The Thief Of Joy

If there is a character defect of mine that likes to weigh me down, it’s that of comparing myself to others.  Yes, I have written about this before, and I am sorry to say, I will probably write about it again. And perhaps again after that. You’ve been warned. I am not sure why, but…

How Alcohol Saved My Life

I know, strange to say on a recovery blog, but bear with me. Let me state off the top that alcohol in any way, shape or form right now would kick in my physical cravings and mental obsession.  There is no doubt in my mind about that.  If I were to swig any alcohol in…

Head Down, Follow Through

Count me in as a duffer. When I was in high school, my friends and I would golf.  Or, to put it another way, we would attempt to golf.  We’d hit the city courses, with our starchy collard shirts and rented clubs and we’d duff around the course.   Sometimes we’d actually get the ball…

Nothing Is Wrong, But Nothing Seems Right

This seems just a little bit different.  It seems to be clinging on a bit more.  It seems to be a bit deeper.  There is a cloak feeling to it, as opposed to strips of it passing over me like those dull blue scrubbers at the car wash. I can’t put my finger on it,…

Tale Wagging The Dog

We all have them. Those stories.  You know the ones – the little tales and fables that we create and tell ourselves over and over again.  And sometimes trumpet to others.  The stories that we act out on.  The ones we rehearse and perform and perfect and groom and preen and fuss over.  The ones…

Who Do You Think You Are?

One of the greatest struggles I have had in my recovery so far is the question of who am I? Or namely, who am I meant to be?  And that is really what it comes down to.  Who am I meant to be, rather than who do I think I should be?  I lived a life…

The Two-Step Beat Down Waltz

There is a dance that gets played out in the ballroom of me every day. There is a wager that is slapped down daily in the off-track betting kiosk that is me. There is a sword tip-into-the-soiled-dirt battle cry that gets carried out by the winds of my inner climate. Heart on one side, Mind…

Apples To Orangutans to Xylophones to Squatty Legs

You know what’s worse than doing something that is a no-winner?  Knowing what you’re doing in a no-winner.  You picking up what I’m putting down?  Like scarfing down a Costco-sized satchel of fig newtons and a pail of egg nog just before hitting Six Flag’s new Vomitorium Ad Nauseum roller coaster.  With vertigo and a…

The Pity Patter Of Little Defeats

“Self-pity is easily the most destructive of the non-pharmaceutical narcotics; it is addictive, gives momentary pleasure and separates the victim from reality” John Gardner Self-pity. The word itself (or compound word, at least) alone sounds desolate. The hyphen plays for dramatic pause. Looks wise, the hyphen resembles a metal bar between two heavy weights. A…

Clay, Unmodeled

I never liked Play Doh.  I take no issue with the texture or the malleability of it. I don’t bristle at their assortment of accoutrements and fun-looking gadgets attached to the brand.  I have nothing against the product or the delightful, primary-esque colours.  Actually, I need to retract that last bit.  It’s precisely because of the…