Why Don't You Try Recovering From Yourself?

Recovered: (simple past tense of recover) - to get better, regain one's health.

There's a sentence in the one of our main books that says ". . . men and women who have recovered from a seemingly hopeless state of mind and body."  It's a good sentence, a good, solid, proud sentiment.  Every now and then I hear a member introduce themselves in a meeting by saying "Hi, I'm Seaweed and I'm a recovered alcoholic" in lieu of the standard "I'm an alcoholic" greeting.  Frankly, I think these people are under the impression that they're a little more special than the rest of us but really . . . who gives a shit, right?  Say whatever you want.  I had a buddy in The Old Town explain that saying the "I'm an alcoholic" part was a personal affirmation for his ears,  not the group's ears.  He didn't care if the group thought he was an alcoholic, which still makes me laugh today

There are a handful of people here in Vacation City who have taken this weird, militant stance about saying "recovered."  Whenever one of them chairs a meeting the talk inevitably gets around to how much crap they've taken for saying using the qualifier "recovered."  Frankly, I don't believe them - I've never heard anyone object to that word in my time in The Program.  I think these people want to stand out.  In Chicago I used to say that I was an alcoholic and an addict - true words but I see today that I wanted to be worse than everyone else, a dude who heroically overcame two obstacles.

Seaweed.  Garden Variety Drunk

So-Called Seaweed

So-called:  Called by such a name, with a very strong connotation that the item is not worthy of that name.

And then there's this: ". . . any man, who tries to run his life rigidly by this kind of prayer (that is a prayer asking for explicit guidance), is a particularly disconcerting individual.  To any questioning or criticism of his actions he instantly proffers his reliance upon prayer for guidance in all matters great or small.  He may have forgotten the possibility that his own wishful thinking and the human tendency to rationalize have distorted his so-called guidance."

I like that phrasing: "so-called."  That there phrase is a very classy slap in the face.  There is nothing worse than someone who thinks that they're getting information directly from god.  I think this is why houses of worship annoy me so much and by extension why the men's meeting book is so annoying: the idea that a human can interpret god's will better than I can and then tell me where I'm lacking is more than I can bear, especially since so many people seem to cherry-pick what they think is important.

"With the best of intentions (and that's another kind way of hinting that the intentions do, in fact, suck the big one), he tends to force his own will into all sorts of situations and problems with the comfortable assurance that he is acting under God's specific direction."

Oh, please.  :)

"Craw" Is A Great Word

Stick in my craw:  To cause lasting annoyance, irritation, or hard feelings.

I really should read the shit I write sometimes.  I forget that this writing is for me.

My beloved men's meeting is an off-the-books collection of guys from The Fellowship - not an official meeting published in the local meeting directory.  While much of the structure and format is pure Program - we just got done reading in entirety, from soup to nuts, one of the two main books that were written to guide us along the recovery path - and the meeting is open to anyone we take some liberties with our study material.  (Ed. Note: why is it "soup to nuts," anyway?  What kind of idiot ends their meal with nuts?  It should be from soup to dessert.  I mean, nuts for dessert?  Are you kidding me?)

Anyway, the meeting is kind of a Step-based spirituality meeting so the lack of official status allows us to mix in some non-conference approved literature of a spiritual nature.  Sometimes the books are generic spirituality and sometimes the books get a little religious.  Last night we started on a new book, one written by an official religious guy from the official religion that I had jammed down my throat for the first 18 years of my life and I mean 18 years - I have no doubt I was being hauled along to services within the first 2 weeks of my life.  We had church and church school and vacation church school in the goddam summer for god's sake and special services for many, many special dates during the course of a year, and I was there for every fucking one of them.

As you might expect, I was wary of this new book which was voted in over my objections, making it by default a bad decision.  I try to be open-minded - we've read spiritual books based on official religions with which I don't a long, difficult history, books I've had no objection to at all.  But this one really stuck in my craw.  I could feel my long, difficult history overwhelming my ability to be open-minded.  And I still consider myself pretty mainstream in my religious beliefs - I still consider myself a member of this official religion, just not a regular practicing go-to-services-every-week member and definitely not someone interested in its official dogma being discussed in a Program meeting.  

I was pretty exercised about the whole thing.  There were actual verses from the official book of this official religion in our new selection, and they showed up right out of the chute, causing my mind to snap shut like a well-oiled gopher trap.  I could not concentrate on the reading and I had trouble listening to my brothers, even a couple of them who were as wary as I was about the book although, in my defense,  guys without my extensive, highly prejudiced history.

As it stands today I'm going to excuse myself from the group until they make it through this sorry-ass selection.  I'll probably change my mind by next week but maybe not.  I think that my 58 years of life and 28 years of sobriety has bought me some . . . not seniority but consistency in my beliefs, you know?  I like to try new things - I think it's crucial - but I don't want to bang my head against the wall for no good reason.  I don't like country music - it just doesn't appeal to me and not because I think it's bad music.  If you gave me a bunch of country music and I had to listen to it and listen to nothing else I'd probably find some stuff in there I like and I'd probably gain a new appreciation for the genre but I'd certainly not end up as a country music fan, so please put the country music away.

Is this a case where I need to open up and stretch my mind a little or is this a case where I'd just be banging my head against the wall?

TBD.

Seaweed, Thinker Extraordinaire

Think:  To communicate to oneself in one's mind; to try to find a solution to a problem.

I had to laugh out loud when I saw that definition.  Wow.  

"What's the matter with Seaweed, anyway?"
"Oh, he's just communicating with himself.  In his own mind."

Great.

Anyway, I went to my 12&12 book study on Friday and we read Step 11: Prayer and Meditation.  Then, on Saturday, I went to my Prayer and Meditation Step 11 meeting where we read - you guessed it- Step 11 out of the 12&12.  We read about prayer and meditation from a variety of approved literature sources on Saturday so I was hoping that it would be one of the other selections.  I must have needed to find an answer in those readings.

I was struck by the phrase: "Why can't we take a specific and troubling dilemma straight to God, and in prayer secure from Him sure and definite answers to our requests?"

In my Quiet Time this morning I was trying to pray if by "pray" you mean "think weird and troubling thoughts about myself."  The idea that it would be in my best interest to do what comes up in my head when I'm trying to connect to god with laughable - this is why I have lots of friends to talk to.  They're always saying things like: "You're going to do what now?"

The selection continues: ". . . the thoughts that seem to come from God are not answers at all.  They prove to be well-intentioned unconscious rationalizations" 

Well, I don't know about the well-intentioned part.  I do know that there is often nothing scarier than talking to someone who is convinced that he or she is interpreting the will of god that he or she has received directly.  The conceit that I'm better at talking to god than you are is beyond laughable.

REALLY Petty

Really:  (informal, as an intensifier) Very (modifying an adjective)  

But then things REALLY got out of hand . . .

I turned on my computer one morning to find a message from my sister telling me that they had hired a lawyer to help expedite the process with the county tax assessor, Keeper Of The House Deed. She wanted me to print out and send overnight express about seven thousand pages of legal stuff that was attached to the email.  I noticed, of course, that they had hired a lawyer who had an office in their very tony neighborhood - everyone in their neighborhood, which they modestly downplay every chance they get in a fantastically low-key, passive-aggressive fashion, is "really excellent" at whatever they do, right down to the local donut guy - at a cost of $3000, payable by my father.  Now I know lawyers can be expensive but if this particular barrister takes 8 hours to complete the task at hand he's going to be making like $400 an hour.  I'm not a lawyer but the task at hand seems pretty simple - I can't imagine it's going to take anywhere near 8 hours and I can't imagine that they have to hire Clarence Darrow to complete the task.  Still . . . as no one consulted me beforehand it's none of my business.

After some back and forth I head down to the UPS office and arrange to send two pieces of paper using an Extremely Urgent!! envelope they provide me.  This costs me $45 at which point it becomes very much my business.  This sends me into a mini-rage.  My sister is quite cavalier about spending other people's money which normally I could give a shit about except this is my money which I give a huge shit about.  I mean: I'm really pissed about this.  It's not so much the $45 it's that if these PEOPLE HAD TAKEN MY ADVICE SIX MONTHS AGO WE WOULDN'T BE DOING THIS!

I send the envelope.  I come home.  I tell SuperK that I should say this thing or send this note or make this call so that I can say something else and her hand raises, showing me her palm, code for "Talk to the Hand."  

"Don't be petty," she said.  "It's not worth your energy."

I really wanted to be petty.

The lawyer got the documents and the house sold.  Case closed.

Petty Seaweed

Petty:  Narrow-minded; small-minded; insignificant, trifling, or inconsiderable.

I've mulled over the outcome of the real estate decisions that my father has made, heavily abetted by my sister.  I've mulled them over so much because they ran directly counter to my real estate suggestions and were consequently very, very wrong.  Any idiot knows that my suggestions are invariably the right ones.  

Please keep in mind that I'm not qualified to advise anyone on anything, especially when I'm sitting here in my trailer house many hundreds of miles away.  I'm lucky if I can keep tabs on my wallet and my wife let alone shit going down quickly in The Old City.

And here's the thing: it has been a hard slog through a cold rain trying to get my dad's house sold.  He decided to use a real estate agent - a colleague of my sister - to sell his house instead of taking my suggestion and burning the %$!! thing down.  Actually, I'm not that much of a criminal anymore.  I found a buyer - a friend in The Program that I trust implicitly - who offered less money but would have bought the property As Is.  I thought this was the no-fuss way to get the house sold, an opinion held by exactly no one else and consequently followed by no one else, either.  My dad doesn't really need the extra money so I thought easy trumped greedy.

In this case, I was right.  The house sold to a woman who couldn't get financing.  Back on the market it went and sold quickly again - to a speculator who found thousands of dollars worth of damage that he insisted be repaired.  Back on the market to be sold again to the original woman who had magically repaired her credit history but who now wisely offered less money on the house than she had initially, no doubt because the house was still on the market.  Each one of these delays cost money because of the upkeep on the house - utilities, taxes, insurance, etc.  Add that sum to the real estate agent's commission and we were getting a lot closer to my friend's original offer lo these many month's hence, minus all of the emotional wear and tear on my sister and father.

To my credit I kept my fucking mouth shut through the whole circus.  How, you ask?  I have no idea how.

The final step was to transfer the deed from my father to the buyer, a request denied by the county tax assessor because, 60 years ago, the deed was made out to my father AND my mother -but not jointly - which meant my mother needed to rise from the grave - which she cheerfully would have done to save us all the trouble - to sign over the deed to my dad OR we had to probate her part of the estate.  Following all of this?  Still reading any of it?  Why, might I ask?
  
The point is that it was all I could do to keep my self from screaming: "I TOLD you so!!"  I was particularly interested in what the real estate agent was doing to earn her commission.  She didn't appear to be vetting anyone or researching anything.

Not a word from my mouth that wasn't pleasant and complimentary.

Long Run

It's interesting to me that we have a relative lack of people with mid-range sobriety: there are a ton of folks in the 1-5 year range and a handful with 20+ years but in the intervening years we seem to lose a lot of our momentum.  I guess we're not making the big, spectacular gains of our early sobriety so the work becomes much more . . . well, work-like and thusly unpleasant.  And it is, of course, easier to do the work when you're just one step ahead of a whole lot of mad people in hot pursuit.

The chair at our meeting last week was a young woman who had recently celebrated a year anniversary.  She remarked that she hadn't been as active in her recovery over the last few weeks and that she needed to do something about that.  I don't believe that I've seen her since.  Maybe she's going to some different meetings but I doubt it.

We're definitely in this for the long run.  This is a marathon not a 100 meter dash.