Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 5


MISS DIRECTED

I called and rambled at my sponsor. After a significant time had passed, she stopped me and asked with a tone in her voice, “and why are you calling me?”
Startled, I replied, “for your advice!”
“Are you sure that’s why you called? Because I can give you my advice, but I have given advice to you before and received only a severe case of the ‘Yeah, Buts’ in return.”
I was about to say ‘yeah, but you don’t understand’ when she cleared her throat to quiet me and continued what she was saying. “Seems to me you really want more than a sober ear, you want magic. You want me to take your crazy, dramatic thinking, put it in a hat and pull it out formed, as all your dreams, and then you want credit for making it happen. But, Kitten, I have news for you, I’m not Mr. Roark and this is not Fantasy Island. This is sobriety and you can’t just have your way.”
This is when I realized I was on a dry drunk. I don’t know what the first signs are, but I do know when your sponsor asks, “and you’re calling me, why?” the jig is up.


Time your stubbornness

*

MAIL FRAUD

The open envelope alludes to the tampering I suspect.
Too bad my critics are snooping not my supporters.
When they are finished tearing open my mail
They tear me apart as well.

Shredded, I feel unable to handle further correspondence
I shut down communications
There is no channel for benefactors to travel.
My champions are at a loss
To defend me from my opponents
The struggle flounders.

Misunderstanding the meaning of messages
I have been mocked and enslaved.
I would love to vanquish my foes
But you see I am opening my own mail.


You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 7


Let the Groundhog Sing It

Mistakes and poor choices save me from attempting to climb out onto moral high ground. Moral ambiguity keeps me protected from the illusion of relentless righteousness. Lopsided living is a fate I am spared due to my flawed execution of perfection; all in a days work for a functional human. Left by the wayside is the fantasy that I am all right.


Be a timekeeper and a dream-maker

*

NUZZLES OFFERING

Like a vegan kitten who wrestles
Long tailed leaves and twigs
Subduing them and dragging these prizes
To the feet of human parents
I fight paper tigers and bring the tatters
As tributes to my Higher Power.

These bloodless battles are pure practice
Future wars may not be as clean.
I cannot enlist my God
To fight these skirmishes.
I would never believe in one that could.

I accept Deus as creator and cheerleader
But champion-----No
Foliage and foes are mine to fight.
The spoils I bring back
For pats on the head and bragging.


You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 11


Picture Window

When G-d sticks His face in my window it brightens my day. What that shining face looks like in other windows I do not know, but I try to memorize the eyes, the brow, the winning smile before my time is up and the wind shifts. The flash of a friendly face lights up the house, my yard, the corners of my soul. I imbibe the rich glow before it moves on, letting my core charge with incandescence, warming my mettle. I am long and longing for this happy countenance and only when the blocks tumble in my mind do I realize that it is two- way glass in that window and stick my face in it and offer it to G-d.



Today treat oddity as a pearl not a pebble

*

LIKE PEACE

Peace like an elephant on my chest
I can’t breathe but at least we are not fighting.
The rigid air hangs like sheets on the line
Stiff but dry.

Plastered smiles and short salutations
Get us through until bedtime.
But what can hold in standing up
Pours out lying down.

Tender feelings are compressed
And come out only as water
Anger bubbles and brews.

Disappointment lives down deep
And sours the milk of love
There are things worse than cross words.

Moldering, festering, frozen words
Pound spikes in a relationship
Fraught with apprehension.

The truth is I would let these pent up things out
But I don’t trust you and I don’t trust me.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 12


Olive Juice

For whatever the reason olives are often pitted and once they are pit-less there seems to rise an irresistible urge to fill that wound, whether with pimento or children’s cubby little fingers as they fish them from the can. There is an opening, an answer must be found. When I find my center gone I have that same yearning, fill that hole! It is an imperative, a need that must be met no matter how poorly. I will stuff just about anything in that gap; the list is longer than the Bell directory and yet none of it is an adequate replacement for what has gone amiss. So here I stand rife with questions. What to put in there and what to keep out. Is cream cheese preferred to cobwebs? Prosciutto better than ice? Nothing is better than some things and the right thing is better than having given up.


Maple leaves change the world, so do you


*

THE FLYING MIND

When my brain flies out my ear
Destination unknown I am left mentally bereft
I feel intellectual convolution and show no affliction
Other than my inability to fulfill my assignments.

I stare out, sure a ring of blue birds circle my head
Or maybe stars like any other cartoon patsy.
What to do, these parodied wingdings ridicule me privately
Leaving the impression of idiocy with onlookers and supervisors.

My focus and perceptions quaver and I lose my place.
I have to find a way to spot and keep emotional balance,
The way I stay upright during pirouettes
By watching one doorframe or light switch.

I need an unmoving object in a sea of swimming thoughts
I still need to make the mental turns
But this should be much easier
If I stop landing on my face.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 13


Wrong as wrong as wrong can be

To be wrong in my family and in my past meant to be tortured and I prefer death to torture, so being wrong meant death or longing for death. I tried never to be wrong as a way to stave of the desire to leap from tall buildings; I did not turn into superman, wonder woman or mighty mouse through my efforts. I did turn into someone else; I became a cartoon of a real person, two dimensional and overflowing with irrational color. Now I see how wrong, wrong can be. Wrong is not an allowable excuse to be tormented. It can be the turning point for knowledge if I choose or the stairway to something deep dark and ugly; my choice, always my choice.


Quilt your stories and sleep under their protection

*

ASSURANCES OF GULLIVER

Poor Lilliputians and my egg shaped conundrum.
At least they have the strength of their convictions
When I have only pondering to share the space between my ears.

What sense could the world make if there is no right way
And each person is free to open the egg from either end
Or leave the thing intact, having instead maybe a bagel.

I have been looking for the combination to unlock the universe
When possibly it’s an egg shaped thing with no doors or locks
And all that’s left is to break in or out.


You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 14


Clean Underwear

The ease of the trip is often determined by the quality of the packing. When I am entirely ready travel is easier. I wash the laundry early to give myself a head start. Lay everything out and walk through each day’s needs; roll up my outfits and tuck each into my bag. I try to take less than half of my ‘what if’ worry items and cut short my ‘disaster plan’ thinking. If I pack positive thoughts and clean panties I am fine and if I forget them I can always pick some up along the way.


Retreat is not the same as change

*
THE STORYTELLER

Funny stories I long to share with new friends
Have to be put aside while the core of this entity is built.
Mutual memory is the siding on a house framed in integrity.

Treading together through the past
We strengthen each others perception
Which is the only support
That can be offered without time travel.

We take hands, link arms and wander
Happily towards the future
Having the keys to history jangling in our fists
We can return whenever prudent or necessary.

We forge a fresh path and hope for a pleasant journey
Between us we figure to have slain all the dragons.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 15


When I’m Gone

When I’m gone I hope they’ll say I tried real hard and did my best
But more likely will be the lament; she didn’t live up to her potential.

When I’m gone I pray the song will be one of tinkling bells and uplifted voices
But more likely is a disparate confusion of musical chairs.

When I’m gone I wish that my banner will be raised by knowing arms
But more likely will be a shuffle of my undecipherable notes, then the circular file.

When I’m gone I would like my dreams to fly to the ears and eyes of friends and take refuge
But more likely these dreams will chase me down the long corridor and be nothing but my shadow in the long dark night.


Ask your own questions

*

NAVY DUCK
When the postcard is hung upside down
The plane flies away on its back.
I know one of those irregular days
With the disposition of a bee stung mule
Is on its way to visit me.

I have found diplomacy goes a long way
And when it runs out, humor is the best fall back.
Nothing mean or sophomoric but the ability to laugh
Is a fortune in the face of a bankrupt day.

When the sun sets on these spare and harrowing days
I mortgage strength from tomorrow
And right the picture---then fly right.


You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 16


Surfs Up

The first time I arrive at the beach the tide is a shock to me. I had no way to anticipate it. As the days pass I calm, realizing there is a rhythm and that the sea won’t escape the shore. Over time I begin to anticipate the movement and then rely on it. I learn to live with the in and out nature of the water lapping the lip of sand; what it brings and what it takes away. I am human. I adapt. I survive. How do I make the jump to blessing the moon? How do I touch the divine?


Forgive your common errors, make note of the uncommon

*

ENDLESS PASTA

Having limits, in a seemingly limitless universe,
makes me feel horribly inadequate.
I am a sad little creature
in the face of overwhelming tasks.

Pressure and unwarranted ego
compress my ability and eager disposition.
I am forced to see there are choices
outside my qualifications and willingness.

Going on in the face of crushing requirements
extrudes my life force into a plateful of capellini
Lying exposed with no gravy to keep me warm
it is hard to realize in this world of wonder and delight
a plate of naked spaghetti can’t do it all.


You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 17


Induction

I have a massive energy transformer that lives inside me. It is explosive in nature and risky to toy with. But if used properly I can power my whole world with the current which flows through it to me from my Higher Power. If I use it improperly I can melt down my core and burn down my life. The connections are of the utmost importance, insulation is a priority as well. I know that I am conduit and so much more. I must do my part as the carrier and the arbiter of change.


The absence of joy is a sin


*
FLAW IN SNOW

Waiting for snow-
Waiting for cold fingers, slick roads
Warm beds, reading by firelight.

Waiting for proof of lack of control.
Waiting itself proves lack of control.

I can dance the snow dance
And refuse to buy new shovels.
Hang out laundry,
Put out all manner of storm tempters.

Still I cannot force the hand of nature
I must sit with my crystalline optimism
And endure these cloudless skies.

There will be snow
It will fall somewhere
But I mustn’t grow over anxious
Cause it may never snow in Miami.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 18


Who is the Parent?

There are more liars in my head than anywhere else and they will say the most errant nonsense, making it sound totally convincing. First of all they use other people’s inventories to leverage me into believing that I am just what is needed to lift each person’s universe from despair; then they insist that my life will be incomplete until I have saved nations and secured borders, all the while failing to mention the deadly nature of these attempts. None of this is a problem unless I listen. Liars’ lying causes me no trouble until I accept and act on this bunk. This is where a thorough inventory saves the day. When I am clear about the truth of who and what I am I can’t be easily led astray. I know I am G-d’s child and the resemblance can be strong, but today that burden is not mine to carry, so I can stay busy being me.


Cheap advice comes from thinking; dear advice comes from experience

*


LIBERTY, HOPE?

If you had to choose would it be liberty or hope?
Liberty is highly recommended but without hope
How would you know you were at liberty?

Transversely if you had no liberty
How could you have hope?
Removal of liberty removes the possibility of hope.

So why ask for a choice to be made.
Well that’s the joy of liberty, I am free to ask anything,
And you are free to imagine anything and hope for more.


You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 8


Uggs

This is a big hurdle until it becomes a little step. I will struggle with it as long as it takes for me to see it as something I can conquer a bit at a time, then, often as if by magic, it will melt into curbside snow and I can slosh through it in my boots. I am vanquishing obstacles, which seemed insurmountable mere months ago. I am not so much stronger than I was, but I have stopped feeding the weakness in my mind and this has made all the difference.


Accelerate your willingness

*

FLORAL TROPHIES

Captured pet plants grow in my window
Why these specimens are given such regal care
I suspect but can’t explain.

Delicate shoots pile out of sturdy stalks
Roots force the confines of my decorative pots
How many neighborly blooming faces
Stare into my kitchen greeting me mornings

I am amazed what good company
My leafy friends can be when I am loving myself.
Advantageous to my mental health
I breathe their exhaust and they breathe mine.

Symbiotic we live
I grow and flower
Grateful these plants keep me.


You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

[LeftWriteFemme]

November 10


Come What May

Inevitable things are very much like inedible things; you can’t quite swallow them yet they are hard to throw up. It can’t seem to get here quick enough to comfort my fear nor will it pass with any speed once it has arrived. I am like a boa with a hedgehog as my lunch, the shredding is rightfully dreaded and in no way preventable. Not everything that wings my way is anxiety driven, but I have to admit that some things are. I cannot spend my days wishing the storm clouds away so I will put on my slicker and hunker down for the drenching.


The alleys in your mind are for passage not permanence

*

PRIDE GOETHE BEFORE A FALL

In truth, pride goes wherever it wants, it’s pride.
Pride wanders alone, for no one enjoys its company.
Pride travels far but gets nowhere.
Pride rises above reality and seeps beneath the surface.

When pride wears out, love and honesty poke holes in it.
Until it is grounded and transforms to humility
Pride’s past is remembered with flush and embarrassment.
Recounting yesterday is pride’s unenviable task.
Keeping it from recreation is mine.


You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault