Friends of Bill W.

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 15


Whose Oxygen Mask goes on First?

Desperation is the fuel which forges my resentments. When I fear for my survival, physical, emotional or financial this will turn my response to your behavior into tinder, sometimes gasoline and set our interaction ablaze; melt all which is steel strong between us and create a molten mess from which it will be a struggle to recover. This is why, me taking good care of me, attending to my life, and quelling my fears is the very best way for me to protect you from my attitude and save me from a negative balance sheet during my 10th step.


Ask the questions
*


DON’T BITE

Desperation jumps up--runs around--then drops.
If I don’t feed it-- desperation burns out fast.
I used to buy the advertising--the Horror--the Humanity.
The acorn falling on my head convinced me easily.

I grew this nut into terrifying despair.
Never realizing if I had left it alone
How quickly it would pass.
When tragedy comes there is no time for a performance.

The whirling splendor itself proves the farce.
If I learn to recognize these triggers
I might keep from shooting myself in the foot.
If I let desperation wear itself out
I can stay with the pack.

Despondence splinters me
And separates me from anything rational.
But quiet resolve lets me watch the wind twist
While I keep my feet on the ground.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 16


Peter and I

This flight is not filled with the giggling cherubs of my westerly flight, but among the solemn children on this flight is Peter, the oldest of four, who is reading Tolkien and marking his place with a two page wish list. Christmas is coming and Peter seems confident. I wonder if we are what we read and ponder if I am what I write. Poetry, stories, novels, declarations, it all feels like arms and legs, things I cannot move right without. I live better when they are out and free. I am free too, when they live on their own and I am not their soul residence. I have to rededicate myself to the work entrusted to me for so many lives depend upon it.


Treat a book to a day out
*

RELAPSE IS NOT REQUIRED

Relapse is not required - said my sponsor
Though at some meetings they make it seem appealing
All that ‘prodigal drunk’ treatment.

Well so far I’m living in the blessing
Of being convinced the first time- I told her
Plus what could possibly be out there
That’s better than what’s in here?

That is the point
There is so much out there that is faster and bigger
More dramatic and extreme
But I sure have never see anything better.

She patted my head and I grinned
Since I am winning the first time
Why would I want to lose?
I add just to overstate her point.

This is the perfect place for those who want it
And all the rest get drunk
But drinking is not required
Any more than Santa has to come on Christmas.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 17


Pretty Girls

Pretty girls seem to live by separate rules, but I don’t know why. The world is filled with people and rules, crazy circumstances and the uniformity of exception. The where and what for, of arbitrary allowance to be regulated based on symmetry or fashion strikes me as odd, beyond survival and this may explain so very much. Gravity pulls down equally; discriminates for nothing. Orbital rotation continues in spite of the fairness of an eye. The universe supports us without end but prejudice is our failing and I blame it on the pretty girls



Sift the silt for treasure
*


MARIAN

Even if the whole world was created in a cipher
And whirls off into nothingness
This is still not a commentary on the existence of God.

We have today---for this moment of sobriety
There is a Power Greater than
My despair, my apprehension and it builds with me a home
From the bricks of my optimism.

Partnership is no prevention of inhospitable endings
But is a temporary relief from desperate loneliness.
The tired struggle of guaranteeing niceness spills my energy
Scraping from each 24 the marrow so necessary.

My open palm saves me from grasping,
My open mind from grappling
I rid myself of tiny gods in tiny heavens
Where I do not reside.

Let the blades of grass probe between my toes
There is beauty for me to see,
Love to hold, hope to float.
Where this train originated and whatever its destination
It’s in my station now and I am grateful to be on board.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 18


Calm, Peaceful, On

Once I center my mind I can type in the dark. All it takes is me present and willing to flow. Limber up the learning curve, press my fingers to the keys, let the story tell its tale. Cease the interjections lest it all go stale. There is nothing much to know, it’s all inside, I just let it go. Emptying this crowded vault, I open up to prevent assault. What to do when it hits the page; marketing is all the rage, but for this task I need a light. To sell myself I must be bright.


Paste pictures on your mental partitions
*


FAILED SOUP AND DISTRUST OF BURGUNDY

What keeps me coming back to meetings and step work
Is an abiding mistrust of booze.
Despite promises and advertisement, hope and folklore
I couldn’t rely on drinking to take me where I wanted to go.
And surely couldn’t depend on it to keep me there.

The struggle is great; the attempt to cling to salvation
Though decanter is mighty but in the end
This joining of my chemistry to another failed miserably.

No matter how I held my mouth
Held my head, held my liquor
Satisfaction escaped without me and I was left here
In the soup of my disillusion and disappointment.

I may not always succeed in my recovery
But I can draw dividends on every deposit
And use this to build a path to my desires.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 19


Crazy Time

Picking the right time to be crazy seems to be the key to getting away with it. Wanting to get away with it slants the field a tad. What crazy is changes from place to place, which puts all the more emphasis on the timing. The surrounding company and barometric pressure play parts and put on airs. Lighting, lighting must also be involved, I assure you I don’t know how and can’t calculate the Ohms, but I flip the switches in case it helps. I have mapped for you a fair amount more than I know. I wish you well on your attempt, for crazy is a kindred club, I would hate for you to feel inept.



Admire your friends
*

THE FIRST FATHER

The rest of what I have to say
I will slip under your gravestone.
If I have time after I buy the red dress.

To say I hate you is an overstatement.
I only detest what I know of you
The rest I leave to other people
Who might have the misfortune to cross your path.

Your unavailability can protect you
From anything I could ever do to you.
Your hurt and arrogance is far worse punishment.
If I thought you were worth the energy of an attempt.

Having to be you every day must make it hard
To leave the bed in the morning.
I know I couldn’t do it if I had to
Drag your baggage around all day.

The sad part is I’m not sure you know it’s baggage.
You might think it’s armor
But your misnaming of everything
Is just another of the things I never miss about you.

Which is why although I pray every day
For your wellbeing for the sake of mine
If I never see you again
It might just be long enough.


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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 20


Touch Your Toes

Funny how we deal with feet. I have seen a woman cradle hers and treat it like the dearest babe. I know some folks who shun their feet; can barely stand to think of them, let alone to touch them. There are the Mani-Pedi people who leave it in the hands of others. I met a guy who soaks them soft and tucks little bits of cotton under the corners of his nails. I know too, the woman with the snarling crusty dogs that serve to others as a warning. My grandma warns me not complain about my shoes lest I meet the man who has no feet, but I doubt I would fit in his.




Borrow brilliance
*

MUD PIES

Mud pies and retro-childhood
Are for the hurt ones, small and angry inside me.
They require care and special attention
But I can’t stop with them.

Saving children to starve the adolescents is a sad fate
Or abandoning adults after bringing them all this way
Is indescribably cruel.

I cannot work on healing
All the while waiting for some ice flow
To shove myself off on.

There is never a time I am not the responsible party
For the people who inhabit my interior life
I live their reflections every day.

There is no one-way mirror
With which to hide unresolved issues
No rug to sweep them under
They flow through me like a river

I must return them to breed new health
As a salmon swims back to the waters
Of its birth to bring new life.

I must brave the complexities of maturity
I cannot just sit in the mud

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 21


Not My Best Friend

No matter how tightly I hug a lump of coal I will not prevail in turning it into a diamond. Some days I accept this better than others. My desire may affect the coal, but this affect is not diamond producing; though it is stress producing. I know it stresses me and chills me to the bone. I had thought of coal as warming, but the disparate love of coal proves to be anything but. I have pinned my hopes on what this lump had the potential to become rather than acceptance of what it is and now I see I must light my own fire and know the coal is not mine.


Close the window on harsh winds

*
AND THIS IS FOR WHAT?

I smiled down on God and said----
“This is pretty and what is it for?”
“Oh, that’s your life.
It is a surprisingly useful thing to have.”

My Higher Power, like my sponsor
Thinks she’s funny but she is not.
“What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Who do you think I am, your Mother,
Your Grandpa Joe, your guidance counselor?

I put all the possibilities in you,
Then I let the wind blow.
What would be the fun of coming here
If I gave it to you all mapped out?

Did it occur to you the reason people say--
You are right where you are suppose to be
Is because you did the things
That brought you here, not me.

And if you don’t like it here
You are the one who needs the motivation
To change it.”

“Take my life------Please!”
“You are such a comedian!”
“No that’s your department.

Could you stop tending your garden
For five minutes and give me your attention?”
“I don’t need to give you that kind of attention
You bloom on your own.”

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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 23


Lame

I easily identify the big mistakes of my life, but fail to recognize or report the little mistakes that I make, mistakes, which cost me so much. Repetitive irresponsibility has the effect of water torture; drip, drip, drip and my peace of mind is worn away. What can I say of what I refuse to see? It was there all along like the view covered by the shade. Who is to blame for not raising the curtain? It may be me. may not, but I am the one who suffers, I am the one who misses out. Missing the opportunity to grow out of these small deficiencies leaves me with a lifelong handicap and I am not just speaking of my blindness, but also how they make me lame.


Protest ignorance

*

Beginning and End

She stepped through my window and the clock stopped.

The shock of her arrival heart pounding fun and fury.

Forever I felt as if she weren’t there.

Fear lurked in my eyes.

Smile enchanting.

Exit at hand.

Good-
Bye.



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 30


Einstein’s Apple

Time is a player in every play, forever running forward even as I try to claw my way into the past. If I don’t provide a role, time writes itself in without regard for my intended plotline. Like the weather, time is by turns gentle and fierce. I must pay attention lest I run afoul of it and lose my life and limb. Though time is an arc I see swinging in my mind it is still the arrow shot and I am simply the fool with the apple.



Take a vacation from your expectations

*

Talk to me before I sleep


Talk to me before I sleep
Lay your hand upon my cheek

Talk to me before I sleep
All the years are yours to keep

Talk to me before I sleep
Fold me deep within your speech

Talk to me before I sleep
Hold me tight when I start to reach

Talk to me before I sleep
Never let me touch the sheet

Talk to me before I sleep
Warm me with your wondrous heat

Talk to me before I sleep
Precious are the things you teach

Talk to me before I sleep
Love and kindness is how you greet

Talk to me before I sleep
Into darkness let me seep

Talk to me before I sleep
In my dreams it’s you I seek

Talk to me before I sleep
I fear that I am in too deep

Talk to me before I sleep
Wake me to the morning dew

Talk to me before I sleep
Let me know it’s always you



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

[LeftWriteFemme]

December 31


Again Truth

Not wanting to speak the truth doesn’t change the truth, truth is funny that way, it is not affected by my cold shoulder. I snub it and it stands just the same. I am the one who bends and withers. Truth withstands the pressure that I never have, the force of other people’s disappointment and regret. I have sympathy or is it cowardice? I tremble at the power of emotion and truth just carries on. I do not want to be the truth or stand in its place; for truth is not a beating heart and I am too much a feeling creature, but I will learn to keep the company of honesty and right. And stand under the arching bough of truth, because it is a shelter from the winds of change and I need all the help I can get. When I am tempted to shun truth in favor of expedience I will try to remember that life is longer than I think and if I don’t face the truth now it is going to be in my face later when I might be less prepared.


Make the bed so that it is an invitation at the end of the day

*

Essentials

What is essential....is the correct amount of pressure as I press my lips to yours.

What is essential....is the way I slide my arms around your neck and slip my fingers through your hair.

What is essential....is the scent that rises from the nape of my neck as you kiss it.

What is essential....is the moan you illicit from my soul

What is essential....beyond the toe curl and the secret smile is well founded trust, also admiration.


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