I have an elderly relative who would appear to be drinking a whole hell of a lot of alcohol right now. This guy had an alcoholic father and has exhibited alcoholic tendencies his whole life. Maybe he has been drinking on the sly all along. It's not always easy to tell. Some of us are very good at hiding our drinking; we have a great capacity for alcohol. Personally, I was one of those guys who appeared to gain composure and self-control the more that I drank.
And then a lot of us are high bottom, functioning alcoholics. I'm always amazed when I meet someone who comes into A.A. after having a successful career and raising a family and buying houses and doing all kinds of other adult things that I never got around to doing. I was too busy drinking.
It's difficult to watch someone drink like this. It becomes much harder to process the alcohol as we get older. When we're young we have a lot more stamina and strength and balance. The kidneys and liver are functioning well and purging the poison that is alcohol quickly and efficiently. It's easier to get away with it. We can power through the pain and crisis.
Over the years I've gotten pretty good at detaching from alcoholics that I'm not emotionally involved with. It's not against the law to drink, after all. The cops won't try to stop you if you want to sit in your living room and drain half a gallon of vodka every night. We know the virtual impossibility of trying to stop a drunk who doesn't want to quit drinking. You could have dropped me into the middle of a dry county on Sunday into a Mormon compound surrounded by barbed wire and snarling Dobermans and I'd have a case of something and a bag of something else within the hour. Generally I don't bother with someone who wants to keep drinking. People told me to finish the job and come back when I was ready.
Maybe some day I'll go to Al-Anon. I hear it's a wonderful program. Shorty brings it up all the time when I bitch about my family. In my defense I think that A.A. has done a good job of teaching me how to keep my hands off of the things that I have no control over. I've learned about not taking responsibility for others. It's not my job to tell other people what to do, despite the fact that I am eminently qualified to run the world. I try not to take it personally. I'm not thinking about how I impact someone else when I do something so I assume that they're not thinking about me. People aren't doing things at me, they're just doing things that make sense to them or that they think they need to do.
I don't know.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Tireless Termites
Termite: Any of various pale-colored social insects that are very destructive . .
I took a call from EMC recently. Most of my friends and I have a basic understanding about the phone. If I get voice mail when I call someone I leave a message and a schtickle of information. Most of the time I can say that everything is fine and I'm merely checking in. I touch base with a lot of people to make sure that my awareness of my surroundings is not completely insane. This is not unusual. I'm always checking: "Is this insane? Is this weird? Should I stop doing this?" I have no idea most of the time.
On occasion, the Termites of Fear are ceaselessly devouring the foundations of my sanity and I need to talk to someone sooner rather than later. Being an adult, sort of, I practice adult phone etiquette and indicate this in my message. At that point I expect a phone call as soon as it's convenient for the other person, but I don't sit around and wait: I move down my long list to the next guy. My tolerance for pain is much, much lower than it used to be. And I don't think any of us have the market cornered on right behavior.
EMC was burned up. I could tell right away because normally his cadence is nice and deliberate. He was talking a mile a minute. I don't think that I passed along any profound information; from what I could tell, assuming he wasn't lying too much and exaggerating too ridiculously, he was behaving in a perfectly appropriate manner and responding with hale and good cheer to some stressful information. Mostly I listened, which I've learned is all I really want from my friends most of the time, and dispensed some hackneyed and fairly obvious advice: You're upset so take a deep breath and calm down before you do anything. This isn't philosophical advice worthy of Gandhi or Plato, for god's sake. I'd expect to hear "Look before you leap" from philosophers like Foghorn Leghorn or Bullwinkle.
Good old Foghorn. He always knew what to say.
I took a call from EMC recently. Most of my friends and I have a basic understanding about the phone. If I get voice mail when I call someone I leave a message and a schtickle of information. Most of the time I can say that everything is fine and I'm merely checking in. I touch base with a lot of people to make sure that my awareness of my surroundings is not completely insane. This is not unusual. I'm always checking: "Is this insane? Is this weird? Should I stop doing this?" I have no idea most of the time.
On occasion, the Termites of Fear are ceaselessly devouring the foundations of my sanity and I need to talk to someone sooner rather than later. Being an adult, sort of, I practice adult phone etiquette and indicate this in my message. At that point I expect a phone call as soon as it's convenient for the other person, but I don't sit around and wait: I move down my long list to the next guy. My tolerance for pain is much, much lower than it used to be. And I don't think any of us have the market cornered on right behavior.
EMC was burned up. I could tell right away because normally his cadence is nice and deliberate. He was talking a mile a minute. I don't think that I passed along any profound information; from what I could tell, assuming he wasn't lying too much and exaggerating too ridiculously, he was behaving in a perfectly appropriate manner and responding with hale and good cheer to some stressful information. Mostly I listened, which I've learned is all I really want from my friends most of the time, and dispensed some hackneyed and fairly obvious advice: You're upset so take a deep breath and calm down before you do anything. This isn't philosophical advice worthy of Gandhi or Plato, for god's sake. I'd expect to hear "Look before you leap" from philosophers like Foghorn Leghorn or Bullwinkle.
Good old Foghorn. He always knew what to say.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Don't Bring a Knife to a Gun Fight
"Here's the thing I hate about you most: you are so inconsiderate."
I mulled over this remark. I figured that I had done something inconsiderate. Otherwise I couldn't think of any other reason that she would call me inconsiderate. Probably I was pretending to listen to my wife when, in fact, I was thinking about myself, which is my favorite topic, as I have made abundantly clear. ("That's no fucking secret," SuperK told me when I admitted this once).
"You just said that people like me," I pointed out. I heard that. I hear compliments. It makes me think of my grandfather who was hard of hearing unless he wanted to hear something.
"They don't know you like I know you," she replied, which is pretty true. She knows me quite well.
"That's not true," I defended myself. "Some of them know me pretty well."
"They don't have to live with you," she said. I don't know how she does it, to be honest with you.
I wasn't going to win this argument.
I mulled over this remark. I figured that I had done something inconsiderate. Otherwise I couldn't think of any other reason that she would call me inconsiderate. Probably I was pretending to listen to my wife when, in fact, I was thinking about myself, which is my favorite topic, as I have made abundantly clear. ("That's no fucking secret," SuperK told me when I admitted this once).
"You just said that people like me," I pointed out. I heard that. I hear compliments. It makes me think of my grandfather who was hard of hearing unless he wanted to hear something.
"They don't know you like I know you," she replied, which is pretty true. She knows me quite well.
"That's not true," I defended myself. "Some of them know me pretty well."
"They don't have to live with you," she said. I don't know how she does it, to be honest with you.
I wasn't going to win this argument.
Friday, October 23, 2009
'Night, 'Night, SuperK
A few years ago I had a routine medical procedure that required a general anesthetic. To complete the work, my doctor had to take a long metal probe and . . . well, I can't imagine that anyone is interested in the details. Trust me, the prescribed anesthetic was definitely required. I have an incredible tolerance for pain but would rather die of whatever disease this procedure was trying to detect than be awake during said procedure.
Yesterday I took SuperK to the hospital to have the same test done. Both of us are amped up pretty good as a general rule. We're both highly competitive, highly energized, Type A personalities, which makes for some interesting marital dynamics from time to time. I might have mentioned to her on the way to the hospital just how pleasant a little spritz of Demerol can be. I also think it's interesting that the spelling of "marital" and "martial" is very similar. Just move a couple of letters and voila!
Afterwards, I poured her into the car and listened to her repeat the same things over and over for the next 15 minutes. She said: "Wow. This is a great drug."
"Yeah, tell me about it, " I said.
"I am totally, completely relaxed," she continued.
"Yeah, I told you about this on the way down here, right?" I replied, a little piqued that I didn't get a shot of Demerol so I could tolerate the boredom of a hospital waiting room. "Can we talk about something else?"
"OK, calm down," she giggled. "Why are you in such a bad mood?"
"Because you got a shot of Demerol and I didn't," I pointed out.
She sat out in the backyard and knitted and read for the rest of the afternoon. I remember hanging out in the coffee shop when I had my pop of the Big D. Just sat there and watched the world go by. And this from a dude who is burning energy like a nuclear reactor most of the time. It took the sense of urgency away, the feeling that I wasn't Getting Something Done. For the non-alcoholic/drug addict, it's a big waste of time, sitting there with a stupid grin on your face. For the lover of opiates, it's the whole point of things.
I ran into a friend that night at a meeting who has 40 plus years of sobriety. She inquired about SuperK.
"Oh, yeah, that's a good drug," she laughed.
We talked -- not seriously -- about what a wonderful world it would be if I could get up in the morning and inject a syringe full of Demerol. Maybe half a syringe if the day got tough. And could it hurt to have one more shot to help me get to sleep? I'd be selling my china to buy pounds of the stuff in a week.
"How's my little drug addict?" I asked SuperK this morning.
She looked up. "I hadn't really thought about it," she said.
What a freak. We did talk about how this might increase our empathy and understanding when we run into heroin addicts at our respective institution meetings. We could see how one could quickly get carried away. Then, top it off with a really horrible and long withdrawal.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Horseface of Arabia
Bore: To weary by being dull, uninteresting, or monotonous.
I have been mulling over the difference between comfort and relaxation, and boredom, the curse of the hyperactive personality. This is usually a good indicator that I am contemplating doing something stupid. Most alcoholics have a lot of experience living right on the knife edge of control. We like to push the limits, see what we can get away with. We think: "WTF. I'm going to give it a shot." Or we dispense with the thinking part and just give it a shot. Then later, sitting in the emergency room or the back of a police car or some doghouse or shithouse of one kind or another, we think: " WTF was I thinking?"
Now I'm sober, after a fashion. However, I still like to run out into heavy traffic from time to time, just to see what will happen. I'm not too good at sitting in a comfortable chair in front of the TV. I want to see what's out there. The trick is figuring out where "there" is, exactly. I'm a little better at it today but my tuner is still not hooked up right.
To me it's like going to my favorite restaurant and ordering my favorite meal (tripe stuffed with haggis, at a great Norwood place, in case you're interested). If I try something new, I miss the meal I love so much. But if I get the same meal over and over, it starts to bore me. I don't think this way when I'm retching up the raw oysterettes on a bed of caramelized kelp eggs, but I start out thinking this way.
A few years back I went to Morocco with Thai Stick and we took a long camel or dromedary or whatever TF we were on ride out into the Sahara. Sounded adventurous: Horseface of Arabia. After about 2o minutes of the 3 hour ride my ass was numb, my back was in full spasm, and the animal's funk was overpowering me. We ended up at a tented camp where the heat of the day quickly gave way to freezing weather. I'm in the desert trying to thaw out my frozen hands over a wood fire, eating something that I couldn't clearly see in the dark, thank god. The tent where we slept -- on the ground -- was actually heavy blankets strung between poles. It was not purchased at The North Face outfitter's store as far as I could tell.
By the time we went to bed -- there was nothing on satellite TV that night -- it was so cold that I climbed under the blankets fully dressed: shoes, coat, everything. And if you think that desert sand is soft you're sadly mistaken. I would doze for about an hour before my aching body awakened me, at which point I would contemplate whether or not I should risk losing some of the precious heat my skinny body had managed to generate and ignore the pain, or try to find a more comfortable position. It was definitely Lose -Lose.
The next morning we awakened before dawn and climbed a huge sand dune that we could vaguely sense looming above us the night before. We figured we could quickly scramble to the top but we had definitely lost all perspective of size and distance in the vast open spaces of the desert. So there we were, perched a hundred yards up on the side of this dune, watching the sun come up in the Sahara. There was nothing to catch the eye but rolling sand dunes stretching as far as the eye could see. There was no color other than desert brown. There was no sound except for the wind. The stars that absolutely lit up the sky the night before were winking out.
Wouldn't trade the memory for a million bucks.
I have been mulling over the difference between comfort and relaxation, and boredom, the curse of the hyperactive personality. This is usually a good indicator that I am contemplating doing something stupid. Most alcoholics have a lot of experience living right on the knife edge of control. We like to push the limits, see what we can get away with. We think: "WTF. I'm going to give it a shot." Or we dispense with the thinking part and just give it a shot. Then later, sitting in the emergency room or the back of a police car or some doghouse or shithouse of one kind or another, we think: " WTF was I thinking?"
Now I'm sober, after a fashion. However, I still like to run out into heavy traffic from time to time, just to see what will happen. I'm not too good at sitting in a comfortable chair in front of the TV. I want to see what's out there. The trick is figuring out where "there" is, exactly. I'm a little better at it today but my tuner is still not hooked up right.
To me it's like going to my favorite restaurant and ordering my favorite meal (tripe stuffed with haggis, at a great Norwood place, in case you're interested). If I try something new, I miss the meal I love so much. But if I get the same meal over and over, it starts to bore me. I don't think this way when I'm retching up the raw oysterettes on a bed of caramelized kelp eggs, but I start out thinking this way.
A few years back I went to Morocco with Thai Stick and we took a long camel or dromedary or whatever TF we were on ride out into the Sahara. Sounded adventurous: Horseface of Arabia. After about 2o minutes of the 3 hour ride my ass was numb, my back was in full spasm, and the animal's funk was overpowering me. We ended up at a tented camp where the heat of the day quickly gave way to freezing weather. I'm in the desert trying to thaw out my frozen hands over a wood fire, eating something that I couldn't clearly see in the dark, thank god. The tent where we slept -- on the ground -- was actually heavy blankets strung between poles. It was not purchased at The North Face outfitter's store as far as I could tell.
By the time we went to bed -- there was nothing on satellite TV that night -- it was so cold that I climbed under the blankets fully dressed: shoes, coat, everything. And if you think that desert sand is soft you're sadly mistaken. I would doze for about an hour before my aching body awakened me, at which point I would contemplate whether or not I should risk losing some of the precious heat my skinny body had managed to generate and ignore the pain, or try to find a more comfortable position. It was definitely Lose -Lose.
The next morning we awakened before dawn and climbed a huge sand dune that we could vaguely sense looming above us the night before. We figured we could quickly scramble to the top but we had definitely lost all perspective of size and distance in the vast open spaces of the desert. So there we were, perched a hundred yards up on the side of this dune, watching the sun come up in the Sahara. There was nothing to catch the eye but rolling sand dunes stretching as far as the eye could see. There was no color other than desert brown. There was no sound except for the wind. The stars that absolutely lit up the sky the night before were winking out.
Wouldn't trade the memory for a million bucks.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
An UnQuiet Mind
Dream: A fond hope or aspiration.
I like to dream. I like that the definition has fond in it, which has an air of foolish tenderness or affection. It's nice to be able to imagine a future where interesting and pleasant things might happen, instead of the nightmarish outcomes that I usually project. Now I imagine disaster only on occasion instead of with obsessive regularity. I can also say that what I do today no longer revolves around a:
Hallucination: The apparent perception of sights, sounds, etc. that are not actually present; it may occur in certain mental conditions.
Drugs had their part in my hallucinations, as did long, steady bouts of drinking. I was starting to hear things at the end. I would go downstairs to complain about my neighbor's TV only to find that no one was at home. So there was no actual TV that I was hearing, which definitely gave me the creeps. I try to avoid the hallucination today; at least I'm alarmed, and rightly so, if one pops up. I shouldn't see people where no people exist, or TVs, either, for that matter. I also believe that when I dream today I'm not dabbling too heavily in the realm of:
Fantasy: An unreal mental image; illusion; phantasm; a whim; queer notion.
Queer and unreal, great. That's just great. I tend to associate fantasy with trolls and hobgoblins, or naked, well-endowed starlets. I would classify as fantasy the satisfaction that I imagine I would surely feel choking the last bit of life out of someone who was annoying the shit out of me by driving poorly or drinking the last bit of milk.
All of this is OK as long as I do not allow myself to become a:
I like to dream. I like that the definition has fond in it, which has an air of foolish tenderness or affection. It's nice to be able to imagine a future where interesting and pleasant things might happen, instead of the nightmarish outcomes that I usually project. Now I imagine disaster only on occasion instead of with obsessive regularity. I can also say that what I do today no longer revolves around a:
Hallucination: The apparent perception of sights, sounds, etc. that are not actually present; it may occur in certain mental conditions.
Drugs had their part in my hallucinations, as did long, steady bouts of drinking. I was starting to hear things at the end. I would go downstairs to complain about my neighbor's TV only to find that no one was at home. So there was no actual TV that I was hearing, which definitely gave me the creeps. I try to avoid the hallucination today; at least I'm alarmed, and rightly so, if one pops up. I shouldn't see people where no people exist, or TVs, either, for that matter. I also believe that when I dream today I'm not dabbling too heavily in the realm of:
Fantasy: An unreal mental image; illusion; phantasm; a whim; queer notion.
Queer and unreal, great. That's just great. I tend to associate fantasy with trolls and hobgoblins, or naked, well-endowed starlets. I would classify as fantasy the satisfaction that I imagine I would surely feel choking the last bit of life out of someone who was annoying the shit out of me by driving poorly or drinking the last bit of milk.
All of this is OK as long as I do not allow myself to become a:
Projectile: An object, as a bullet, shell, rocket, etc. designed to be hurled or shot forward.
The future is the future. All I can do is to take steps to move toward something that interests me or away from something that doesn't, and see what happens. I get myself into trouble when I insist that my dreams come to life. I get into trouble when I project outcomes. I should let god do god's work. Unless I want to continue acting like an:
Idiot: the lowest classification of mental deficiency, below imbecile and moron.
I think my work is done here.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Truth or Consequences
Consequent: Following as a result; resulting; following as a logical inference or conclusion; proceeding in logical sequence.
What a shock it was to find out that there were consequences to my actions. I was more comfortable living in a heartless, random universe where great forces and distant powers determined the course of my life. I'm not suggesting that there aren't great forces and powers out there -- I am married, after all, and there's nothing distant about the situation -- but I don't think that they're that they're that involved. I feel that way about god. I don't think god finds me a parking space when I'm running late. I don't think he/she/it is that interested in the excruciating minutia of my daily life.
It makes me think before I do something. My actions affect things. I can't just go spinning off like a top on crank anymore and expect to start from scratch the next day. I can't just say what I want or do what I want to do. I'm not 5 years old. I shouldn't have to be taught something this basic.
I surmise that this isn't surprising information to the vast majority of adults in the world.
What a shock it was to find out that there were consequences to my actions. I was more comfortable living in a heartless, random universe where great forces and distant powers determined the course of my life. I'm not suggesting that there aren't great forces and powers out there -- I am married, after all, and there's nothing distant about the situation -- but I don't think that they're that they're that involved. I feel that way about god. I don't think god finds me a parking space when I'm running late. I don't think he/she/it is that interested in the excruciating minutia of my daily life.
It makes me think before I do something. My actions affect things. I can't just go spinning off like a top on crank anymore and expect to start from scratch the next day. I can't just say what I want or do what I want to do. I'm not 5 years old. I shouldn't have to be taught something this basic.
I surmise that this isn't surprising information to the vast majority of adults in the world.
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