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I'm so sorry that you have been having to go through all of this. The price of loving those feline deities is their life span is so much shorter than ours and we are destined to live so much of our lives missing them. I love you and hope that today is at least a break from the sadness and grief. All my love, the girl |
March 6
The Price of Today’s Ride Much of my spiritual awakening has been spent separating myself from the nightmare of the past, reassuring myself that in fact, it the horror, is over. As my present has improved my reactions are still invested with the hide or fly coping of a child dealing with terror. Things get better yet barricades are erected, departing flights secured. Disengaging the clutch of fingers wrapped so tightly around the escape hatch takes a great deal of my short supply of faith and confidence. Laying down my anticipatory reluctance in favor of optimism has had the breathtaking feel of pain, though in fact it was only the separation from a poisonous crutch and the vacuum it creates. Allowing myself to see beauty at the same time as I deal with the truth of the past; standing in the full light of morning and not blocking out the brilliant pain of night is the outstanding gift my spiritual path affords me. Open stored creativity * ECHOES OF ACTION Squares of light outline a patchwork on walls and ceiling. Ripples of water formed this ancient glass. Three hundred years these waves have shone through those panes. Three hundred years these waves have held, Like stability in a world of change. Looking through the window The City rams life down it's own throat. The ripples are invisible, Caressing currents imbed the glass The wavelengths shining projections only with the street lights. How much mundane activity is captured, Only revealing itself surreptitiously. What is not echoed from year to year comes to final rest. My voice does not terminate at my mouth How therefore can I consider a blunted end to my behavior? |
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Dusty was happy and healthy looking when I went there I went to pick him up and take him to the Vet for his diagnosis. . Knowing death will be scheduled when he turns the corner of health is just weighing heavy. Was Dr. Death so wrong? We can put animals to sleep....what about it .hearinig you song about algae ...and I smile. Thanks for the love, the daily inspiration above and the poetry below it. I love having dessert with my coffee. All my love backattcha. PS.. I saw that Greyson is signed up for the Reunion. Should you stop in here, just WaVvinnng at you.. Hi Greyson, HEllo anyone that stops in to read. Jump in the water's fine. One hell of a week....so, Oscar Movie Preview day is today.:choir: The music will be good.. |
Waving "Hiya" to Tommi and Lefty. I don't know why, I am just partial to calling you "Lefty."
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I have to tell you a million years ago when I was creating my screen name it never once occured to me that I was going to spend my life being called "Lefty" ..........lol Waving HI back at you, Greyson!!!!!! |
Friends of Bill, Lois and ...meetings in Little Rock
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Friends of meetings! Cold embers to a Fire Within. That's how many of us felt, caught between conflicting moralities, maladaptive behaviors, and little understanding, support, or hope of finding it. We had to break our personal block to transcendence. Many of us found it in 12 step programs (Friends of Bill). Meetings will be held on Friday____ and Saturday at ____ and on Sunday at _____. All meetings will be in the ___ Room - "Our Place". No meeting is scheduled for Thursday. If you are interested in leading a meeting, speaking, volunteering in some way, send a PM. |
March 7
Migration Why does an alcoholic leave the drink behind? To go where it’s warm, because drunkenness has become cold comfort, because the climate has changed. The wind resists the flight from the bottle and the initiative to break the flow is rotated among the flock. Though each member of the band plays their part, the one diverting the air just ahead of me and the one just behind trumpeting still hold the majority of my attention. Flocking is my primary purpose because survival is the intention of life, demise the intent of my illness. One more sober day is all I can ask, it’s all I ever need, it’s all that’s ever offered. Put wheels under procrastination * POPCORN FLAVORED LOLLIPOP I can't know it, I can't believe it, The world of popcorn flavored lollipops Is now being visited upon me. Both a surprise and a comfort, A popcorn flavored lollipop Given to me by a gas station attendant. A blast of sugar and salt wake my tongue. What can a mind do In the face of buttered-salted bonbon on a stick? I wouldn't have thought of it, no in a million years. This is somehow a source of hope to me, There are open minded people living in the world around me. I often pray for creative thinking on the part of my Higher Power I inadvertently dismiss the populace Who are producing prodigies of ingenious originality and cunning. I want the world to be gifted with what sobriety has given me. Candy is not world peace But many great things start with a little sweetness |
Friends of Bill W.
I just wanted to say ty for creating such a great thread! As you already know,you never know who is watching. Or who might need to hear what you have to say. I am happy to say my daughter just celebrated her first birthday on the 15th. It is nice to get her back...Smile October 10th will be my 20th birthday since I quit. I am a rocovering addict. Have a Blessed Day! |
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You are right I have no idea who is reading but I am always so glad when what I write helps. Have a great day, Sherrie |
March 8
Résistance Resisting tough love is approaching long run action with short run thinking. I hate to set the toddling babe down lest he fall, but in the end if I do not put him down he and I will both be the worse for it. Whether I see a forest or I see trees depends so very much on my perspective, also on my willingness to delay the prevention of minor scrapes to eliminate the need for permanent scaring. The theme is greater personal responsibility and less irrational fear. Guarding tomorrow’s possibilities by not hamstringing them today through the resistance of tough love saves lives, it saves mine. Raise the roof on your thinking * PICTURES & FRAMES I paint my way into the corners of the frames. Each picture I fill diligently, Color, texture, all the tricks I use. I work hard to get the desired effect. I hold nothing back, I put heart and hopes forward. I load my brush with pigment, I propel my tongue out of my mouth, I use it for balance like a kangaroo uses it's tail. Stroke after stroke I layer the image My depiction is fresh to me, I bring the green, the red, the blue, All of them flow from me. The canvas fills, my soul soars through the tinctures Then the disappointment begins, The complaints, the lamentations, The perspective is off. I can't seem to contain this scene Within the confines of this gilded prison. I readjust, I tilt my head I paint from the bottom up, then the top town, No---No. I must pick up a new canvas and frame. The oak, burnished and honeyed brown. I cast to the side the gilt and sculptured casing. I lay it along the wall with the others. The many discards of my life As yet the obvious has escaped me. The tint, the hue, the angle Size may diverge but that is all. I have recreated the same scene In all the frames, In all my attempts, I have painted only one picture. |
March 9
Revelations And I, Sherrie, had a new freedom and a new happiness for the first freedom and the first happiness were passed away. And there were no more tears. This is how it should be and for the most part this is how it is. Hell’s gates hang broken on their hinges and I walk free. The world is mine to explore and I am happy. More than a notion, my life is a fact; sounder than a bank note and I am on an emotional foot race to keep pace with my recovering self. Could it be lost? Lost like paradise, lost like I was lost before? Why, yes, all could be lost and that is what makes this freedom truly free and this happiness truly happy, they are mine, mine to keep and mine to lose, they may not be in my control but they are within my reach. Voir dere contempt * VOLUNTARY MUTE I have learned I don't have to answer just because someone asks. I have learned to change subjects. I have learned it is better to say nothing. Repeating the phrase, "It's just my opinion." Followed with, " I could be wrong." Has proven insufficient. Somehow things frequently turn out worse than I expected But as of yet none have turned out better. This upsets. People become angry when I am correct. They are less angry when I'm silent. I tell the truth and trouble follows. I didn't get sober to lie so I keep my mouth shut. There is no reason to distress folks And reality has a way of doing that. Silence is my new defense I hide in it And find my new freedom. Unless it's my sponsor, my sponsee or my cherished friend Battening down the hatches saves me from a tempest And spare others their outburst. |
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and , again my thanks to LeftWriteFemme for keeping the light on and her daily inspiration and poetry. |
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March 10
Isolation I isolate from you, I isolate from others, I isolate from friends, isolate from G-d, I practice connecting by connecting with my sponsor, practice connecting with my friends, practice connecting with G-d, finally I am able to connect with you, the first thing I do is isolate us from them, my sponsor, my friends, my G-d, they are all now on the outside of the bubble of us and I must start again, only now I must try to maintain the you and me connection while at the same time connect with the rest. Are we still us if I am connected with them? Are we still us if we are in the midst of the crowd I think of, the crowd I call, them? Just because they see us as us, refer to us as us, are we still us if we don’t feel like us to me? If I don’t know us in the landscape of hordes are we still we? Isolation is an attempt at preservation, how can we best be preserved without being pressed in a book or jarred or jammed? You say let us be, and I say that’s how I got us are you sure that’s how I keep us? And you hug me tight. Bloom with or without a garden * THE WALL OF PLEASANT How quickly I am protected by a sweet smile A disarming countenance and gentle phrase Save my skin and psyche. No longer do I defend my reputation as a wit or critic I let it all flow by. The simpler I appear the more effective the facade. The energy I conserve not fighting loosing battles Is well spent in the company of like minded sober friends In the pursuit of sober lives. I stay out of the fray and behind this partition It's insides are posted with announcements proclaiming my opinions And the lunacy of the person on the other side. The reading of these notices Does not persuade me to dismantle the enclosure But encourages me to keep it sound. Many year of shelter behind this vine covered fortification Allow restraint of my words spoken and written To safeguard my sanity When I am gifted with comment I am spared the desire for credit Boundaries are a blessing And living within them a saving grace. |
March 11
Conception 2 My active voice is the elixir of fire my addiction would have me snuff in order to keep us hidden from each other, me hidden from you, you hidden from me and no one noticing you or I pouring the drinks. Minus my active voice I slip easily into unconsciousness, my effectiveness doused. My active voice is the light in my room the candle in my window, the glow within me, which illuminates my days as well as my nights. Moving ever forward the gyroscopic precision of this voice never fails me if I keep my “listening ears” turned on and tuned in. My active voice is and will always be the live wire connection of my Higher Power uniting with me through people, places and things. My effective conscience is everything that results from this bond. I run at an unfathomable rate of efficiency when my active voice is on, my feet fail to touch the ground as I fly to right action, the nature of my effective conscience is just that, nature, as natural as if I were not carrying a fatal malady, but instead possessed the secret to serenity, which in fact I do: sobriety. Try not to confuse available with empty * SPIRITUALITY The bedpan of spirituality Was shoved under my ass Early in sobriety It kept me from increasing the mess With which I surround myself. The cold smack of enamel got my attention. The old timers showed me there is a place for my shit It was not any of the places I had been using. My side, your side, all sides were strewn with my waste Fragments, tatters and fearful reminders Were all there for me to clean up. Amends as the shovel And willingness as its handle Is what I use to clear my past. Sweat is refreshing when progress is being made I've made inroads, paths of travel help me more easily From the past to the present without regret. |
La lalalal la
GOOOOOOD MORNING Everyone. Sing it with me..
[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nmZqb2VVc48"]YouTube- Hair - Good Morning Starshine[/ame] |
March 12
Creed We have a long standing family tradition of viewing miracles as tragedy; this custom has afforded us many a fine escape from the unknown. Most things in life are bad; people, places, things, this belief is protective though useless. Ultimately I feel this belief is not what colors the dynastic impression of the miraculous, but the apprehension is due to the limited nature of the thing. I come from a line of dissatisfaction; miracles are provided when what is desired is panacea. If everything is not imperially resolved then it is all for naught because the same psyche which cannot begin a process without a guaranteed outcome can’t pickup the slack after a triumphant start. Give it all to me tied with a bow, I will begin the critique from there though I will accept, offer me a beginning fraught with uncertainty and I will decline. A secure entrenchment is preferred to inexact risk. I will die with my boots on, but I mustn’t leave the house. Respect your age * FRIENDS My sweet, dear, funny friend Steeped in beat Whose hand I can no longer hold. I yearn for the wildly flying words, like feathers in a snow The shock of hair and glinting eyes I see so clearly In my shivering mind. I must let go. I miss all the friends who for reason or no Have traveled down the yellow brick spiral to who knows where. My arms feel open and starved But there is no way for me to retain myself And follow them. Some are lost, altogether Some are lost only to me But my arms remain empty nonetheless. My ruined heart is sore and sad But chasing this friend or that Will not heal it. The lonely path before me is the answer for me. Possibly only for me among our former group And will the paths cross later in this day or next? I don't know and am better not knowing. My path requires me to release outcomes As well a kindred. I must travel with my arms open Some fall out of them And others find their way in. |
March 13
Wax On “Sometimes a dish is just a dish,” I said to my sponsor. “Yes and sometimes it is the world away, which you hold in your hand,” her reply. I stand at the sink and try to wash the dishes when I am washing the dishes. I try to drive the car when I drive the car. These simple acts of concentration focus and sooth the jagged mental sutures where I am supposed to be coming together, but ultimately come apart. Anything to break my frenetic gyrations is a blessing, anything to cut away to a closer view and a clearer understanding of where I really am; anything to derail the speeding blur of a life of my creation, is good. What I do and who I am are secrets and mysteries when I don’t know how to pay attention and ironies when I do. And if you doubt me, just go ask Arnold. Contrast confusion * BLUE CROWS Blue crows streak across my dreaming minds sky They take up their post in a line of trees I stand at the edge of a burning field I feel nauseous at the thought of glorifying an 'active' life. Everything is burned, scared and crumpled The flashy crows call from the hedgerow. I know it's time to fly The fire is out and I have work to do. To keep the sparks and dormant embers from ruining another harvest. I must travel with these strange birds And live an odd but regimented life I needn't scorch my feet on this ground again. Like my companions I must spend sometime in survey If I do not fully assess this damage I might not fully embrace this dawn. |
March 14
Patricide I never killed my father. Why finish a job that someone is completing all on his own. It’s not that I didn’t wish him dead; I did and do for that matter. Don’t misunderstand me, I wish him no harm, it’s just that he is like a creature so tortured that he is nothing but a danger and a misery. Left to live he is a hazard to everyone he has contact with, an agony to live inside. What can I wish for him, but departure and rest, something he can never give to himself. I don’t plot, don’t scheme, I only know; know in part, the terrible lie he lives and hurt he drags from place to place acting like it is not there and nothing matters; let’s just get by. So, if he is not dead he should be. He is the embodiment of the hurtful impotent god and I don’t kill that man but I kill the image, perish that thought. Provide for the future of your sanity * PRETTY FEET I look at the line on my heel Where I must stay vigilant with pumice and the moisturizer My toes clean and straight but nothing more. I see my feet as passable, it's hard to see them as beautiful, Well cared for is the best I can do But there is a beauty in that. I think of myself, I am an alcoholic There is nothing beautiful about alcoholism either. The care I take in tending my sobriety The nurturing I see others use in their own lives There is a certain loveliness to it. Crusted over hearts Scraped and oiled Fit and ready to beat anew. Polluted minds, drained and reformed To turn lives upright Step work and making meetings Is just a functionary thing But gorgeous in its own way Efficacy is a pearl not to be disregarded. |
March 15
Three Card Monty When I learn to excel at the good games and learn to leave the bad ones alone I think I will be all right. Simple enough to do when I can take off this blindfold and see the long term consequences of my pursuits. Engage this pastime and have no future; abandon that play and squander hope. Eyes open wide, I see what there is to see, but around the corner I am lost for anticipatory sight and must guess at destinations let alone intention. Tricky, tricky, is this life which toys with me. I think I have the bow in hand, though as life rubs me wrong then right, I see I am played upon as much and as often as I play. I take up the reins, but must also be led, I can lay out the deal, but sometimes, I just have to roll the dice. Speak with your friends * ANGLE OF RETURN As in a hall of mirrors, it is sometimes hard to tell If I am moving forward in my recovery Likewise, as promises are fulfilled Their obtuse arrival is a quandary The juxtaposition of acute homecoming Of former faculties is also startling How the light reflects itself from sober face to sober face From open heart to open mind, is the spectral of hope to me. My soul seeks me day after day Though I left it so far behind It brings to me the person of God's intent And my new acquaintance. Patience, never my virtue, finds me stacked with packages Delivered in piles so high I can't keep up with opening them Never in my life have I known less about my future Or felt more assured. |
March 16
Bad Acting Because there never seems to be enough love in the world to fill the wound, my wounded self riots. At times the debauchery seems good natured enough, flamboyant yet without harm, at other times the disturbance is apparently violent and the issuing tumult a crime. All for want of wholeness and sanity I pursue shattered fractured activity just to keep from dwelling where I cannot live, where there is no air. I want land beneath my feet and full, full lungs; on my own I find neither of these and little else of use. Isolation even in a crowd is the tell tale sign that I am in the, me, myself and I mode of drowning in a teacup and require rescue. Little more than raising my hand above the surface and asking for help is needed though this is a Herculean effort as we all know. Rowing up stream is a bigger battle then it ever looks and I know the river runs through me. Turn, turn, turn then rest * UNNECESSARY WORDS I've spent years trying to put names on the streets in my 12 th step map post. Clear signs with monikers easy to remember, themed and progressive But I have been wasting my time, the map is there, no doubt. I have seen people follow it to varying degrees. The names are unnecessary, like ants, we trail each others scent. We track so closely as not to loose visual contact, we don't play with our survival. Or we are bees standing in front of the meeting Doing the dance, which describes the path to sobriety With meaningful jokes, and well earned tears. As I stand at the foot of a few twenty-fours And see the evolution of my recovery I realize the names in the placards are ever-changing. Meaning and value pour through the kaleidoscope of time And come out as indescribable gifts, Which I can only give through action. I will no longer fritter away my time looking for tags and titles |
Sunday at 9
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Friends of Bill W.
A.A. Thought for the Day
Before we decide to quit drinking, most of us have to come up against a blank wall. We see that we're licked, that we have to quit. But we don't know which way to turn for help. There seems to be no door in that blank wall. A.A. opens the door that leads to sobriety. By encouraging us to honestly admit that we're alcoholics and to realize that we can't take even one drink, and by showing us which way to turn for help, A.A. opens the door in that blank wall. Have I gone through that door to sobriety? Meditation for the Day I must have a singleness of purpose to do my part in God's work. I must not let material distractions interfere with my job of improving personal relation ships. It is easy to become distracted by material affairs, so that I lose my singleness of purpose. I do not have time to be concerned about the multifarious concerns of the world. I must concentrate and specialize on what I can do best. Prayer for the Day I pray that I may not become distracted by material affairs. I pray that I may concentrate on doing what I can do best. by Hazelden Foundation |
hello............I've been in different "B/F" rooms for a while now.............now I am stepping into these rooms :hospital-snoopy: ...................... it's not quite that bad, yet I am finally gonna reach out here as well as in real time
thank you all for being here :rrose: |
OK....yes, it is that bad, or I would not be here, I just ment I haven't been taken to the hospital for drinking
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Welcome. Keep coming back, |
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March 17
Suit up, Show up I stand naked, paralyzed, unable to reach my intended destination or any destination at all. Goose flesh is no real motivation and I am reluctant to use the prod having only produced resistance and reversals with past applications of this weapon. Entreatment might work if only I could find the right one; then again anything might work if it were a fit. Covering my all-together is an action; taken judiciously it sometimes is all the arrival I can manage, taken disingenuously it precludes the chance for any further forward motion and may create set back or retreat. I should not attempt to hide fear with wardrobe though I can try to warm it. Façade building is best done with a bottle in tow reality is best faced with a sponsor by my side. Acknowledge pain, acknowledge joy * OLD BEARS Cold and Despondent Nothing comforts me like the bear of early sobriety Bought on a day I thought I would shake apart This fuzzy old guy has been a display item, For many years now, Tucked to the corner with the lace edged pillows and folded shawls. Jittery and Sleepless It's easy to panic. I turn and see the amber eyes waiting for my embrace His body clothed in a hand knit child's sweater made by a friend The warmth of this snuggle is more than comfort It is also the acceptance of loss. Quelling the dramatic highs and lows of the beginning cost many things And the depth of this is not lost in the moment. Alone in my bed the passageways to the future appear to me I must rest and then walk on I cannot stall or simper, plain work is before me And simple old bears a consolation. |
Looking at the Sober on The Way to Sane excerpts and the More Sober on The Way to Sane, and the block format and the poetry format.
The 2010 change to post both block and poetry just doubled the work. Looking at your writing every day for many years now, I realized how exceptional you are. Inspiring others that have your books within reach, and read when the darkness comes and the sun shines in their windows. Thank you for your servicem, and for keeping the light on every day. |
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I can't tell you how much Sherrie's words mean to me ... some days they cut, some days they comfort, but always they make me think. And, somehow, it always seems to be exactly what I need at just the right moment! I don't know how you do it ... but I'm so glad that you do. :flowers: Thank you Sherrie, and thank you Tommi ... you are both an inspiration to me. p.s. Last week (3/11/10) was my two-year anniversay, but I wasn't posting much because I was very busy cuddling my Dakota :schnauzer: after her surgery. It's easy for me to remember the date I quit drinking, since it was on my actual birthday ... and it's the best gift that I could give myself. |
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CONGRATS ON Belly Birthday and 2 yr Anniversary. I know what you mean about her writing about where you are or need to be that day. I read her posts for almost 2 years..then she said Hello, and I said Well Hello There, and well, it's been a miracle too Hope Dakota is better tooooo. |
JUST FOR TODAY I'll take my inventory just for today just for today... I'll stay sober and clean just for today... my disease won't run my life I'll go to a meeting just for today just for today... honesty and trust will guide me just for today... I'll share my experience, strength, and hope Quickly, I'll make amends just for today just for today... I'll leave nothing undone just for today... I'll admit to being powerless 12 steps will guide me just for today just for today... I'll listen more than I speak just for today... I'll be willing to learn My Higher Power will guide me just for today just for today... I'll pray and meditate just for today... I'll be gracious for my gift Tonight I'll go to bed sober just for today just for today... I'll remember I still have a choice just for today... yesterday will be in the past I won't worry about tomorrow just for today just for today... I'll see the world with a child’s eyes just for today... I'll live... for today And when tomorrow comes I'll realize... that just for today I'll once again have a clean slate just for today... ©2007DaveHarm |
March 18
Malaria Flailing, reaching, screaming; hiding, avoiding, misdirecting, theses are subsets in a list of extremes whose commonality is lacking, lacking humility. I fall to pieces just thinking of standing exposed, imperfect and unprotected. I’m not sure what I think will happen to me in this posture; instantaneous death? Couldn’t be, I’m not that lucky, nor am I foolish enough to think that I am that lucky. Possibly, I fear rancorous humiliation, but really who is powerful enough to do that to me? I know and like myself well enough to deflect obvious flying nonsense, so what is it that I do flee? I think it is the endless grinding inelegance of life, the stinging nettled nature of things, my inability to weave my way around my weakness and slip into the open unpoisoned. I fear exchanging peace for failure. Humility is when I know I cannot fail. Be conscience of judgment and try not to react to it * WET BLANKET I have carried this sodden thing with me all my life. It's weight a burden for numerous years, I have never been able to explain my continuing drag of this pitiful thing Though it has been commended on by many. My fidelity is boundless In spite of inner questions and doubts. Now that the fire is here I am glad to have it. I pull it over me and step into the fray. Thick and moist, I somehow struggle under its influence And am able to do what others, bare of my encumbrance, cannot I don't believe I can quench all the flames but I hope to help some to safety And bat down the encroaching inferno a bit. |
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About to embark on another lovely day of employment. Can anyone tell me what a pipe dream is? Does buying a liottery ticke expecting to win fit in a pipe, or a dream? |
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smooch! |
I wanted to share something that touched me today that I read.
Today I humbly ask my Higher Power for the grace to find the space between my impulse and my action; to let flow a cooling breeze when I would respond with heat; to interrupt fierceness with gentle peace; to accept the moment which allows judgment to become discernment; to defer to silence when my tongue would rush to attack or defend. I promise to watch for every opportunity to turn toward my Higher Power for guidance. I know where this power is: it resides within me, as clear as a mountain brook, hidden in the hills -- it is the unsuspected Inner Resource.I thank my Higher Power for this world of light and truth I see when I allow it to direct my vision. I trust it today and hope it trusts me to make all effort to find the right thought or action today. Written by: Anthony R. http://passitongreeting.com/images/card149.gif |
March 19
If I name it do I know it? Does emotional proximity necessitate a nearer name? Far off I would be called earthling possibly human. On this plain, female maybe woman; in this country Mrs. Theriault; in my home call me Sherrie, but in my bed hy calls me Baby. Do these names offer the requisite information, no further inquires required, is it personal enough? Is the limited nature a stunted interest from without or a privacy fence from within? Does the boundary shift dependant upon the participants or is it an almost universal standard of metered advance and reveal? And do I get more when I give more or does that end in less info and a change of direction? Also who determines what I really need to know? Wanting curiosity; my hungry mind and lonely heart do not direct all the world, yet ceaselessly they strive, shutter and ask again: Who are you? Step toward yourself * JAG I have the most interesting lawn ornament. It is long and sleek, low to the ground, Resting on rubber rolls, Steep of side and languid front and back It has glass, glass which slants And glass which slops into its sides. It's paint shines when I buff it And shows dust when I don't. Inside there are seats and many artistic accessories I sit on the steps and admire the thing Then I sit in the thing and admire the porch That's all there was until I was handed the key. |
March 20
Bent, Spindled, Mutilated Injury changes memory, not just the memory of the individual trauma, but the very nature of the mind. The hooks and loops distort and I can’t hold on as I once did. The misses and disconnects become more frequent, then they become expected. Emotional fluff-ups do not suffice, the hardware is damaged and a positive attitude is advisable but the pliers are a necessity. Some things are easier to break than to repair, in fact most things are easier to break, no skill required, though some take it on as skill, most destruction is ignorant or accidental, nothing personal just a part of a pain filled landscape. Direct intervention is not the same as hands-free degradation, though both have their cost. Redemption, restoration, is sought from all comers. Possibilities and probabilities stack; action is a relief, whether or not it is a fix. I take a breath to face the final blow, for when the cost adds up and I look for recompense all I hear is the check is in the mail. Line the bin so the ick won’t stick * 20 CART PILEUP What's the problem here? Asks my sponsor, as she approaches my apparent impasse. Well, I've been trying to get these carts lined up What do you think of my progress? How many carts do you have here? A few, quite a few, why? And how many horses? She asks Just the one, the same as everyone else, I answer. And where is this poor animal? Back here. Behind the carts OK, we have a twofold problem here. First, one horse can handle only one cart. So pick ONE Second, that sad creature needs to be in the proper position To do any good at all. You had best figure out a way to get him in front Or you will remain stuck Even after you whittle down your burden. I was stunned She went to her cart Climbed to the seat And took the reins How long did it take you to get yours like that? I ask Honey it takes every day. Don't kid yourself I wake up every morning with the same train wreck Your standing in now. Learn to sort faster And you'll have the rest of today You can start over With us tomorrow. |
Just a quick reminder:
Our first AA, NA, Al-Anon chat meeting will be taking place in the Friends of Bill, Lois and Jimmy chat room on Sunday night at 9 pm eastern time and 6 pm westcoast time. I hope you can join us there and please don't for get your Options because the room is password protected. I look forward to seeing everyone there! |
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