Cunning, baffling, powerful and BRUTAL

I spent a good chunk of time today reading the last couple months' worth of posts from The Junky's Wife. She's a powerful writer with powerful things to say. She's brutally honest about herself. It was an insightful, but not an uplifting experience. I am not a junkie, never have been—not even remotely in the same vicinity—and have never really been close to one. I'm sure I can never understand her world, but I think a big dose of reading her blog gave me some feeling for the life of a junkie's wife.

I think she could write a good book. These blog entries reminded me of A Million Little Pieces which, despite the controversy around it, is an interesting read (so long as you don't worry too much about what's fact and what's fiction).

At my A.A. meeting tonight, I heard a guy I'd never met before. He was introduced by someone I've known since I got sober as someone who was there when she started coming around in 1986. I started off looking forward to hearing a good strong message of long-term sobriety. Somewhere along the way, he took a left turn. Yes, he'd gotten sober in 1986 (shortly before my friend I guess). In 1996 he stopped going to meetings. In 2003 he was prescribed Percocet and starting abusing it. He wound up buying it on the street—$5 a pill—and consuming up to 150 of them a day. He took out three business loans to pay for his addiction, and tried to hide everything from his family. He did this quite successfully, at least until recently. A few months ago, he began not feeling well: he was short of breath and had no energy. It got so bad while on vacation that he finally decided to ask his wife to take him to the hospital. Turns out he'd had a heart attack and didn't even know it. At that point the jig was up. He came partially clean to his wife a while ago at the time and, he says, completely clean to her a few months ago when she started asking questions about certain business practices he had started in order to hide what he was doing from her. At his wife's request, he hasn't said anything to his children. Today he has 92 days clean and sober. This man, like the Junky's Wife, was brutally honest. It was not an uplifting story, though I am glad he made it back and now has a second chance. I was also grateful to be reminded of the kind of thing that's out there waiting for me if I pick up.

The most painful thing I heard was how he clung to his almost 20 years of sobriety. Even though he wasn't able to string them all together, he said, it's a one day at a time program and he still has nearly 20 years' worth of days. How sad! I don't know him well enough to judge accurately, but I can't help wondering how long it will be before he's willing to settle for the 92 days that he really has.

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Updated 05 October 2007 15:22:
As a result of a memory lapse, I couldn't remember everything that was relevant at the time I made the original post. Now I've remember something that I meant to include. Changes are shown in this color brown.

Boundary violations

Last night I attended the meeting of a step-study group I rarely attend, even though it is within walking distance of my house (they meet at my church and that sometimes makes me uncomfortable). Two women shared similar things that made me shudder. One said she checks her 17-year-old daughter's cell phone at night after her daughter falls asleep. Presumably to see whom she's been talking with. The other admitted that she goes through her 17-year-old daughter's pocketbook every night. I was immediately 17 years old again myself and imagining my reaction if I learned my mother was going through my stuff. Not a pretty picture.

I remember once I "borrowed" a CD from one of my daughters without asking. She had a conniption when she found out. And justifiably so, I thought. And still think. My bad, totally my bad!

The latter woman is a friend of mine and I spoke to her about it afterwards. Fortunately, the first thing I did was ask if her daughter knew she does this. Fortunately, because the answer was, "Yes," and that makes it much less unacceptable—in my eyes anyway. It still seems to me like a violation of her daughter's boundaries, but somehow the fact that her daughter knows she's doing makes it seem much less invasive.

I guess I'm particularly sensitive to things because I think that's a big part of what's going sour in my relationship with Nimue: continual boundary violations. Sigh!

Online anonymity

The initial post

I was inspired to write about this topic by a post at AllMyAffairs titled Online anonymity. The author quotes Bill Moyers:

Bill Moyers wrote a book called Broken¹, where his 12 step membership is publicized. He states

"Not talking about my program of recovery would be like a marathon runner not talking about training. Although I'm breaking my anonymity, I protect the anonymity and confidentiality of others in the program. This is everybody's story: the still-suffering alcoholic, recovering people and families, and, hopefully, those who don't have a clue about my disease. I wrote this book to help smash the stigma of addiction and carry the message."

The author then goes on to describe what the anonymity guidelines will be on the AllMyAffairs website—"first name, last initial.... pictures, images of anything and everything are encouraged"—and concludes "Though individual thoughts and reiterations of group thoughts are what drive recovery, the individual is far less important than the whole."

My response

Here's the comment I made on this post:

Just because he's Bill Moyers doesn't mean he's right. I'm a great admirer of his, yet if you real all the literature on the subject, the reasons for not doing what he did are clearly spelled out.

The 11th Tradition specifically mentions "press, radio and film" but Bill W., in his article "Why Alcoholics Anonymous is Anonymous" adds TV (printed in Alcoholics Anonymous Comes of Age, p. 286—I trust you've read it lately). Also the Anonymity statement used by GSO at their events—world conventions, Forums, etc.—and printed on p. 13 in the pamphlet Speaking at non-A.A. meetings adds a reference to new media: "Thus we respectfully ask that no A.A. speaker—or, indeed, any A.A. member—be identified by full name in published or broadcast reports of our meetings, including reports on new media technologies such as the Internet."

Of course, just because they're Bill W. and GSO doesn't make them right either. But these Conference-approved items are under constant review by alcoholics all over the world and if there were a serious issue, you can be sure it would come to the General Service Conference.

I just don't get Mr Moyers's analogy to the marathon runner. My daughter Painter and my son-in-law Revson are both occasional marathon runners. I sometimes get to hear a little about their training and maybe even a little about some of their friends' training. But when Robert K. Cheruiyot of Kenya won the 111^th Boston Marathon, did we hear anyone report on or talk about his training? No. Trying Googling for news stories that refer to both Robert K. Cheruiyot and training. If you do and look at the stories, it's actually quite remarkable how little is said about training. And as of this date, nothing at all about his training, let alone anything substantive.

Mr Moyers says he wants to "smash the stigma of addiction and carry the message." I agree there are times when it's appropriate to break my anonymity. I just don't agree those times include in the press, on radio, film, television or the Internet. If no one knows that I'm in the program, how can they come to me for help, whether for themselves or for someone they care about? I'm unusual, at least around here, for using my full name at every A.A. event that is not being recorded or broadcast—from my home group to the 2005 International Convention in Toronto. I do it so people who need to can figure out how to get in touch with me. But they're already in the rooms and can make their own reasoned judgments based on everything they see, not just on what happens to me. My family and my close friends know I'm in A.A., as do some of my not too close friends. In each case where I consider breaking my anonymity I try to honestly examine my motives: am I about to do so for reasons of ego? or for reasons of trying to practice the 12^th step?

The author of the AllMyAffairs post points out that "the individual is far less important than the whole." That's true; there's a whole Tradition devoted to the idea. I think it's very important though to look at all the Traditions, see which are applicable to a given situation and then make a decision. In this particular case, there's another whole Tradition that directly addresses the issue and, it seems clear to me, comes down on the side of maintaining our online anonymity.

Maintaining my anonymity is important to me because it helps keep me right-sized. Believe me, there's little that's more appealing to me than the idea of becoming a world-famous recovered alcoholic. It's important to A.A. because if I were that reknowned and for some reason did pick up a drink, those who knew about my recovery and membership in A.A. would say, "See? It doesn't work."

Ultimately Mr Moyers and AllMyAffairs make their own decisions about anonymity. That's as it should be. I have no designs on how anyone practices their program. It's one of the beautiful things about A.A.: I can express my opinions, but no one has to care that I'm giving them or listen to them, let alone agree with them or be in accord with them. We will continue to debate anonymity in all its forms as long as A.A. exists. And that's healthy.

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¹ Read more about this book—including the fact that the decision to break his anonymity is a very recent one for Mr Moyers—or follow the link to buy it here.

Meat and potatoes

It's been a good week for meetings. My home group met on Monday night. Being the last Monday of the month it was our speaker meeting, where the speaker gets the whole hour. We heard from someone who regularly attends our first meeting of each month (because it's a a Tradition meeting) but never any other.

On Tuesday night, I attended a meeting I rarely go to and heard Luigi, who had a great, great message. On the surface he and I have little in common, other than being alcoholics. He grew up on the city streets; I was a country boy. He was a heroin addict; I never got into any drugs. He never thought about getting a job till after he was sober; I never considered not having one. But he seemingly spoke directly to me, about how we can focus on the differences and find plenty of them, or focus on the similarities and find plenty of those too. With several years sober he had the thought that a lot of us have had: that we can go out for one night, have a few drinks then just come back to A.A. and easily get sober again. Luigi acted on that thought and couldn't get back for quite a while. I'm quite sure I'd get similar results.

On Wednesday night, my sponsor, The Rock, spoke at an anniversary meeting. He was outstanding. I've heard him several times and this was the best so far, full of humility, gratitude and emotion.

Early Thursday night, I went on my semi-regular walk and was debating whether to go to a meeting. I decided against it just before I got home. I walked in the house at 7:45 pm and got a load of criticism dumped on me, turned around and walked out to my car to drive to an 8:00 pm meeting. I was a few minutes late to the meeting—something I hate to be—but it did for me what I needed it to do and came out feeling a little less restless, a little less irritable and a little less discontent.

Last night I took Nimue to our Intergroup's annual dinner-dance, attended by almost 500 people. I asked her, thinking she wouldn't want to go, but for some reason decided she wanted to. I wound up half wishing I hadn't asked her, not because of anything that happened, but just because I'm more comfortable these days when I'm not around her. I saw a lot of friends and heard a DCM with whom I served on Panel 51 (2001-2002). I had heard him before too, and he was as good as ever on Saturday night.

This afternoon I spoke at a meeting 40 minutes away that I've never attended. I felt pretty good about how it turned out and had a nice drive home through some gorgeous countryside on a wonderful fall day (unlike the drive up which was up a main artery with far too much traffic and wall-to-wall commercial establishments lining most of the distance). I hit on two points I always try to remember to make: the importance of the steps and of carrying the message.

A guy who shared after I spoke commented that, for him, the steps are the meat and potatoes of the program. I like good analogies and the more I thought about this one, the more I liked it. Meat and potatoes don't just magically appear on the table for us to eat. There's a cook or two in the kitchen who had to prepare them. Someone had to go to the store and buy the raw ingredients. Some people at the grocery store had to make sure these ingredients were available on the shelves. Some others had to transport the raw goods from wherever they were produced to the retail outlet. Still others raised the beef and grew the potatoes and harvested them both. And these are just the most obvious things that had to happen. There are many, many services that go on behind the scenes in order to make the meal available, all of them essential.

Then tonight I attended another anniversary, that of my first home group, where I first got involved in general service. I was their GSR for about 15 months in 1993-1994. I heard the same person speak that spoke at the same church for another group's anniversary eight days ago. He's a guy I saw regularly in early sobriety but rarely see anymore. He was a big help to me in those early days and I got thank him publicly for it.

I'm so fortunate to have so many meetings to choose from, to have so many recovering alcoholics for friends. It wasn't alway so and still isn't so many places today, both in the U.S. and around the world. And it wasn't ever so, anywhere for ages and ages, up until a few decades ago. So if I'm still feeling restless, irritable and discontent, it could be worse. Much much worse.

Comment approval

I'm sorry to report that due to continual posting of unwanted comments by one individual, despite my direct request to him to stop, I've decided to turn on the option to approve all comments before they are posted. I'm really sorry to impose this inconvenience to everyone else, but there's no other option available that seems reasonable to me. More than for any other reason, I hate doing it because it feel like I am handing some kind of victory to a sick person who doesn't know how to be kind or even considerate.

You can see what kind of person this so-called Christian is by reading the comment he left me here after I politely asked him to stop doing so.

First-aid for burns

(Warning: clicking on the picture to the left will lead to a blog containg images that some viewer may find disturbing, espcially overeaters.)

Something I told my daughter almost twenty years ago, when she was 14 or 15, saved my 1½ year-old grandson from getting a very serious burn on his hand the other day. He put his hand, palm down, on a hot ceramic stovetop. His mother, S-Cat, remembered me saying when I was on the local volunteer ambulance squad that running cold water over a burn right away can reduce what would be a third-degree burn to a second, or a second-degree burn to a first. So she immediately picked him up, turned around and ran cold water over his hand. Fortunately she had been standing right there. At the burn center, they said she probably had prevented him getting a third-degree burn and that he might get away without even getting any blisters.

Care-takers of children, please take note! Of course this works equally well for the older ones of us who are occasionally unfortunate enough to get burned as well. Personally I like using ice even better, because it kills the pain. Just gotta be sure you don't freeze the tissue, which is a real danger, because as soon as you remove the ice, the searing pain returns almost immediately.

Listening to my own advice

Things are not as good this last week. I've been short-tempered, sullen, tired and unmotivated. Sunday was stressful: I chaired a meeting that an ad hoc committee I was not a part of had planned. I kept getting hit with surprises, which I like even less than usual when I'm chairing. I had my own 5-minute spiel to give and I felt inarticulate while giving it.

But all that was okay. When I got home, I had a bummer of an interaction with Nimue that seemed to have started me into my... well, "tailspin" is too strong a word, maybe "unplanned descent" is more accurate. We had several such spates throughout the week, mostly recently last night.

All week long I've been wondering to what extent, if any, this is due to my on-going unplanned withdrawal from Prozac. When I last posted about this, I once again had some slight hope that I had gotten through to my mail-order pharmacy, Caremark. A couple of days after that post, I got a call saying my order had finally shipped. But then a week later, I got another call saying they couldn't ship because they needed more information from my doctor. I let this person really have it and wound up hanging up on her because she wouldn't listen to what I was saying and insisted on talking over me when I was trying to speak. The next day I got the non-Prozac portions of my order filled at a local pharmacy, which of course cost me more than getting them mail-order would have. But at least I got them. I figured I had proven by then I didn't really need the Prozac and even was better off without it (mostly due to sleeping so much better). Or so I thought.

Then in reflecting this morning, I had the thought that for the preceding few weeks, back to the beginning of August, I had finally started to have "the courage to change [some of] the things I can," addressing some ongoing issues in our household that have left me feeling out of control of my life for years. Not that I ever expect my life to be manageable. But I do feel like we ought to be able to keep strangers—to me anyway—from walking into our house unbidden when no one's home, to not have leftover foods lying around the living room for days at a time, to not have dirty dishes pile up for over a week on the kitchen counters, to not have piles of cigarette butts and other smoking trash littering the entrance to our house, etc. I had begun to address some of these issues on my own, without Nimue's help or cooperation, even with her active opposition at times, despite the fact that her children are responsible for these things.

But this last week, I have once again started feeling that the price I pay for such efforts in terms of my relationship with Nimue is too high. I've got a real bad case of the "f--- its." The Rock, my sponsor, is very sympathetic to this view of things. He thinks I tolerate far too much abuse and keeps telling me not to be such a doormat. But then I know that he's got issues that cloud his judgment when it comes to relationships with women.

When my therapist first recommended going onto an anti-depressant, I was skeptical. I told him I thought my depression was situational rather than clinical. He responded that if the anti-depressant improved my mood, by definition it was a clinical depression. Up till now I've pretty much bought that. But all along I've wondered about it. Defining something a certain way doesn't make it really so. Who's to say that a depression can't be caused by the situation and still be helped by chemicals?

Or am I just playing my lifelong head game of finding the reasons to justify whatever point of view I prefer? I don't know. My inclination is just to muscle my way through the situation and "force" myself to feel better.

Funny, that's what I keep hearing from Mr Riches-to-Rags. And I keep telling him that's not how it works. Maybe I should be listening to my own advice.

Random Questions

I'm taking up Doc's Girl on her offer to link to anyone who answers these questions.

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

Yes, my first name: all the oldest males on my maternal grandfather's side of the family for at least five generations had it. Some had it as a first name, others as a middle name. My mother's older brother had it as a first name, but he died at three days old. Then her younger brother got it as a middle name; he died in Texas in a jeep accident during World War II. I didn't realize this until well after I had named my own son, so I broke the tradition. Still, the second syllable of his first name is pronounced the same as my first name.

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?

At my daughter's wedding in May.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?

It's not real honest-to-goodness handwriting; it's a kind of printing. Yes, I do like it. During grammar school, handwriting was the only subject I got bad grades in.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?

Thinly sliced steak, no question.

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?

Five. Not including step-children (four) of children-in-law (two so far).

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?

Most of the time, but certainly not always. Sometimes I get really tired of myself.

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?

Yes, all the time.

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?

Yes, I still have everything but 8 teeth—rather unbelievably, I have a really small mouth, LOL—and a little bit of skin from the 4^th toe on my left foot that was replaced with skin from my thigh.

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?

Yes, especially if no one else dared to.

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?

Granola—currently Bear Naked brand.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?

Depends on the shoes: my sneakers, no; my dress shoes; yes; my sandals (which is what I wear whenever possible except when it's raining or snowing), obviously not.

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?

Not particularly, though other people say I am.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?

Black raspberry chip (preferably with dark chocolate chips).

14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?

Their sense of comfort with themselves.

15. RED OR PINK?

Orange.

16. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?

That I'm sober today.

On a materialistic note, I like that I'm exactly the height that everyone manufactures things for. I used to be exactly the size that everyone makes things for, and I could count on fitting into almost anything bought off the rack, but I've since put on some weight.

17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?

My maternal grandmother.

18. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?

Black jeans, brown tie-up shoes.

19. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?

Three cupfuls of low-sodium V-8 with healthy doses of Tabasco sauce.

20. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?

Nothing. I wish I were listening to my favorite local jazz station, but it would probably be bothering those sitting within earshot of me.

21. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?

Raw sienna (BTW, here is a great place to do research).

22. FAVORITE SMELLS?

Coffee—I drink a lot of it but the smell has always been better than the taste—the air after a sudden spring rain, leaves starting to decay in fall, the ocean, marijuana (even though I never did more than experiment with it a couple of times) and sex.

23. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?

A guy I was trying to talk into doing a presentation at an A.A. service event this coming Sunday. The person scheduled to do it went into the hospital with chest pains, had her heart catheterized, was told to stay at home and rest for a while, and still was planning to come do the presentation herself. I told her she couldn't. He demurred and I've since left messages for the other four people who are qualified to give it. I don't have high hopes of anyone agreeing to fill in.

Before that it was someone from Caremark, telling me that I needed my doctor's office to fax them some information before they could fill my prescriptions. This despite the call last week saying my meds had been shipped. Grrrrrr!

24. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?

Curling, football (preferably Australian rules or Canadian, but not college—go figure) and ice hockey (NHL).

25. HAIR COLOR?

Brown, with more and more of it turning white, especially in my beard.

26. EYE COLOR?

Brown.

27. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?

Yes, except at night.

28. FAVORITE FOOD?

Seafood, especially shellfish, especially lobster; dark chocolate; anything with caramel.

29. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?

Most happy endings are too pat. Most scary movies are dumb. Despite the risk of appearing a traitor to my sex, I don't care at all for action movies either. I'm definitely into chick flicks, especially those that are confusing, odd or unusual in some way (Mulholland Drive, for example).

30. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?

We Were Soldiers, which is a little embarrassing to admit.

31. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?

Light blue—the color of faded jeans.

32. SUMMER OR WINTER?

Spring and autumn.

33. HUGS OR KISSES?

I couldn't imagine living without both, yet here I am, stuck with just hugs for a couple of years now. Sometimes I wish I didn't have such scruples.

34. FAVORITE DESSERT?

Dark chocolate, caramel.

35. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?

Wittgenstein's Nephew, by Thomas Bernhard.

36. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?

The help-desk logo of one of my clients, with their phone number and e-mail address.

37. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?

Charlie Rose (he was interviewing Alan Greenspan).

38. FAVORITE SOUNDS?

A well-played clarinet doing a jazz classic, like Stardust.

39. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?

Beatles, most definitely. The only thing that's changed since 1963 is that now I like John better than Paul.

40. WHAT IS THE FURTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?

Adelaide, South Australia (not including in my imagination).

41. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?

Yes, for carrying the message of recovery to other alcoholics. It's the primary purpose in my life.

42. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?

In a hospital about 6½ km down the road from where I now live, even though I grew up about 100 km away, in the next state.

The Gift of Freedom

Today's Daily Reflection:

The Last Promise

We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.

Alcoholics Anonymous, p. 84

The last Promise in the Big Book came true for me on the very first day of sobriety. God kept me sober that day, and on every other day I allowed Him to operate in my life. He gives me the strength, courage and guidance to meet my responsibilities in life so that I am then able to reach out and help others stay sober and grow. He manifests within me, making me a channel of His word, thought and deed. He works with my inner self, while I produce in the outer world, for He will not do for me what I can do for myself. I must be willing to do His work, so that He can function through me successfully.

This is closely aligned with my conception of God. The Higher Power manifests within me. If I am living right and cooperating with his/her design for living, then I become a channel. This is the means—the only means—God has of communciating with us directly: through other human beings. God lives, if you will, on the spiritual plane of existence, and while we live in this world, our consciousness remains on a material, physical plane and we are only vaguely aware of the spiritual one. Thus God's communication with those around us depends upon our freely chosen willingness to do his/her will.

As God said in response to Ernie Chambers's lawsuit against him/her: "I created man and woman with free will and next to the promise of immortal life, free will is my greatest gift to you." May I use this gift wisely!

Recovery police?

My friend Jew in Recovery posted the other day that he came home from an NA meeting and started feeling like he was getting high. He wondered about the coffee. I quoted from his post and commented (without the links):

"I plan on emailing anonymously the county NA to register a suspicion. This is another diff. with NA, there are very likely users and dealers masquerading around there for the purpose of meeting new clients and fellow users. You know, find the guy or gal who will relapse, and now you have a new customer.

I know that this does happen there. because one of their rules is that they state, no illegal activities are allowed or action will be taken."

Wow, as a so-called "pure alcoholic" I had no idea. Is the presence of dealers at meetings a common occurrence? Are there NA "cops" who police this kind of thing? Is that who "county NA" are? What will county NA do after receiving your e-mail? What action is taken when illegal activities occur?

I shudder to think what it would be like to be attending meetings under such conditions. Yet another thing to be grateful for.

Another reminder of why I don't drink

A friend of mine shared his story last night. I've heard him several times before but, as usual, there were some things I'd never heard before, including this particularly horrific one.

One night while he was still drinking, he had his young son with him while playing poker at a friends house. He passed out and, during the night, one of the other men took his son upstairs and molested him. This is something my friend has had to live with for many years and that will continue to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Yet another example of the possible consequences of picking up a drink that constitute a fate worse than death, jail or institutions (the three most commonly cited in these parts).

Let me say something good

Something about this song really appeals to the alcoholic in me:

You finally said something good when you said goodbye
So don't wait around to see if I'm a gonna cry
Instead of tears streaming down my face you'll find a great big smile in their place
You finally said something good when you said goodbye

I don't wanna rush things honey but I'll help you pack
I've been waitin' on you to make a move like that
Don't waste anytime on words my dear you already said what I wanna hear
Yeah you finally said something good when you said goodbye

Better make your move faster honey I'll call a cab
Now don't worry about the money I'll pay the tab
Now you've been talking for nearly a year and at last you said what I wanted to hear
Yeah you finally said something good when you said goodbye

Oh you finally said something good...
Oh you finally said something good when you said goodbye

— Charlie Louvin

(recently performed by Teddy Thompson on his album Up Front & Low Down)

I guess I wish I'd always been in the position to be able to say something like this. More accurately, I wish I'd ever been in the position to be able to say something like this.

Insomnia

So much for being back to more normal sleep schedules. I went to bed at 11:30, watched a bit of a PBS documentary and fell asleep around midnight. I woke up at 2:10 and couldn't get back to sleep. After half an hour of trying to, I got up. Now here I am an hour later. I do think I'll need a at least a nap later. But for now, I might as well get something done.

The circus is still in town

I just noticed that I didn't title my last post. I usually write the title last, since I often either don't know exactly what I'm going to blog about or I change direction after I start typing.

After consulting with a number of Past Delegates and much to my relief, AdenineLush, our Area delegate, canceled last night's meeting. She decided to do so Wednesday night. I didn't find out till yesterday afternoon. I am in the habit of turning off my mobile phone during A.A. meetings, but sometimes I don't remember right away to turn it back on afterwards. After Wednesday night's meeting, it took about 18 hours to remember. There were a large number of voice messages, mostly from AdenineLush, who initially had asked me to contact the other officers. As she began to realize that I wasn't getting these messages, she started making the calls herself. So now we'll reschedule this potentially dramatic meeting till sometime when we have more time available and with somebody else—someone more objective than I can be—facilitating it. Those were my two main concerns.

At the Wednesday meeting, I heard someone quote something new that made me chuckle. It certainly applied to my early sobriety and I know it's equally true for a number of my A.A. friends: "I got the monkey off my back, but the circus is still in town." For most of us, I suspect it's a three-ring circus too and that the animals are a littler wilder than most of our handlers would like.

I set aside this morning to work on my quarterly tax return, due Monday. In actual fact, it took all day, and I still have to double-check my work tomorrow or Sunday. I haven't had to pay estimated tax in about four years so the spreadsheets I use to calculate what I owe were quite out of date.

I'm still sleeping well, and still back to my normal number of hours. I got a call from Caremark; my two prescriptions shipped today. I'm still not going to hold my breath, but I might actually get them before the end of the month.

We've had a few gorgeous sunny days, with temperatures a little higher in the afternoon than I'd like, but nice cool nights. It's been cloudier today and will likely rain tonight and tomorrow, thanks to Humberto. After that it should be sunny again. Highs will be just above 20°C with lows around 10°. Fabulous!

I'm way behind in my blog reading. Hopefully I'll do some catching up over the weekend. I miss knowing what's going on with my online friends.

A bit of downer

My euphoric mood is definitely at an end. For one thing, I came back from my weekend away to a bit of nastiness with Nimue. As a result though, one thing became crystal clear: there's one [admittedly very small] piece of our [supposedly] shared life together over which she has complete control and about which I get to give no input. Zero. Nada. Zip. Zilch. That was a definite mood-dampener.

There's also been a special meeting planned for tonight for some Area business. It wasn't a big deal until Sunday, when some things happened that have given me considerable anxiety about tonight's meeting. This hasn't helped my mood either.

My sleep time has become more normal too. Sunday night I slept for a really long time—10 or 11 hours. I woke up several times during the morning and could have gotten up, but didn't. I have to admit I was feeling a little depressed. I found myself wondering if I should go back on my anti-depressant medication when it arrives. On Monday night I only slept for 5 ½ hours, but then I napped for 3 more in the afternoon and went to bed at a normal time. Or was that Tuesday? Last night I slept for 7 ½ hours.

I'm still thinking I'll stay off the medication, at least for a while. That is, if it ever comes in. I just checked on the status of the order they promised for the second time to place three days ago. They still haven't gotten the prescriptions, they still haven't shipped them and they still haven't let me know what's going on! This time, the final rep—this time I wrote down all their names—promised to call me one way or the other.

By the way, the name of the mail-order pharmacy is Caremark. Avoid them if at all possible!

In which Trinker loses it...

In my post Rx for Overhaul 3½ weeks ago, I begrudgingly conceded that the mail order pharmacy had taken steps to make things right. I shouldn't have.

I still haven't received my prescriptions. I called the pharmacy today and the representative I spoke to said once again that I was listed as being "too old" to have my prescriptions filled. That pushed me over my limit. I asked to speak to his supervisor. He agreed to transfer me and for the next five minutes all I got on the line was dead silence.

Eventually I realized my call was going nowhere, hung up and called back. I managed to put myself through to a service representative immediately, even though the menu choices they offered didn't include that as one of the options. With what I am sure was obvious anger in my voice I explained what was going on. The rep said he was able to get through the process of ordering my medications, but insisted I needed to send them the prescriptions my doctor had written, which they had returned to me at the end of July when this screw-up started. At this point I lost it and started yelling, screaming and swearing. I told him he had to make it right and eventually he connected me to someone who agreed—again—to call my doctor directly, get the prescription information and have them filled and sent to me.

So now I'm right back where I was on August 16th, only I've gone an additional 3½ weeks without medication and I'm much angrier with this particular provider.

I suffered the rest of today with an emotional hangover from having treated the poor service representative so badly. It wasn't his fault. I wished I had written down his name so I could call back and make amends to him (though I don't feel I have any to make to the company itself).

So what do you suppose we read tonight at my home group? It was pp. 82-83 in the Big Book, the part of Step 9 that precedes the promises. How appropriate is that? It included these couple of sentences:

There may be some wrongs we can never fully right. We don't worry about them if we can honestly say to ourselves that we would right them if we could.

Bingo! That's right where I am. I've got to let it go and hopefully, my medications will arrive in the 7-10 days I was again promised.

A busy Friday

I've been regretting my use of the term mania for what I've been experiencing for the last 20 days or so. I don't want to make light of people who suffer—or in a dysfunctional way actually enjoy—their episodes of mania. I think euphoria would have been a better term. It's not as strong as it had been, and the last couple of nights I've gotten 6-7 hours sleep. I'm feeling more normal, but still very, very good.

Today I met with some folks I may be able to partner with in business. I'm a self-employed computer consultant. They have, at least as far as I know, a unique business model that I believe I could fit very well into. It would mean more time doing the things I enjoy most and less time doing the things I enjoy least, without giving up any of my independence or freedom to act on my own. I met with three of the four partners and their administrative assistant: the person they described as "the one who really gets things done around here."

The meeting went very well. We laid our cards out on the table and I think I hit it off with all of them. An additional plus was the way they raved about the person through whom my introduction came—I was my boss a couple of years ago—saying, "He's a fantastic guy, even if he is a Republican. By the way, you're not a Republican, are you? You don't look like one."¹ The 90-minute experience left me euphoric again.

I devoted most of the rest of the day to preparing for an Area service event this weekend. I'll drive the almost 300 km midday tomorrow, attend a District workshop from 4:00 to 8:00 and then chair the quarterly Area Committee meeting, which will be an all-day event. Fortunately, I'm driving both ways with the Delegate and that's always a great pleasure.

If I get time, I might post from the hotel tomorrow night.

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¹ For the record, I don't.

More on the Rule of Three

For anyone who might be interested, I updated yesterday's post on my Rule of Three. One comment reminded me of something I mistakenly omitted and another pointed out an important exception.

Also, in catching up on my blog reading, I caught Dr A. quoting something very relevant to this rule in his 30 Aug post:

Sober speech is mindful speech—embodying both truth and usefulness and expressed in a way and at a time that it can be heard. This last point necessarily involves whether to speak, as well as when and how. In many instances, wise speech/sober speech requires no speech at all. When our words would be untrue or frivolous or harmful, we are better not to speak.

Laura S., 12 Steps on Buddha's Path

This caught my attention immediately. As I read the first sentence I thought, "Hmm, this reminds me of something I posted about. I think I would have added one more attribute, making it read 'embodying truth, usefulness and kindness." Then reading the last sentence I thought, "Ah, the idea of not being harmful is quite close to the idea of being kind."

As I think I've said before, his blog is highly relevant to those of us trying to "practice these principles" in our relationships, especially the primary ones. All those who are not trying to do are excused from taking a peek at his blog.

My Rule of Three

This is a rule I've been using for a long time, almost 20 years, back to the ending stages of my first marriage (maybe if I'd started using it earlier I'd still be in my first marriage). It's not Wiccan and it's certainly not sexual, but it seems vaguely authorish; it applies to interpersonal relationships. I was told when I first learned it that it originated with Native Americans. This seems to me likely to be apocryphal, but I've found it a wise and useful rule nonetheless.

It used to be that whenever I wanted someone to do something, I'd find myself doing one of two things¹: asking once and, if I didn't see evidence of compliance, letting it go, or asking over and over till I got what I wanted. My personal style tends toward the former. I'm particularly annoyed by people who exhibit the latter style—commonly called nagging
—in their interactions with me.

You can probably figure out already what the Rule of Three says: that one should ask three times and no more. My experience is that after three times the person doesn't want to or can't hear what I'm asking, is unwilling to comply, or has some other issue that makes it useless to continue asking. Actually, continuing is almost always worse than useless. It starts becoming easier for me to get a resentment and the person of whom I'm making the request is likely to start perceiving me as being nagging.

So what do I do after three requests? If I'm to "practice these principles in all my affairs" I see only two choices²: (1) abandon hope of my request being fulfilled, without resentment or (2) find another way to solve my problem, meet my need or fulfill my desire.

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Updated by Namenlosen Trinker on 6 Sep at 7:54

Pam's comment reminded me of one very important point I omitted in my original post: the three requests must be made on three separate but not too widely spaced occasions. Asking three times in less than a minute is outside the spirit of this rule. So is never being able to bring it up again. And it's for dealing with adults, not children (Thanks, Shadow!).

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¹ My 2nd sponsor, Ralph, was forever telling me that tended to see things in black and white. With me everything always had to be yes or no, good or bad, true or false. His advice to me was to pause long enough to think of at least one more alternative so I'd have at least three to choose among.

² See what I mean? LOL!

Storm clouds

I just learned that Cumulonimbus and Nonces Juicy have separated and moved into different houses. This is heartbreaking news. I've know her from early childhood (she's my first cousin) and him for nearly four decades. When we were both starting families, they actually lived with us for a few months. Consequently, my two oldest daughters are still good friends with their two.

He was my #1 drinking buddy from those early family days till I got sober. One 4th of July about 11 or 12 years ago, he asked me take him to an A.A. meeting. I did, and he lasted for about four years, as I recall. I love this man. I only very rarely see him. From what I hear he's getting progressively worse—no surpise there—and the consequences are getting greater. Now here's another one.

While he was on board, we regularly attended a Sunday meeting together in my sponsor's living room. A few years after he went out, I bumped into him. I took the opportunity to remind him that I'm there to help whenever he's ready. He practically made the sign of the cross to keep me away from him and took off as quickly as he could. Apparently, that attitude hasn't changed.

I'll be praying for both of them, and their children. If anyone else is willing to join me, I'd greatly appreciate it.