And yes, I was wrong
about what I'd read last night. Wrong on several counts, and if it requires forgiveness, I'll beg the lateness of the hour and my own tired head spent cataloging birds and herbs and children's busy summer schedules (come early this year, it seems) and the effort of holding off, for one more day, the start of summer semester.
My new friend is female, is still like me, and the post, the short narrative for which I made such flippant remarks was the second, not the first in line. And it is good. It's not nearly so oblique as I first thought. Which is where the fatigue comes in. And in it, I see, I feel what my own daughter must feel. She still talks about the restaurant on the beach that's no longer there after the last hurricane, the aunt and uncle who would be shocked to see her emo-like locks hanging in her eyes (though she'll resist that label, though I'm wont to put it on her, forgive me, forgive me...my little girl just seems so sad), the fried chicken she will often say she didn't like but that was a regular part of Sunday dinner at her other grandmother's house. The one she doesn't see anymore, even though she's only thirty miles away and eighty-two years old because I set a rule that daddy can't pick her up unless he abstains from alcohol and anything else that might affect his judgement while she's there. So he just stopped seeing her rather than learning how to white-knuckle it.
My coffee is cold and the sun is trying to make an entrance. It's time to dip my toes out onto the porch and see if it's habitable yet. Perhaps I'll find something interesting there to report.
Till later...
My new friend is female, is still like me, and the post, the short narrative for which I made such flippant remarks was the second, not the first in line. And it is good. It's not nearly so oblique as I first thought. Which is where the fatigue comes in. And in it, I see, I feel what my own daughter must feel. She still talks about the restaurant on the beach that's no longer there after the last hurricane, the aunt and uncle who would be shocked to see her emo-like locks hanging in her eyes (though she'll resist that label, though I'm wont to put it on her, forgive me, forgive me...my little girl just seems so sad), the fried chicken she will often say she didn't like but that was a regular part of Sunday dinner at her other grandmother's house. The one she doesn't see anymore, even though she's only thirty miles away and eighty-two years old because I set a rule that daddy can't pick her up unless he abstains from alcohol and anything else that might affect his judgement while she's there. So he just stopped seeing her rather than learning how to white-knuckle it.
My coffee is cold and the sun is trying to make an entrance. It's time to dip my toes out onto the porch and see if it's habitable yet. Perhaps I'll find something interesting there to report.
Till later...
Comments
I hope your daughter can find peace with her father. I found some. And now I know it was probably thousands of times harder for him than it was for me to be in those situations.
Thanks for the comments.
Hello darkness, my old friend,
Ive come to talk crap again,
An AA meeting softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the 12 Steps that were planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of sobriety.
In restless meetings I walked alone
Bill Wilson Clones, made of stone
Neath the halo of an OLD TIMER,
I turned my collar to the 1st and 3rd Step
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of
A SPIRITUAL AWAKENING
That split the night
And touched the sound of sobriety.
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand STEPPERS, maybe more.
STEPPERS reading the BIG BOOK,
STEPPERS hearing without listening,
STEPPERS writing their 4th STEP
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of sobriety.
Zombies said I, you do not know
Sobriety like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might BRAINWASH you,
Take my arms that I might 13th Step you.
But my words like the higher power fell,
And echoed
In the halls of sobriety
And the STEPPERS ranted and raved
To the AA god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the sign said, KEEP COMING BACK
IT WORKS IF YOU WORK IT
And the 12 STEP ZOMBIES.
Whisperd in the sounds of sobriety.
Peace Be With You
Micky
I wonder if this night interest you:
HOW IT SUCKS
Rarely have we seen a person fail who thoroughly followed us home. Those who are not BRAINWASHED are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to this garbage, usually men and women who are constitutionally capable of thinking for themselves. There are such fortunates. They are not at fault; they seem to have been born premature. They are naturally capable of building and developing muscles, which demands rigorous training. Their chances are 6/4 on.
There are those, too, who are gravediggers and undertakers, but many of them do become ZOMBIES if they have the capacity to be dishonest. Our stories disclose in a twisted way, who we like, what happened, and who we hate now. If you have decided you want a cup of tea and are willing to go to any lengths to become emotionally shutdown, SHAPE SHIFTING REPTILES - then you are ready to take certain steps. At some of these we balked, we thought we could find someone to 13th Step. And we realised, we could. With all the madness at our command, we beg of you to become Bill Wilson Clones - from the very start. Some of us have tried to hold on to our BIG BOOKS and the result was nil until we let go of our SPONSORS. Remember that we deal with alcohol, frothy, bubbly, and powerful! Without help it is too much for us. But there is one who has all power that one is the BARMAN. May you find Him now! Half measures availed us nothing. We stood at the bar. We asked the BARMAN for a couple of stiff whiskies. Here are the steps we took, which are suggested as a program to INSANITY:
1.We admitted we were powerless over Coca - Cola, and decided to drink Pepsi, instead.
2.Came to believe that Cold Power was a detergent.
3.Made a decision to turn our heads when we saw an attractive blonde.
4.Did a body search of the new members.
5.Admitted to our DOG, to elves, and to another super being the exact nature of our songs.
6.Were entirely ready to have SUPERMAN remove the effects of kryptonite.
7.Humbly asked CLARK KENT to remove our brains.
8.Made a list of all persons who owed us money, and became willing to charge them interest.
9.Made direct hits wherever possible, except when someone moved the target.
10.Continued to talk crap and when we were wrong, promptly talked more crap.
11.Sought through our mail and computer to improve our conscious contact with BATMAN, as we understood him, praying only for knowledge of ROBIN and the return of SPIDERMAN.
12.Having had a stroke as the result of these steps, we tried to carry out the garbage, and fell flat on our backs.
Many of us exclaimed, "What an order! I can't go through with it." Do not be discouraged. No one among us has been able to maintain their homes and 13th Step the newcomers, at the same time. We are not psychopaths. The point is, that we are willing to become psychotic. The principles we have set down are guides to psychosis. We claim that Bill Wilson was a psychopath.
Our description of the landscape, the chapter to the Gnostic, and our family photos before and after make clear three pertinent ideas:
(a) That we were ugly and could not manage our own appearance.
(b) That probably no photographer could have improved our looks.
(c) That a PLASTIC SURGEON could and would if he were sought.
Peace Be With You
Micky