hard feelings - whew.
Ed Note to Self: don't say anything to big dudes until sure that there isn't a long history of felonious violence to consider).
Left shoe in mouth, I pondered the possibility of also getting my right shoe in there - I have a pretty big mouth so this is definitely a doable action. Next up was a mentally ill woman who has gotten on literally everyone's last nerve at every meeting she attends - she always talks, she never talks about recovery, and she has a tendency to go off on side rants about religion and how terribly the world treats her. Tonight, very agitated, she begins to disparage a private clubhouse in the area that, finally exasperated, banned her from the premises. The chairperson started to interrupt after a few minutes, reminding her of the 3 minute-to-share rule, when she jumps up from her seat and dances around, declaring that she WAS going to talk, that no one could stop her from talking.
I seethed. I roiled. I had had enough, I couldn't keep the damn mouth shut any longer. "Jane Doe, please sit down," I said pretty loudly. "Please sit down and be quiet!" I said very loudly when she tried to talk over me. This went on for 30 seconds or so, a few other members beginning to chime in, before she said: " Thanks for letting me share," and sat down.
So . . . what happened there? Did I do the old-timer thing and help maintain order in the meeting? Or did I decide that I was the arbiter of good behavior, that it was my job to run things? Did someone new see a good member acting appropriately or an angry man yelling at a woman who was trying to speak? I don't know the answer to that.
I didn't talk at the meeting this morning, I'll tell you what.
"Don't talk, don't talk, don't say anything," I was mumbling to myself as I leaned in and quietly said: "Could you not do that?" Dude whispers back that he was just doing something or the other, an explanation that I didn't listen to because, frankly, I didn't care what he was doing. Put the phone down! Dude was a big dude; dude shared later about spending a couple of years in prison; Seaweed Dude started to regret sticking his nose into Prison Dude's business. I mean - who made me President of The Fellowship?
(Ed. Note: I spoke to the guy after the meeting, apologized halfheartedly, more out of fear that genuine regret, and we seemed to clear the air and come away with no hard feelings - whew.
Ed Note to Self: don't say anything to big dudes until sure that there isn't a long history of felonious violence to consider).
Left shoe in mouth, I pondered the possibility of also getting my right shoe in there - I have a pretty big mouth so this is definitely a doable action. Next up was a mentally ill woman who has gotten on literally everyone's last nerve at every meeting she attends - she always talks, she never talks about recovery, and she has a tendency to go off on side rants about religion and how terribly the world treats her. Tonight, very agitated, she begins to disparage a private clubhouse in the area that, finally exasperated, banned her from the premises. The chairperson started to interrupt after a few minutes, reminding her of the 3 minute-to-share rule, when she jumps up from her seat and dances around, declaring that she WAS going to talk, that no one could stop her from talking.
I seethed. I roiled. I had had enough, I couldn't keep the damn mouth shut any longer. "Jane Doe, please sit down," I said pretty loudly. "Please sit down and be quiet!" I said very loudly when she tried to talk over me. This went on for 30 seconds or so, a few other members beginning to chime in, before she said: " Thanks for letting me share," and sat down.
So . . . what happened there? Did I do the old-timer thing and help maintain order in the meeting? Or did I decide that I was the arbiter of good behavior, that it was my job to run things? Did someone new see a good member acting appropriately or an angry man yelling at a woman who was trying to speak? I don't know the answer to that.
I didn't talk at the meeting this morning, I'll tell you what.
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Core Competencies
I am continuing to struggle with this bout of free-floating anxiety which I hypothesize has something to do with people in my life . . . you know . . . dying. But I'm not at all positive about this - I can't usually find my car keys so trying to come up with some great overview of my current emotional state doesn't rate especially high as one of my core competencies.
I will say this: I am not at all patient right now. Since I'm almost never patient the fact that I recognize special impatience is really saying something.
My regular morning meeting is close to our downtown area so we get a steady stream of patrons that may or may not be there for recovery. We see homelessness and mental illness - often in one jittery package - at almost every meeting. Generally, we're cool with this - if someone wants to grab a cup of coffee and sit quietly we're not going to throw them out. We're trying to keep the minimum requirement for membership as low as possible. We want the doors to recovery to be wide, wide open.
The other day a clearly crazy guy was in the meeting. He had a big sheaf of papers clutched to his chest. After a bit he went over to our literature rack, took some brochures on recovery, and made his way back to his seat where he began to shuffle and organize everything that he had in a manner that I can only assume made sense to him. He started to take the staples out of the brochures and add the disconnected pages to various piles. The meeting is kind of a quiet place so the rustling obviously began to bother people.
I got up and walked across the room, took a seat next to him.
"You've got to stop rustling the papers," I said quietly. I didn't want to make him feel bad - he can't feel great on a good day - and I didn't want to disrupt the meeting.
"OK," he said, quickly putting everything in one big pile. He reached over and squeezed my shoulder to show there weren't any hard feelings and I patted him on the leg. I was uncomfortable. I mean - who made me president of The Fellowship? That's a trick question - I'm self-appointed. But I have been sober for a while so I've run into a lot of different situations in the past and I feel some responsibility to help behavior in the meeting place stay appropriate. I think this is part of the job of an old-timer.
He started rustling things around again near the end of the meeting. You could see he just couldn't help himself. A lot of people came up to thank me for what I did, relieving some of my anxiety, but still . . . I wish it always worked perfectly, no upsets and no controversy.
Yeah, right. This IS The Fellowship after all.
I will say this: I am not at all patient right now. Since I'm almost never patient the fact that I recognize special impatience is really saying something.
My regular morning meeting is close to our downtown area so we get a steady stream of patrons that may or may not be there for recovery. We see homelessness and mental illness - often in one jittery package - at almost every meeting. Generally, we're cool with this - if someone wants to grab a cup of coffee and sit quietly we're not going to throw them out. We're trying to keep the minimum requirement for membership as low as possible. We want the doors to recovery to be wide, wide open.
The other day a clearly crazy guy was in the meeting. He had a big sheaf of papers clutched to his chest. After a bit he went over to our literature rack, took some brochures on recovery, and made his way back to his seat where he began to shuffle and organize everything that he had in a manner that I can only assume made sense to him. He started to take the staples out of the brochures and add the disconnected pages to various piles. The meeting is kind of a quiet place so the rustling obviously began to bother people.
I got up and walked across the room, took a seat next to him.
"You've got to stop rustling the papers," I said quietly. I didn't want to make him feel bad - he can't feel great on a good day - and I didn't want to disrupt the meeting.
"OK," he said, quickly putting everything in one big pile. He reached over and squeezed my shoulder to show there weren't any hard feelings and I patted him on the leg. I was uncomfortable. I mean - who made me president of The Fellowship? That's a trick question - I'm self-appointed. But I have been sober for a while so I've run into a lot of different situations in the past and I feel some responsibility to help behavior in the meeting place stay appropriate. I think this is part of the job of an old-timer.
He started rustling things around again near the end of the meeting. You could see he just couldn't help himself. A lot of people came up to thank me for what I did, relieving some of my anxiety, but still . . . I wish it always worked perfectly, no upsets and no controversy.
Yeah, right. This IS The Fellowship after all.
Monday, April 27, 2015
"Yes, This Is Seaweed, and I Have to Cancel My Appointment?"
A few weeks ago I made an appointment with an imaging center to have a test performed on one of my %^!! malfunctioning legs. At some point in between the making of the appointment and the very appointment itself I acquired the knowledge that this particular imaging center didn't play nice with my insurance company. Being a smart guy - NO doubt about that - I made an appointment with an imaging center that does. This, as I understand it, is the function of insurance: to pay for things that are insured, despite the very popular notion that their purpose is actually to take in premiums and avoid paying for any benefits. They seem to think that benefits have been tainted with the Black Death.
I needed to cancel my initial appointment. As I picked up the phone I found myself rehearsing little deflecting untruths as to why I was doing this. I didn't want to piss anyone off because you never know when you might need to come back to them for something else, especially given the adversarial relationship between they that provide service with they that pay for it. As the patient I'm right in between this mess. No one appears to actually like the patient.
This is not what I did. I cancelled the appointment without providing a mangled, implausible web of lies. No one asked for the reason. They were very polite. I did not need to lie at all. The point is that my default reaction is to lie. More of an embellishment or exaggeration to my mind, and a pretty minor one at that as long as I convince myself that not telling the truth has degrees. It's like being on time - you are on time or you are not. I get the idea that being a little late is probably better than being very late but the REAL idea is not to be late at all, to get ready so that you get there a little early.
Little, convenient lies.
I needed to cancel my initial appointment. As I picked up the phone I found myself rehearsing little deflecting untruths as to why I was doing this. I didn't want to piss anyone off because you never know when you might need to come back to them for something else, especially given the adversarial relationship between they that provide service with they that pay for it. As the patient I'm right in between this mess. No one appears to actually like the patient.
This is not what I did. I cancelled the appointment without providing a mangled, implausible web of lies. No one asked for the reason. They were very polite. I did not need to lie at all. The point is that my default reaction is to lie. More of an embellishment or exaggeration to my mind, and a pretty minor one at that as long as I convince myself that not telling the truth has degrees. It's like being on time - you are on time or you are not. I get the idea that being a little late is probably better than being very late but the REAL idea is not to be late at all, to get ready so that you get there a little early.
Little, convenient lies.
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
Seaweed on the Phone
I went with a couple of friends to a recovery house in a rough neighborhood last night. I'm glad for the opportunity to be of service, to perhaps pass the message along to someone who doesn't see much to be hopeful about. That being said - I don't have a very dramatic "getting to recovery" kind of story, one that might resonate with a roomful of guys who are battling addictions to a variety of really nasty drugs, broke, prison stays hanging around their necks like giant anchors. Normally I'm oblivious to this - I talk to keep myself sober, not under any illusion that I'm saving anyone, aware that you never know when your words resonate with someone. Yesterday I didn't have it going on - I felt benumbed by the generalized anxiety tormenting me right now. As I got started I could see a lot of pretty dead-looking eyes staring back at me.
I kind of phoned it in. I didn't talk for very long, my words coming out, to my ear, canned and lifeless. Sigh. Happens to all of us from time to time.
I kind of phoned it in. I didn't talk for very long, my words coming out, to my ear, canned and lifeless. Sigh. Happens to all of us from time to time.
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
Off the List!
I'm always working the phone as an integral part of my recovery. I've made some really great friends and confidantes working the phone, finding that I'm a bit more honest and a bit more thorough when I'm going one on one with another recovering alcoholic. I can stand up in a meeting and regurgitate The Book with the best of them and I can totally BS myself about where I am spiritually with the best of them, too. But after 15 minutes with someone who knows me well I've pretty much run out of material for my act, forcing me to tell the . . . you know . . . truth. . . about what's going on, as loathsome as this can be.
I do not speak on the phone with someone who has been drinking - it's a waste of my time and a disservice to them, perhaps delaying the additional bad shit they have to endure before admitting that they're powerless. I do call people first, however, even though most of the time these people don't call me back, especially if they're newish, although a lot of people with some serious sobriety don't call back, either. I give everyone two chances to call back and then I ruthlessly purge them from my phone - I take them right off! -because if you can't return a couple of phone calls then you're Off the List!
I think there is some residual hangover from my sales-guy days when many, many people didn't return my phone calls, and I had a product that was so attractive that people called me to set up an appointment, and they still didn't return phone calls. So part of me is offended - OK, annoyed - when I call someone who doesn't call back. And I'm under no great illusion about my charisma - while I assume that some of the people who don't call back aren't in the habit of returning calls to anyone out of fear or procrastination, I simultaneously recognize that some people see my number, listen to my message, and think: "Meh." I'm actually better with being disliked than being ignored.
The point is - should you be at all interested in the point - I called a couple of guys last week, one of them my sole sponsee in Vacation City. Neither of them called back. One apologized for his rudeness but still didn't call back. Off the List!!
My sponsee thanked me for the call but he didn't call back, either. Because I put some importance on the role of a sponsor I talked to him about . . . you know . . . calling his sponsor. I don't remember what his response was but he still didn't call back.
Whenever I begin to overestimate my wisdom . . .
Off the List!!!
I do not speak on the phone with someone who has been drinking - it's a waste of my time and a disservice to them, perhaps delaying the additional bad shit they have to endure before admitting that they're powerless. I do call people first, however, even though most of the time these people don't call me back, especially if they're newish, although a lot of people with some serious sobriety don't call back, either. I give everyone two chances to call back and then I ruthlessly purge them from my phone - I take them right off! -because if you can't return a couple of phone calls then you're Off the List!
I think there is some residual hangover from my sales-guy days when many, many people didn't return my phone calls, and I had a product that was so attractive that people called me to set up an appointment, and they still didn't return phone calls. So part of me is offended - OK, annoyed - when I call someone who doesn't call back. And I'm under no great illusion about my charisma - while I assume that some of the people who don't call back aren't in the habit of returning calls to anyone out of fear or procrastination, I simultaneously recognize that some people see my number, listen to my message, and think: "Meh." I'm actually better with being disliked than being ignored.
The point is - should you be at all interested in the point - I called a couple of guys last week, one of them my sole sponsee in Vacation City. Neither of them called back. One apologized for his rudeness but still didn't call back. Off the List!!
My sponsee thanked me for the call but he didn't call back, either. Because I put some importance on the role of a sponsor I talked to him about . . . you know . . . calling his sponsor. I don't remember what his response was but he still didn't call back.
Whenever I begin to overestimate my wisdom . . .
Off the List!!!
Monday, April 20, 2015
FFA
I say good morning to Ken and to my mother every morning during my Quiet Time. Tell 'em that I love 'em. I can clearly see their faces smiling back at me, mom kind of beatific, Kenner's features twisted in more of a smirk. It has been fun to do. I'm sure they can hear me. I don't think that each individual can hear what I say to anyone else, though, and for this I'm glad. I use some bad words sometimes.
I spoke to a friend in The Program this morning and he suggested writing a letter to each of them but I don't think I'm going to do that - I'm not sure that The Dead can read. It would seem to be a redundant system on their part, overriding their ability to access all literature of all time simply by blinking their eyes or clearing their throats. I wrote to both of them when they were alive which seemed to be the more practical thing to do for this trudging German. Still, a good suggestion. I might do it later after I've forgotten where it came from, choosing instead to make it my own idea. I steal all the time.
I called my buddy because I continue to have this heightened state of anxiety flitting about my head. It's all crap anxiety, worrying about things that don't normally merit a second glance or worrying with no clear target in sight. Free-floating anxiety, or FFA. I believe that this is my odd, angular way of grieving, a viable substitute for wailing and chest beating and much gnashing of the teeth. ONE time it would be nice to do something right out of the book.
If the only interaction that I can come up with regarding my father is to make him uncomfortable about his behavior then I'm beginning to practice a total deferral of all actions whatsoever. What kind of an asshole am I if all I do is judge someone else's behavior? Ken would be on my ass about that shit. Every now and then I'm glad he can't pick up the phone - I hate being told to leave everyone else alone when I'm so sure I can fix everyone else's problems.
I spoke to a friend in The Program this morning and he suggested writing a letter to each of them but I don't think I'm going to do that - I'm not sure that The Dead can read. It would seem to be a redundant system on their part, overriding their ability to access all literature of all time simply by blinking their eyes or clearing their throats. I wrote to both of them when they were alive which seemed to be the more practical thing to do for this trudging German. Still, a good suggestion. I might do it later after I've forgotten where it came from, choosing instead to make it my own idea. I steal all the time.
I called my buddy because I continue to have this heightened state of anxiety flitting about my head. It's all crap anxiety, worrying about things that don't normally merit a second glance or worrying with no clear target in sight. Free-floating anxiety, or FFA. I believe that this is my odd, angular way of grieving, a viable substitute for wailing and chest beating and much gnashing of the teeth. ONE time it would be nice to do something right out of the book.
If the only interaction that I can come up with regarding my father is to make him uncomfortable about his behavior then I'm beginning to practice a total deferral of all actions whatsoever. What kind of an asshole am I if all I do is judge someone else's behavior? Ken would be on my ass about that shit. Every now and then I'm glad he can't pick up the phone - I hate being told to leave everyone else alone when I'm so sure I can fix everyone else's problems.
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