2002-04-23

Cleaning Supplies

Sheesh. Where does the time go?

So, yeah, my pal Lino came to visit, big fun was had by all. I was going to conclude my three-part chronicle of his visit by gushing on about the validity of internet connections and how lucky I am to have such amazing friends, but I got sidetracked in the past week-and-a-half by my own nasty, broken-down baggage, requiring an emergency appointment with the ever-patient therapist, who I imagine must liken our hour together to watching back-to-back episodes of "COPS."

Here's the thing we are learning about sobriety, chickens: it doesn't make the icky stuff go away. It's like having been asleep for a year, and waking up to all this dust and accumulated crud, and having nothing under the kitchen sink to deal with it. Nothing. The cleaning supply area of my mind is empty, mama -- nothing there except the old frying pan I position under the pipes to catch drippings. Just a lot of stagnant, stinky water. It'd be funny if it wasn't so pathetic.

Sometimes it feels like all sobriety is doing is making me more aware of what a shit I am. The 12-steppers would have me believe that now's the time for me to take that fearless self-inventory of my myriad personality flaws. Boy howdy, that's really what I'd like to indulge in right now -- a nice session of self-flagellation. I may as well go back to drinking my weight in Jim Beam. Frankly, I'd rather work on the shopping list of cleaning supplies.

lisamcc at 10:22 a.m.

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