Monday, December 29, 2014

Positive. Stay #$@%*! Positive

I have crashed out four times attempting to do this post, and it was about where to put your head during stormy times in order to remain #$@%*! positive. I was pretty positive when I started. I really was. But I am getting pretty damned salty attempting to share my #$@%*! joy with you folks. So, to hell with it! I need to get on with writing my current novel, so . . .

Don't use
Go to meetings
Ask for help

Can this program get any damned simpler? Would a kick in the ass or a smack upside your #$@%*!  head with a two-by-four help?

Don't use
Go to meetings
Ask for help

Well, after the second failure at attempting to put in a picture in a post, maybe you could work on a little acceptance? Eh?

Yeah, thanks a #$@%*!  heap! I hope you're a global warming nut and got a lump of coal in your stocking!

Now, where was I. Oh---

Announcement: Tomorrow night at the Dragon Slayers group of NA in Farmington, Maine I will be celebrating thirty-three years clean and sober. I won't pretend it's thirty-three years clean and serene, as it says on the NA key tags. Still working on my thirty-day serene tag.

Happy New Year to those who recognize and celebrate this one. For those who don't, be happy anyway. My best wishes to all who visit this humble blog, to all those taking on the challenge of becoming human by getting and staying clean, to all those thinking about it, and especially to those who are absolutely convinced that they cannot have a problem with drugs.

Have A Real New Year

[I'll be damned. . . . went to publish this blog and what I wrote before was in the lineup as a saved draft, even though I hadn't saved it. Make what you will of this, and here it is:]

I'll be all right if . . .
That phrase began so many "almost" prayers of my childhood, my youth, my using days, and just today, I caught myself saying it again: "If I can just make it to the story, I'll be all right."

I won't bore you with my health problems (numerous, serious, troublesome). They left me this morning, though, weak, filled with pain, and just barely able to wobble around. Okay, I'm in my seventies. On average, things should be breaking down and things should hurt. In a few days, however, I have every intention of going skiing, a goal that seems slightly out of reach when I can't make it from one end of the house to the other without leaning up against a wall and resting.

Being honest here, I felt very sick and pretty desperate. I needed to make progress on writing my current novel, The War Whisperer, and I couldn't even figure out what to get myself for breakfast. But I love writing, and I am thoroughly into the novel I'm currently writing. Of my many fears, my biggest right now is that I won't live long enough to finish it. And there's the next Joe Torio mystery I want to do, a fantasy-Civil War novel I need to rewrite . . . plans! I have lots of things I still want to accomplish.

That part of the future, though, isn't entirely under my own control. Lives get snuffed out in seconds all over this world, and often for no more of a reason than stormy weather, a misread traffic sign, or someone thought a murder or fifty would result in profit, the approval of one's associates, or would place one on some god's approval list. As I have written elsewhere and probably more than once: "No one has a lock on the next ten minutes."

This, right now, may be it. Perhaps not. The second stupidest thing one can do, however, is worry about it. You won't be all right if you sit there worrying about death, someone leaving you, losing your job, getting turned down on a proposal, a child's illness, world hunger, or nutballs tossing bombs at you.

The stupidest thing you can do is pick up a drink or a drug and use. What if you don't die? What if you make it through the storm? What if he or she doesn't leave you? What if you get a promotion instead of a pink slip? What if that child recovers? What if a way is found to feed the hungry? What if no one bombs you today?

When a stormy brain is running things, that is a dangerous time for a recovering addict. But you'll be all right if . . . what? For me it's writing: this particular post as it turned out. What will it be for you?

I'll be all right if . . .
. . . I get to a meeting.
. . . I talk to my sponsor or someone else in the program.
. . . I get to work writing on that next step.
. . . I read some program literature.
. . . I read anything that uplifts me.
. . . I do something nice for someone else.
. . . I get in touch with my Higher Power.
. . . I get off my ass and make a needed repair.
. . . I go skiing, running, hiking, to the gym, swimming.
I'll be all right as long as I don't pick up; As long as I don't use, there is hope.

[I don't think I'll try and insert that picture again. It was just a bunch of red and yellow flowers I photographed at a garden once. Apparently the garden was possessed by the Devil. Perhaps I just don't remember how to insert pix in posts. Anyway, have a happy and sane new year. The world has enough miserable crazies.]


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