Today was a comedy of errors. Only it all happened to me, which made it a tragedy.
The coffee pot spewed hot liquid and crunchy ground across the kitchen counter. The dogs refused to take care of business on their first trip outside, necessitating a second trip. The outfit that seemed so classy in theory fell short in the mirror of reality. Then, as I was dashing around (late, naturally) in search of my jacket, I remembered I'd left it upstairs.
No, I couldn't listen to tunes on my bite-sized mp3 player as I walked to work - the itty bitty battery died.
You get the picture.
I slid into snarl mode for a couple of hours after I got home. In the interest of frustrating myself to the point of boiling over, I tried moving my son's unweildly electric organ from the spare room into the mudroom. Guess what was too wide to make the corner into the mudroom?
By that point I was unbearable. As usual, my daughter was the lucky beneficiary. We sniped a little, then she had the good sense to withdraw into the organ, er spare room.
There's a recovery saying: don't get too hungry, angry, lonely or tired. HALT. By dinnertime I was at HAT. But I was also determined not to let the rest of the day grind to its end on the sticky wheels of self-indulgent sulkiness.
Another beauty saying in recovery is, you can start your day over at any moment. If you feel yourself going off the rails you can pause, regroup, and do better. After 27 years of sobriety I actually remember to do that sometimes.
I called Melissa to dinner. Then I thanked her for preparing most of the meal while I was wrestling with the impossible logistics of moving a wide musical instrument through a narrow entryway. And I apologized. Another gem learned in recovery: when you're wrong, admit it. Don't blame, don't justify, don't qualify. Just make your amends.
HALT. Start over. Say you're sorry. Simple concepts, right? That's right, simple concepts. But try practicing them in your daily life. Then you'll see that simple doesn't equal easy.
As I write this I'm waiting to take my son's birthday cake out of the oven. Well, half of it. I could only find one of my two round cake pans.
Yes, it's been one of those days.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Monday, November 1, 2010
C'mon, Wednesday
Nov. 3 can't get here fast enough. Enduring this election season has been like having two radios playing full blast, one in each ear: one shrieking heavy metal, the other a screaming fire and brimstone preacher. And for the grand finale, we're expected to pop into a booth and take a quiz on the content of both stations.
I think I'm going to form my own political party. I'll call it the Reasonable Party. We Reasonables will not raise our voices, hurl invectives or spend kabillions of dollars trying to make our opponents look like horses' patoots. What we will do is quietly state our beliefs and goals, encourage citizens to vote for us, and work hard to fulfill our campaign promises.
Our mascot will be the giraffe: quiet, serene, head up high enough to see the big picture. And a vegetarian - how politically correct!
First I'll need a candidate. And don't look at me. Although I do enjoy public speaking and kissing babies, I'm not much for giving orders, or accepting resposibility when things go awry.
My first choice? Alan Alda. Don't be dubious. I think we can all agree that actors of far less talent than he have held public office. He's intelligent, humane, warm, well versed in social issues. He's also in his 70s, which I guess means he wouldn't jump at the chance to hold public office.
Second choice? Big Bird. A true man of the people. He's got street cred, he's compassionate, he cares about the education and welfare of children. And think of this: who would dare to attack a country of citizens crazy enough to elect a 7-foot-tall bird president?
Third choice: the late, great George Carlin. Imagine it. By the time he completed his inaugural address he'd have offended 75 percent of the population so profoundly that they'd all defect to Canada, leaving the rest of us to create our own utopia. Can you imagine a Pledge of Allegiance that incorporated the seven words you can't say on television?
Yes, I'm a little punchy. I look forward to casting my ballot tomorrow night, doing my sacred duty as an American, making my voice heard.
And if you hear about a precinct where Robin Williams got one vote as a write-in candidate for county commissioner, you'll know those political commercials sent me right over the edge.
I think I'm going to form my own political party. I'll call it the Reasonable Party. We Reasonables will not raise our voices, hurl invectives or spend kabillions of dollars trying to make our opponents look like horses' patoots. What we will do is quietly state our beliefs and goals, encourage citizens to vote for us, and work hard to fulfill our campaign promises.
Our mascot will be the giraffe: quiet, serene, head up high enough to see the big picture. And a vegetarian - how politically correct!
First I'll need a candidate. And don't look at me. Although I do enjoy public speaking and kissing babies, I'm not much for giving orders, or accepting resposibility when things go awry.
My first choice? Alan Alda. Don't be dubious. I think we can all agree that actors of far less talent than he have held public office. He's intelligent, humane, warm, well versed in social issues. He's also in his 70s, which I guess means he wouldn't jump at the chance to hold public office.
Second choice? Big Bird. A true man of the people. He's got street cred, he's compassionate, he cares about the education and welfare of children. And think of this: who would dare to attack a country of citizens crazy enough to elect a 7-foot-tall bird president?
Third choice: the late, great George Carlin. Imagine it. By the time he completed his inaugural address he'd have offended 75 percent of the population so profoundly that they'd all defect to Canada, leaving the rest of us to create our own utopia. Can you imagine a Pledge of Allegiance that incorporated the seven words you can't say on television?
Yes, I'm a little punchy. I look forward to casting my ballot tomorrow night, doing my sacred duty as an American, making my voice heard.
And if you hear about a precinct where Robin Williams got one vote as a write-in candidate for county commissioner, you'll know those political commercials sent me right over the edge.
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