Empathy: Identification with or understanding of the thoughts, feelings, or emotional state of another person.
Sympathy: A feeling of pity or sorrow for the distress or suffering of another.
I experienced a little bit of the manipulative force of the active alcoholic during my father's final days. I forget how good we become at manipulating people, or trying to, at least. The Book talks about some of our defense mechanisms: no one knows we're drinking; we're only hurting ourselves; a lively bender is a good man's reward; we're going to work and supporting the family so fuck off already; and so on and so forth. Dad raised the ante, trotting out the "its the only thing I have left" argument, particularly effective and awfully sinister for the unprepared. After mom died he used this one to devastating effect on my sister, unprepared for this level of cynicism as she was.
I have been musing on his state of mind and soundness of body during his last days. The fact of the matter is that he came from healthy stock, sturdy Germans who lived to advanced ages, and he didn't really have any serious health issues, even at the very end. The doctor termed his demise as "Failure to Thrive," meaning that he wasn't trying to thrive any more. He wasn't ill or diseased or cancer ridden - he quit eating and drinking, and waited to die.
A few years back he took some nasty falls outside, slipping on the ice in the winter and crashing down hard. His back was a mess - he wasn't mobile, couldn't drive, undoubtedly experiencing a lot of discomfort. I felt a lot of empathy for him - I wished that he was in finer mettle - but not a lot of sympathy, befitting a recovering alcoholic with many years of experience dealing with non-family members who try to blame their problems on other people, places, and things. While I have no proof he was drunk or drinking when he fell, the circumstantial evidence is compelling. It's one thing to ponder the existential unfairness of cancer or an accident striking down an otherwise healthy individual - another one altogether to gaze upon self-inflicted damage. I know that sounds a little clinical. I know it's hard for the alcoholic to stop alcoholizing. Still, it can be done.
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Monday, May 30, 2016
The Three Absolutes
Absolute: Complete; utter; outright; unmitigated; entire; total; not qualified or diminished in any way; without limitation.
One of the most powerful benefits of The Program is that it gets us in the habit of talking about everything, especially important in the sex, money, power instinctual departments, those most troublesome of departments. I have some guys that I can easily talk to about everything. I also have lots of guys - and some women, too - that I can talk to about just about everything and with whom I could make the transition to the absolutely everything department if I the need became acute. Generally, I leave the gory details of these instincts at the door when I walk into a meeting. Everybody there knows the general tenor of my instinctual problems and I go into specifics to make a point but I am careful not to get too personal. People don't need to hear every last twist and turn of the problems I occasionally have with money, power, and sex, problems that all of us are going to have from time to time. There are very few absolutes in The Fellowship but that's one of them.
My sponsor listened to my reflections on my parents and how they positioned money in their lives. I have to remember that my folks grew up in a much different world than I did, lest I get into the "You're Doing It Wrong" state of mind that seems to predominate my worldview. He told a story about his father buying a new refrigerator and trying to talk the appliance store into loading it in the trunk of his car - a Cadillac, for chrissake - to save the $10 delivery charge. They kindly told him that they'd be happy to waive the fee and deliver the refrigerator for free.
Before dad got very sick I had been looking at replacing SuperK's car. Spandex has been having a few problems with his old car, so we had a casual conversation about whether my vehicle might be a good fit for him. Spandex is one of the guys that I talk to about absolutely everything so he has patiently listened to my money musings after dad died - while there's no connection between the new car and dad's death I will admit it has taken a little of the pressure off. He suggested that maybe going out and splurging once might be a way to reduce that pressure - give yourself a treat and then drop back into your old lifestyle.
"So you're suggesting that I buy that new car?" I said, never missing a chance to needle someone.
"Well," he said. "I was thinking more along the lines of a nice dinner."
I think the point is that as long as I'm leaving no impulses in my secret never-telling-anyone place that I end up behaving pretty well.
One of the most powerful benefits of The Program is that it gets us in the habit of talking about everything, especially important in the sex, money, power instinctual departments, those most troublesome of departments. I have some guys that I can easily talk to about everything. I also have lots of guys - and some women, too - that I can talk to about just about everything and with whom I could make the transition to the absolutely everything department if I the need became acute. Generally, I leave the gory details of these instincts at the door when I walk into a meeting. Everybody there knows the general tenor of my instinctual problems and I go into specifics to make a point but I am careful not to get too personal. People don't need to hear every last twist and turn of the problems I occasionally have with money, power, and sex, problems that all of us are going to have from time to time. There are very few absolutes in The Fellowship but that's one of them.
My sponsor listened to my reflections on my parents and how they positioned money in their lives. I have to remember that my folks grew up in a much different world than I did, lest I get into the "You're Doing It Wrong" state of mind that seems to predominate my worldview. He told a story about his father buying a new refrigerator and trying to talk the appliance store into loading it in the trunk of his car - a Cadillac, for chrissake - to save the $10 delivery charge. They kindly told him that they'd be happy to waive the fee and deliver the refrigerator for free.
Before dad got very sick I had been looking at replacing SuperK's car. Spandex has been having a few problems with his old car, so we had a casual conversation about whether my vehicle might be a good fit for him. Spandex is one of the guys that I talk to about absolutely everything so he has patiently listened to my money musings after dad died - while there's no connection between the new car and dad's death I will admit it has taken a little of the pressure off. He suggested that maybe going out and splurging once might be a way to reduce that pressure - give yourself a treat and then drop back into your old lifestyle.
"So you're suggesting that I buy that new car?" I said, never missing a chance to needle someone.
"Well," he said. "I was thinking more along the lines of a nice dinner."
I think the point is that as long as I'm leaving no impulses in my secret never-telling-anyone place that I end up behaving pretty well.
Sunday, May 29, 2016
Bag Of Torments
Conundrum: A difficult choice or decision that must be made.
More money reflections . . .
I sent my sister a picture this morning of my food pantry where I have about 97 cases of generic flavored carbonated water stacked up. See, I got a coupon from my grocery store offering me a $5 discount if I purchased $50 worth of food. The conundrum for me was that I didn't need $50 of food. The conundrum was complicated by the fact that I didn't want to buy things I wouldn't ordinarily buy, for this would mean that the grocery store had won a round, enticing me into spending money on things I didn't need just to get the discount - which IS $5, by the way. I defeated the system by purchasing this staple that won't be affected by sitting in my pantry for several eons. Unfortunately, I snapped my ankle hauling in what seemed to be around 212 pounds of carbonated water.
But I had a coupon!
Even better is the fact that the cash register generated this $5 coupon after I had successfully redeemed a $6 coupon on a $30 order. Obviously, the 6 on 30 - or 20% - is better than the 5 on 50 - or 10% - but $5 is $5 right?
Loaded up on my phone is a picture of a small notebook that I liberated from one of my mother's stockpiles of odd things. I'm using the notebook as a journal. Anyway, the notebook is from the aforementioned variety chain store that went out of business in 1994, so it's not holding up too well - paper begins to weaken and break down as the decades stack up. I've had to resort to holding the front cover on with a rubber band which I think was originally used to hold together a bunch of radishes that I bought from the grocery store that gave me the coupon, come to think of it! Maybe I even bought the radishes with the coupon, the net result being some free radishes to me! Suck on that, grocery chain - I have your free radishes AND a free rubber band!
Anyway, I've been thinking about my mother and father and their relationship with money. I have to remember that these are people who grew up in the Great Recession and during WWII when things were scarce, the future uncertain, protections and care from anyone but one's self not guaranteed. I think that money, to a certain extent, was a comfort rather than a luxury. I think that mom/dad enjoyed the security blanket of having a money cushion more than they would have enjoyed a BMW. When I bagged up the clothes dad had in the nursing home so that we could donate them to his church I was not surprised to see that they were . . . ahem . . . nicely aged. Now, dad didn't care about clothes and he viewed clothes shopping as something Satan has in his bag of torments but still, a new sweat shirt or two? My sister would have gladly picked those up for him.
Because money is one of those things that is fraught with peril for me I talked to my sponsor about it. He listened, he chuckled, he said: " I think your folks would want you to enjoy the money. I'm sure you'll make good decisions."
Had to cancel that order for a $1,800 Fendi wallet when I got off the phone.
More money reflections . . .
I sent my sister a picture this morning of my food pantry where I have about 97 cases of generic flavored carbonated water stacked up. See, I got a coupon from my grocery store offering me a $5 discount if I purchased $50 worth of food. The conundrum for me was that I didn't need $50 of food. The conundrum was complicated by the fact that I didn't want to buy things I wouldn't ordinarily buy, for this would mean that the grocery store had won a round, enticing me into spending money on things I didn't need just to get the discount - which IS $5, by the way. I defeated the system by purchasing this staple that won't be affected by sitting in my pantry for several eons. Unfortunately, I snapped my ankle hauling in what seemed to be around 212 pounds of carbonated water.
But I had a coupon!
Even better is the fact that the cash register generated this $5 coupon after I had successfully redeemed a $6 coupon on a $30 order. Obviously, the 6 on 30 - or 20% - is better than the 5 on 50 - or 10% - but $5 is $5 right?
Loaded up on my phone is a picture of a small notebook that I liberated from one of my mother's stockpiles of odd things. I'm using the notebook as a journal. Anyway, the notebook is from the aforementioned variety chain store that went out of business in 1994, so it's not holding up too well - paper begins to weaken and break down as the decades stack up. I've had to resort to holding the front cover on with a rubber band which I think was originally used to hold together a bunch of radishes that I bought from the grocery store that gave me the coupon, come to think of it! Maybe I even bought the radishes with the coupon, the net result being some free radishes to me! Suck on that, grocery chain - I have your free radishes AND a free rubber band!
Anyway, I've been thinking about my mother and father and their relationship with money. I have to remember that these are people who grew up in the Great Recession and during WWII when things were scarce, the future uncertain, protections and care from anyone but one's self not guaranteed. I think that money, to a certain extent, was a comfort rather than a luxury. I think that mom/dad enjoyed the security blanket of having a money cushion more than they would have enjoyed a BMW. When I bagged up the clothes dad had in the nursing home so that we could donate them to his church I was not surprised to see that they were . . . ahem . . . nicely aged. Now, dad didn't care about clothes and he viewed clothes shopping as something Satan has in his bag of torments but still, a new sweat shirt or two? My sister would have gladly picked those up for him.
Because money is one of those things that is fraught with peril for me I talked to my sponsor about it. He listened, he chuckled, he said: " I think your folks would want you to enjoy the money. I'm sure you'll make good decisions."
Had to cancel that order for a $1,800 Fendi wallet when I got off the phone.
Thursday, May 26, 2016
A Simple Plan, Starring Bill Paxton and Billy Bob Thornton and Some Other Guy Who Was Pretty Good, Too
Simple: Uncomplicated; taken by itself, with nothing added.
What happens to their simple plan, of course, is that it becomes more and more complicated. People get hurt, people get killed, the situation deteriorates into a spectacular unmanageability. At the end of the movie only one of the three is alive - he still has the money - and it looks like he's going to get away with it. Then . . . he finds out from the cops that they had recorded the serial numbers of the cash before they handed it over as a ransom.
The look on the going-to-get-away-with-it guy is priceless. He's sitting in the shambles of his ruined life - it was portrayed as a good but unspectacular existence in the opening scenes - aware that he'll never be able to spend any of the ill-gotten money.
I reflect on my own relationship with money. As I've stayed sober - like most of us - I've been able to save a little. It's amazing how expensive drugs and bars and lawyers can get - my little nest egg got bigger when I quit shoveling shovelfuls of it into those black holes. In one of the many great (and cruel?) ironies of my existence I find that I value money less and less. It seemed so important and now that I have more of it I see it isn't as important that I thought it was. Don't get me wrong - I'm grateful that I have a cushion and that I can pamper myself from time to time. Not all of us get to that point and there's nothing worse than a guy getting out of a Porsche and counseling prudence in money matters (Ed. Note: I DO have a Porsche, too - it's jet black, has a cool fin and wicked tires and fits in the palm of my hand. I also have a similarly sized Ferrari).
It was a good film to watch as I battle my out-sized instincts with the investment guy. Unspectacular but simple.
Wednesday, May 25, 2016
Annuity!??
I'm trying to sort through some of the money matters from my father's estate. It's not that it's a lot of money - it's the fact that it's any money that is around the vicinity of my hands or pockets. I'm trying to maintain a healthy disconnect from the money - doesn't matter how much or how little - because for me it can be a really violent, suffocating instinctual drive, one that can take me into dark, selfish places. I think it has caused more problems in the history of mankind than sex and power, and those two dudes have caused a whole lot of trouble. I find that I can get bent around the axle over the smallest sums if I think I'm getting cheated or hustled or bamboozled in any way.
Mom and dad invested some money in a thing called an annuity, a Greek word for "a very complicated, opaque, money-suck." This annuity was sold to them by an organization associated with their particular church sect. This means that it is a perfectly safe investment administered by god-fearing people who would never, ever do anything that wasn't in the best interest of the clients, in this case my parents.
Well, I don't know about that. I took a look at an annuity many years ago and I found it to be an incredibly confusing contractual financial product sold and administered by life insurance companies. It isn't a life insurance product, exactly, begging the question as to why it's being sold by a life insurance company. I think I'm pretty good with math but I have no idea what the fuck this thing is or what it cost or anything. I'm at this company's mercy at this point.
I met the salesman once. I thought he was a decent guy. I don't think he cheated anybody and I don't think he behaved in an unethical, let alone illegal way. I think he works for a company that makes a whole shitload of money selling confusing stuff to worried old people who don't really understand what they're buying and definitely don't understand what it's costing them, stuff that is stacked heavily in favor of the company, and imagine that in this day and age.
I contacted this guy with some questions. They were pretty hazy questions with an underlying odor of "how quickly can I get these funds out of your selfish company." He took his time replying; he didn't answer the questions although he provide me with a lot of information; he told me he was going to deal with my sister first, and then me; and that he was out of the office for a week.
Somebody's starting to get on my shit list and I'll give you a minute to figure out who.
I responded that my sister and I had discussed this, and that since I was the executor of the estate that he should start out with me. I asked very politely if someone else in the office could help me in his absence? I did not ask very snarkily that if I had called up asking for help in investing the sum of money that I was trying to withdraw if, at that point, someone would have been able to help me? That would have been dickish but oh, so satisfying.
See? See how it starts? I'm at war already and I'm looking for someone to fight. I must really like war, battling, Don Quixote getting knocked head over tails by a windmill that is surely a fire-spitting dragon.
It's all going to work out OK. The money has been invested in this account for 20 years so another couple of weeks isn't going to make any difference one way or another. It is annoying that he's responding when he finds it convenient - I feel like the little kid trying to get the ball that the big kid is holding up in the air just out of my reach, watching me flail and jump to no avail. I'm sure this guy has decided it's in his best interests to drive a wedge between my sister and me and I'm sure he's starting with the woman, not the guy who fired off a list of pointed questions. My sister - busy raising too kids and exhausted from taking care of a sick man for a year - took the information and passed it on to me and I contacted the guy again.
He has no idea who he's dealing with. I can outlast this guy. I'm tireless. He's got my money and I'm either going to get it or I'm going to make him regret ever being born, and I say that in the nicest way.
:)
Well, I don't know about that. I took a look at an annuity many years ago and I found it to be an incredibly confusing contractual financial product sold and administered by life insurance companies. It isn't a life insurance product, exactly, begging the question as to why it's being sold by a life insurance company. I think I'm pretty good with math but I have no idea what the fuck this thing is or what it cost or anything. I'm at this company's mercy at this point.
I met the salesman once. I thought he was a decent guy. I don't think he cheated anybody and I don't think he behaved in an unethical, let alone illegal way. I think he works for a company that makes a whole shitload of money selling confusing stuff to worried old people who don't really understand what they're buying and definitely don't understand what it's costing them, stuff that is stacked heavily in favor of the company, and imagine that in this day and age.
I contacted this guy with some questions. They were pretty hazy questions with an underlying odor of "how quickly can I get these funds out of your selfish company." He took his time replying; he didn't answer the questions although he provide me with a lot of information; he told me he was going to deal with my sister first, and then me; and that he was out of the office for a week.
Somebody's starting to get on my shit list and I'll give you a minute to figure out who.
I responded that my sister and I had discussed this, and that since I was the executor of the estate that he should start out with me. I asked very politely if someone else in the office could help me in his absence? I did not ask very snarkily that if I had called up asking for help in investing the sum of money that I was trying to withdraw if, at that point, someone would have been able to help me? That would have been dickish but oh, so satisfying.
See? See how it starts? I'm at war already and I'm looking for someone to fight. I must really like war, battling, Don Quixote getting knocked head over tails by a windmill that is surely a fire-spitting dragon.
It's all going to work out OK. The money has been invested in this account for 20 years so another couple of weeks isn't going to make any difference one way or another. It is annoying that he's responding when he finds it convenient - I feel like the little kid trying to get the ball that the big kid is holding up in the air just out of my reach, watching me flail and jump to no avail. I'm sure this guy has decided it's in his best interests to drive a wedge between my sister and me and I'm sure he's starting with the woman, not the guy who fired off a list of pointed questions. My sister - busy raising too kids and exhausted from taking care of a sick man for a year - took the information and passed it on to me and I contacted the guy again.
He has no idea who he's dealing with. I can outlast this guy. I'm tireless. He's got my money and I'm either going to get it or I'm going to make him regret ever being born, and I say that in the nicest way.
:)
Monday, May 23, 2016
$4 OR $50
One of my surrogate grandchildren from next door won a prize at her school for attaining a perfect 4.0 GPA. When I heard about this from her grandparents, as they were climbing into the car to attend the ceremony, I sprinted into the house and retrieved a couple of two dollar bills that I had found in the back of one of the dressers in my dad's bedroom.
"Tell her 4 bucks for a perfect 4," I said, handing them over.
A few days later there was a knock on the door. It was my granddaughter and her impossibly cute little sister.
"Thank you for the 4 dollars," she said. "And I'm sorry about your father."
"Yeah, I'm sorry about your father, too," the little one chimed in.
I knew this would happen. And it isn't why I gave her the money - that impulse came from a good place inside me. She may have come up with the visit on her own and she may have gotten a little nudge and reminder from her no-bullshit grandparents. It doesn't matter a whit to me which is which - the deal is she did it.
A few days later I got an email from a relative who was volunteering for a charitable cause. I never hear from this very good child unless money is involved. There is never a personal note attached, either - I'm just included in a string of names on a mini-mass emailing. I gave $50. It's a charity that I approve of and I'm happy this kid is volunteering. When I clicked on "Donate" it showed me that she had raised the grand total of $75 from everyone else. Maybe it was early in the process and the money was starting to flow in. Maybe. I have not heard a word of thanks from her yet. And this isn't why I gave her the money, either.
Need I say that one of these families doesn't have any extra money and one does? Care to guess which is which?
"Tell her 4 bucks for a perfect 4," I said, handing them over.
A few days later there was a knock on the door. It was my granddaughter and her impossibly cute little sister.
"Thank you for the 4 dollars," she said. "And I'm sorry about your father."
"Yeah, I'm sorry about your father, too," the little one chimed in.
I knew this would happen. And it isn't why I gave her the money - that impulse came from a good place inside me. She may have come up with the visit on her own and she may have gotten a little nudge and reminder from her no-bullshit grandparents. It doesn't matter a whit to me which is which - the deal is she did it.
A few days later I got an email from a relative who was volunteering for a charitable cause. I never hear from this very good child unless money is involved. There is never a personal note attached, either - I'm just included in a string of names on a mini-mass emailing. I gave $50. It's a charity that I approve of and I'm happy this kid is volunteering. When I clicked on "Donate" it showed me that she had raised the grand total of $75 from everyone else. Maybe it was early in the process and the money was starting to flow in. Maybe. I have not heard a word of thanks from her yet. And this isn't why I gave her the money, either.
Need I say that one of these families doesn't have any extra money and one does? Care to guess which is which?
Sunday, May 22, 2016
True Dat
Truth: Conformity to fact or reality; correctness; accuracy.
I was texting with Massachusetts D about my great love, great affinity, great talent in the arena of lying. He made the excellent suggestion that I try to wrap all of the various fake occupations into one big clump of deception. If someone interrupts the lie with a pesky question that requires an expounding, and threatens to unravel the lie, simply move further into the lie. Double down. Sort of like countering a challenge to a dubious statement with the answer: "I don't remember. I had just returned from shopping for a new speedboat . . . " Usually, the speedboat thing snaps the attention away from the thread that was potentially unraveling.
My only reservation to the big ball of lies is that complexity can be a threat. I have a strict policy - not inviolable but strict - against complication in my lying. I think the biggest downfall for liars is that we forget what we've said sometimes which leaves us open to challenges: "Hey, I thought you said . . . " etc etc. NOTHING is worse for the liar than getting caught in a lie. We abhor that. One of the great beauties of telling the truth is that you don't have to remember what you've said.
But sometimes we have to go for it, stretch our wings a little, get experimental. I'm always up for a good challenge.
I was texting with Massachusetts D about my great love, great affinity, great talent in the arena of lying. He made the excellent suggestion that I try to wrap all of the various fake occupations into one big clump of deception. If someone interrupts the lie with a pesky question that requires an expounding, and threatens to unravel the lie, simply move further into the lie. Double down. Sort of like countering a challenge to a dubious statement with the answer: "I don't remember. I had just returned from shopping for a new speedboat . . . " Usually, the speedboat thing snaps the attention away from the thread that was potentially unraveling.
My only reservation to the big ball of lies is that complexity can be a threat. I have a strict policy - not inviolable but strict - against complication in my lying. I think the biggest downfall for liars is that we forget what we've said sometimes which leaves us open to challenges: "Hey, I thought you said . . . " etc etc. NOTHING is worse for the liar than getting caught in a lie. We abhor that. One of the great beauties of telling the truth is that you don't have to remember what you've said.
But sometimes we have to go for it, stretch our wings a little, get experimental. I'm always up for a good challenge.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)