Think and Drink

Isolate:  To set apart or cut off from others.

"What are we likely to receive from Step Five?  For one thing, we shall get rid of that terrible sense of isolation that we've always had.  Almost without exception, alcoholics are tortured by loneliness.  Even before our drinking got bad and people began to cut us off, nearly all of us suffered the feeling that we didn't quite belong."

". . . this emerging from isolation through the open and honest sharing of our terrible burden of guilt . . . "

This was in the part of the text that we read in our Step study this morning.  The feeling of apartness is a really common feature of most alcoholics.  I always felt like I was missing some really crucial information about how to live.  "I don't get it," I'd think, watching other people maneuver through life in a relatively normal manner.  But I didn't want to talk to anyone about it, either.  The stuff was too personal and too embarrassing.

So I'd sit in front of my TV and think and drink.  I didn't even have a clicker back then to change channels remotely so I'd watch whatever was on whatever channel I was watching until I had to pee or get another can of malt liquor.

Think and Drink.  Boy, if I could have gotten paid for doing that . . . 

In Recovery . . .

Recovery:  A return to normal health.

Am I in recovery?  Or recovered?  What do I need to stay in recovery?  Who cares about this semantic attack on a seemingly hopeless state of mind and body?

I'm amused at how people take important religious, philosophical, political, etc., books and study them to death.  With most of these texts a smart person can find passages that support whatever viewpoint they currently hold while discounting anything oppositional.

What a waste of my time.  I was reflecting on Japan and the absence of any 12 Step meetings.  I never felt like drinking but I did become increasingly impatient and intolerant.  The company that helped organize our stay sent out the requisite questionnaire - per usual the first two weeks were fantastic; the third week was very good; and I got some shit to say about that last week.  Part of this, no doubt, was the result of a lot of time out of my routines while in a foreign culture, and part of it, for sure, was the lack of recovery support.  At the start I didn't see the sake on the table - at the end I wondered what it smelled like.

Lest I wonder if I'm an alcoholic . . . .

I like what one of our founders said when asked if he thought he would ever take another drink: "I believe that if I keep doing what I've been doing that I will never have to pick up another drink."

I Am Totally Whelmed Today

Did you know that "whelm" is an actual word?  Overwhelmed?  Sure.  Underwhelmed?  Got it.  Whelmed?  OK, then.

Unless each member follows to the best of his ability our suggested Twelve Steps to recovery, he almost certainly signs his own death warrant.  His drunkenness and dissolution are not penalties inflicted by people in authority; they result from his personal disobedience to spiritual principles.

Tradition Nine, baby.  How great is that concept?  I was the kid who looked at my mother as she told me that the skillet was hot, got burned while defiantly grabbing the thing, then got mad . . . at her . . . when I got burned.  Mom didn't burn me - the law of heat transference took care of that.

So we do obey spiritual principles, first because we must, and ultimately because we love the kind of life such obedience brings.  Great pain and great love are our disciplinarians; we need no others.

The Saga of Bob

The Great Dog Experiment has ended.

I marvel at the existential battle between the two great forces of Perfectionism and Acceptance that takes place in my head on a daily basis.  This battle used to grind me up because every day I failed in my attempts to be perfect and because I failed so often I slipped into the habit of doing whatever I wanted.  If I couldn't be perfect I figured I could act out.  The difference today is that - while I still hold myself to this high ideal - I accept the fact that I'm going to fail often, and I'm okay with that.  Shoot for the stars, I say.  Don't be content if your armed robbery count drops from daily to weekly, I say.  Yes, quite an improvement but let's try to cut out the felonies completely.

The Bad Dog Owner assured us that he would pick up his dog Thursday morning.  This was before he dropped the dog off at which point it became Thursday afternoon.  At 3PM - total radio silence - I texted him.  He replied that he was in route and would arrive about 6PM.  I stifled the urge to petulantly point out that this would be Thursday evening, not Thursday afternoon, but at this point I was grateful that he was responding at all.  He texted again at about 6:45, pleading heavy traffic, before arriving after 7.

(Ed. Note:  He actually got there at 7 but the story is better if he arrives later.  I'm lying here to punch up the narrative, in other words).

SuperK and I had discussed the whole situation and agreed that we just needed to hand off the dog as pleasantly as possible.  We agreed that this guy is not at a level of spiritual development where I could complain about the dog's odor or point out that he really should be more responsive when someone else is doing you the favor of watching your animal.  The transfer went fine.  He was oblivious and we kept our mouths shut.  

The dog - we started to call him Bob because that's what we call all animals - was quite excited to see his master, then he came over and sat next to me.  I don't think this guy is a dog lover.  I think Bob is a furnishing.  I felt guilty at not paying more attention to Bob but I think I paid way more attention to him than his owner does. 

Shooting for perfection; failing often; sleeping well at night, at peace with my flaws. 

I saw the owner today and he wants to take us to lunch.  I deferred, demurely, hoping he'll forget about the offer.  I didn't like him before and I like him even less today.  I don't want to spend time with him.  I don't need someone to buy me lunch.  I can go buy my own lunch with SuperK and have a good time.

I kind of miss Bob today.

I Can Always Make Matters Worse

Worse:  More bad.

I try to talk to someone in recovery on the phone every day.  I know I'm nuts but I can cover this craziness under thick, oozing layers of denial and self-justification - talking to another person who knows me is a great governor on my Bullshit Machine.  I rang up a guy I sponsor yesterday who is following the time-honored Fellowship tradition of never picking up the phone and calling his sponsor.  Huzzah! I say.  Good for you.  Millions have unsuccessfully trod this path already but maybe you have the key to success.

Anyway, per usual, I caught someone who was dealing with a lot of stuff and really needed to talk.  I really need to listen, as a general rule - it gives me a short break from my constant self-absorbed musings.  All well and good.  He suggested a coffee after the meeting today and I explained that the dog-sitting is kind of time-consuming early in the morning so I didn't think I'd attend.  All well and good, too, and he understood completely.  Then I decided I'd go further into the reasoning - my reasoning - as to why the dude who owns the dog is acting like such a dickish piece of shit.  He did not ask to hear this information and there was no reason for me to bring it up except that I wanted to discharge my self-righteous bile about the whole situation.  

The great thing I do before I gossip is that I tell the person who is going to be subjected to the gossip that I never do it.  There is some reasoning behind this but it's so shallow and flimsy as to not bear repeating.  The courts are full of criminals today explaining why there was a perfectly acceptable reason for them to break the law.  I don't feel terrible about the gossip.  I do set a high standard for my behavior and I fail often, but I'm giving it a shot.  I'm trying to get better without expecting perfection.  Still, it wasn't admirable behavior so I apologized to my sponsee quickly.

If I hear someone tell tales about another person behind their back, I never divulge anything personal to the gossiper.  I keep my distance.  If that person is comfortable talking about someone else behind their back why wouldn't he be comfortable talking about me behind my back?

So I wonder how my sponsee views me now?  As a guy who made a mistake and is honestly trying to correct it?  Or as a gossiper?  

Dog is My God

Contradiction:  A statement that contradicts itself, i.e., a statement that makes a claim that the same thing is true and that it is false at the same time and in the same senses of the terms. 

That is an OUTSTANDING definition.

So I'm a dog person by which I mean that I like most animals more than I like most people, and I'm not kidding about that.  I'm not a dog owner which would seem to be a contradiction in terms but then again . . . not if you know me.  Stay with me as this meandering straightens itself out eventually.

At most of my meetings I have a lot of friends, these relationships exhibiting varying degrees of depth and intensity.  And being an outgoing and generally agreeable man I'm friendly with most of the rest of the people.  A few people I don't like and, generally, they know this.  And there is the category of people that I'm cordial to even though it's clear that some underlying friction exists.

After my morning meeting a few days ago this dude asked me if I would be willing to host his dog - at my house - while he went on a business trip.  He lives near the meeting and he usually takes the animal for a walk while I'm still shooting the shit with people outside.  I always stoop and pet him - the dog, not the dude.  He knows me, is clearly happy to see me, and is eager to get petted.

I was hesitant about doing this.  It's one thing to help someone with a pet - maybe stopping by a few times to walk him or even staying at the owner's house - and another thing altogether to take in an animal that's probably going to be upset and confused.  Animals are like two year olds - you can't say: "Your owner will be back in three days, so relax."  As far as the dog is concerned he has been left in a strange place in an unknown neighborhood with people he doesn't recognize, and he's never going to see his owner ever again.  He doesn't speak English.

The thing about this thing is this: I'm not really a big fan of the dude who asked for my help.  I had a run-in with him a while back about his tendency to spend most of the meeting fucking around on his cell phone.  I don't care if you want to peer at a tiny electronic screen for ten straight hours, paging through unimportant things, just not in a meeting, believing it sends a terrible message to newcomers who may be struggling to get involved.  I pointed out to him that this was rude behavior during the start of a meeting a while back - I have been elected Sargent At Arms at this meeting in a unanimous, landslide vote of One to Zero; Seaweed in the affirmative, everyone else can piss off - and he told me where to stuff my opinion.  I wasn't particularly offended at the time - his behavior really isn't my business and I had no right or authority to tell him what to do.  I was, however, polite in my request and I thought his reaction was outsized and exaggerated, a good indicator that he sees where I'm right and that he may have a ways to go in the Practice These Principles department.

So our relationship has been frostily strained since then.  SuperK and I bandied his request around and agreed to help the guy out.  Part of it was to be of service in a general way.  After all, I ask my Higher Power to show me ways that I may be helpful as my day unfolds and I don't put any preconditions on this, although making a nubile 19 year old or a guy with a Ferrari feel welcome is more along the lines of what I've been thinking.

My "friend" is one of those people who goes to a lot of meetings but doesn't seem to . . . you know . . . work The Steps or Practice These Principles.  These people don't change much over time is my experience.  They get stuck.  They're better but not well by a long shot.

What did I expect and what did I get?  The dog shows up and it stinks.  I don't mean dog stink - I mean dog who lives in a dumpster stink.  I mean I'm not going to pet the dog stink.  I don't think he left enough food for the time he's gone and he definitely didn't leave enough poop bags - they ran out immediately which sent me to the grocery store to replenish his supplies with my money.  And the kicker is this: the guy tells me all I have to do is walk the dog briefly twice a day, that the dog doesn't really like to take walks.  Yeah, me, either.  The dog loves walks - the lazy-ass dog owner doesn't like to take walks.  The nail in the coffin is that he has not responded to messages the first two days giving him an update on the dog's well-being, messages he requested.

I feel bad for the dog.  It's a pretty good dog.  The guy's an asshole, however, and I can't do anything about that.

Good Old Soen Ozeki

One of the places we visited in Japan was called the Daisen-in Zen Temple.  It was a pretty cool temple.  Most of the Buddhist temples have the building part - which is just OK, sort of a cluttered, chaotic interior space, packed with offerings and figures and gilded surfaces and, of course, a handful of Buddhas.  My impression is that most religious buildings follow a general script: lavish, iconic, meant to impress and, in the worst scenarios, to intimidate.

The Zen gardens were always way cool.  In this temple we picked up a volunteer who spoke some English and was consequently able to explain the meaning of the garden - how it was laid out, what the rocks symbolized, why there were different patterns drawn in the sand.  It was helpful.

There were a few monks drifting around, shorn, ageless, bright orange robes tied rakishly around their shoulders.  I always laugh at the monks - they are relentlessly cheerful characters, goofy almost, quick with a smile and a nod and a little comment.  One older guy was manning a table that sold literature - Soen Ozeki.  We talked with him for a bit - he was the guy who called us "the happiest couple in the world."  I'm assuming - giving the Buddhist emphasis on the here and now - that he meant the happiest couple who was currently standing in front of him.  I don't care.  It was a nice compliment.

He gave me a slip of paper that had this on it:

A Song of Gratitude
The whole family, harmonious and devout.
Aware of debts to our parents and ancestors (this is very Zenny).
Revering Nature, grateful for society.  (So is this).
Always humble, learning from others.
Able to give, demonstrating kindness.
Making one's motto: "A bright life." (Good image - brightness.  A two year old would understand what it means to be bright).
Overlooking other's faults, correcting one's own. (Yeah, well, screw that one).
Moderate in speech, not getting angry. 
Gentle, kind, honest,
Let's appreciate the joy of life.
Patient.  Peaceful.
Not getting angry.  (Second showing of this one and ver batim at that.  Must be an important one.  I'm looking at you, Seaweed).
Careful in speech.  (Careful, moderate, pretty similar).
This leads to a long life.