You Dont Cut The Tail of the Dog off Slowly...

You don't cut the tail of the dog off slowly. One of my father's sayings. He had a ton of them. Like bumper stickers. Easy does it and One day at a time. The men in his law firm loved best his saying, "keep your eye on the chicken salad...not the chicken shit." No matter which one. I hear him all the time. "You deal in shit...you get covered in shit..." "Figures don't lie...Lier's figure." I hate that he's dead. The other day I looked at my cell phone half expecting him to phone.

scout

I have a rescue wheaten terrier named scout and she is my favorite dog ever. I am learning a ton from her too. She was in a puppy mill for her first two years of life which in her case means she was kept like a chicken or any other barn yard animal. In a tiny box that measured about 2 feet by 2 feet all alone. My stomach is turning over as I write this and I feel like I should be going into the bedroom where scout is asleep on the huge chair in there that she has taken over as her bed and just petting her. But I know I need to write about it first. She had no contact with other dogs unless she was in heat. Then they would bring a male dog in, she would "have sex" and she would get pregnant have a litter of puppies and she would feed them till they were sold to pet stores. (At around 6 weeks.) She is small for a wheaten probably because they started breeding her as soon as she had her first heat around 6 months. So what comes to mind with Scout is how she never had a real puppyhood. She doesn't really play the way dogs do that I have raised from when they were tiny puppies...for me this is somewhat good because we never had to endure chewed leather shoes, glasses, blankets, you name it whatever I liked best has remained untouched. She doesnt bark either. She apparently had to wear a collar when she was in the puppy mill. The kind that shocked her if she barked. We know she can bark because we heard her bark once. And sometimes in the middle of the night we hear her cry. And when I come home from a long day away she greets me with a sort of strained crying. Trying to bark but to squelch the bark. Anyway it comes out very silently and muted. So the neighbors never get angry because you would never know we have a dog unless you saw her. And she is so incredibly sweet and grateful. She is getting much more confident and she even begs now which we think is wonderful. It makes her seem like a real dog. It is not an overbearing begging, she just sits near us at dinner and looks on eagerly till we give her a bone or something. And she does respond well to food. And she plays with some dogs now when she stays at our pet sitters for day care or overnight if we are away. But much of the time Scout breaks my heart. I hate that they took her childhood away from her, made her cower, and just took a lot of her spirit away. That said little by little she is coming to life. After a walk (which we also had to teach her to do...she did not really even know how to take a walk...) she makes this crazy dash around the house quickly and with great gusto. Glimpses of the dog she was meant to be. And I must identify with her in some way. My childhood of course was much better than hers...anyones was....but I get it. And I am thrilled to be coming back to life. To be making some huge runs around the house in my own way. Now I will go in and rub her stomach. That she adores and is always ready for.

Lying down on this coffin sized cot I tell myself I only do it because I have to. It is cold, metallic feeling, like lying down on an inverted refrigerator. I arch my back involuntarily, put on the protective goggles—green--with a pin-point sized hole in each eye. The elastic strap makes my hair go funny in the back and I wonder if it will leave a ridge.

The buttons, after I have resolved to stay lying down here, are to the side. I reach down, causing my bracelet--my mother’s bracelet--to slip down and touch both buttons practicing which one to push first. The one closest to me the attendant has told me raises the lid up. The other button brings it down. I am to push this button, this farthest away button and bring it down as close as possible—up to 2 inches—for maximum tanning.

If my skin were better I would not put myself through this. When I came in wearing no make-up I was sure the attendant looked right at my bad skin, knew how ugly it made me look and felt sorry for me. I push the farthest away button.

A noise like a dentist’s drill fills the room at exactly the same time the lights all flash on. Lower and lower the lid to this metallic feeling cold bed is coming. Alight! I can feel its heat and see the light under my goggle protected eyes. How far to bring it down? I am in trouble here my naked save for bikini body and I. Maybe I will not bring it down any further. Be brave. How else can I look good again and quickly? I lower it some more. The heat is growing. I begin to sweat. Such heat! My cheeks have a pulse of their own now. The heat is working. I lower the lid all the way down until it feels like it is almost touching my skin, 2 maybe 3 inches away. I do not take my goggles off to check though. I have read the sign on the purple door telling me of the possible “harmful effects of the ultraviolet light on the naked eye.”

I let the button go. The top is wobbling above me. I feel it swinging side to side, the lid to this tanning coffin I lie in because I want my skin to clear up right away.

It still swings, so agitated its journey down from the ceiling has been. What if it falls just from all the swinging gentle though it is--sometimes that’s enough to do it—comes off its hinges? It would scorch me like when an iron hits your hand and the blister. Would it leave 4 vertical bulb imprints seared into my skin? Would the bulbs break, glass shattering as it sizzled?

Or what if it stays in place—the lid has stopped swinging, the heat is just uniform now, comforting even, a beach warm sand in the summer—will I be sunburned instead of tan? That hazy-red-raw color? That color the radiation made my mother’s skin when they had her in that tiny room that we could look into the round window in the door through. Through that round hole we little girls watched her get her radiation treatments. Mom’s arms down by her sides on the narrow white bed, her face turned up to the ceiling calmly--almost deadly--submitting to the blinding light the radiation gave off as it lit up her face, her whole body, turning it from its flesh tone color to that hazy-red-raw sunburned look right as she lay there even as we watched. Even as we watched every week. In between radiation times there were other lifesaving techniques; a breast that was removed and covered neatly with skin that they grafted from her thigh, chemotherapy—wonder drugs they called them—that made all her dark brown hair come completely out, made her want to throw up, caused her to loose so much weight her bracelet slipped off her wrist when it was down by her side as she lay there under the radiation light. As we watched through that window this process in the door I wanted to go in, put the bracelet back where it belonged. But the nurse told me I could not go in there, could only watch through the window. I have no idea why my sister and I were present for those treatments, but that round window we watched through is etched into my mind.

So I pop my head up, still seeing through that round window, rip off the tanning goggles risking all kinds of eye damage I suppose and look just very quickly at the door.

There is no round window there. Only one solid purple board of a door, an eye hazard warning sign, and it is closed tight. I swing my head out first, then the rest of my body in one fleet and less than graceful motion, throw on my clothes not even bothering to button all the buttons and say nothing to the startled attendant who screams after me that I still have another twenty eight minutes paid for.

in a tanning parlor

One day at a time...in reverse

I can't believe how long its been since I have written anything on this blog. Just for myself. I get the thing now about one day at a time. It goes both ways I now see. When I first got into AA I didn't think I could live without drinking. And I always had great sweeping plans for my life. If I couldn't accomplish anything major then I thought I was a failure and wouldnt even try or during the course of it--like my 27 years as a tv news reporter--I was always anxious thinking I should be doing more. And of drinking....well....so I am learning that yes, not only can I live without wine but am way happier without it. And I have not had a drink in 3 years 6 months and 17 days! One day at a time. So by just concentrating on the one day at a time I didnt drink today I have this amazing amount of time and feel great about it. And I am continually struck by the natural way it has happened. Same thing with problems. I can get overwhelmed trying to solve my whole life problem right now! But if I just figure out what I can do about it today then I can relax and let it unfold. Like my tax problem. I owe the IRS an unimaginable sum of money. And I used to go insane thinking about it lying in bed at night trying to figure out what I could sell, my diamond earrings? My Rolex? No they bring in nothing for studs at the jewelry shop or the watch. I would be out a watch and nowhere near paying off my $55,000 debt in back taxes left to me by my former husband after the divorce. So OK I have a payment plan. I pay the IRS $500 a month. Nothing else I can do about it. I have a lien on me personally because I own no property any longer and I write these checks which often times mean I can't afford manicures or even doctors appointments but right now I am healthy and can do my own nails. And then one month at a time I am paying off this unsightly debt. I looked with great amazement at my bill this month and I now owe the IRS $32,000.00 It is going away slowly but it is going down. And I don't stress about it most of the time. So now the other lesson I am learning. Same principal. Only backwards. One day at a time I can lose things. Like my physical therapy that I did after knee surgery. When I was doing only twice a week for six weeks my knee was much stronger. Now if has heeled and I have stopped doing my excersices. I keep telling myself I will start them next week. But I am losing ground the longer I go when if I just do them twice a week forever my knees will stick by me as I age and I can walk. And that brings us to writing. I was blogging every day. At least once and I was feeling great about it. Watching my blog posts grow. And then I stopped. And I said just today I dont have time to write. But that one day turned in to 11 days!!! So I am back. One day at a time I will grow and unfold and find time to at least post some bit of writing.

Keeping it Simple...

When Wiley was a little boy he had a great book that we loved to read together: Simple Pictures are Best. And I am not too sure where I am headed with this but I looked at Jeff this morning at breakfast and realized how incredibly happy I am with him. Perhaps happier than I have ever been in my life. At 60. I have my first boyfriend! This after two husbands, a third husband (hostage?) in waiting--a fiance of sorts--and a million boyfriends when I was younger and as my friend Ray would say when I was in between husbands. So fast forward a million years of trying to have more. A better car, a bigger house, more Rolex watches and Chanel shoes, Valentino dresses, you name it I tried it to feel better. And of course always there was the red wine. Better and better red wine. But it was always there until it wasnt. Until I got sober. And found out it had to be an inside job. That no matter how wealthy or handsome the husband, no matter how many beach houses we had decorated to the hilt, no matter what until I just stopped drinking, stopped trying so desperately to make everyone think I was happy and perfect, until I stopped pretending I was someone I wasnt I couldnt be happy. Truth is by the time I got myself into AA I didnt know who I was. I was just a shell of someone who had lived half of a life, always trying to look like I was perfect and never knowing who the hell I was or what I really wanted or felt. God my stomach turns over thinking about all the maintenance to try to look like something I wasnt and of course the huge problem was I didnt know who or what I was. I was a tv news reporter for Gods sake and I dont even watch television! I sort of liked it some of the time I will say. But I was always so tightly wound trying to be the best tv news reporter in the world. And I was a business reporter to boot and I can't do math! I can't really stand business. I liked the personalities so profiles of the people who were running the companies and features. I liked the stories about the companies that were good to employees and I am rambling here. The point is I was so disconnected from the person I am. From what my insides really want. I would do almost anything to look and sound good too. God did I diet. And I think I am not naturally over weight. Of course it turns out when I just stopped obsessing about how thin I was or wasnt and just ate right (and quit drinking) I am a fine weight for a 60 year old woman. So what am I getting at here?

By the time I got into AA I was so disconnected from me (and suicidal I might add) my world was tiny. And I no longer knew what made me happy. And god was I in a fog. The whole world was sort of blurry. I was living with a man I could barely stand and he used to scream at me.

So I got to start from scratch. I got to literally start all over again. On my 90th day of sobriety my ex-fiance screamed at me about something--just some meaningless something--and I finally got my bearings, and even though it would mean leaving his lovely house in Snedens Landing on the river and having nowhere to live and not even having any money--I had even had to file for bankruptcy and had no job anymore, CNN having laid me off ages before after Time Warner and AOL saw fit to merge and lay off tons and tons of people not just me. I got my bearings. I called my dog Shorty, packed up what few clothes I had left, my computer, my china and silver and put everything into my old silver station wagon and left. I didnt say anything mean. A wonderful older woman in AA had told me to just pack my things and go quietly. And that was exactly what I did.

So where to go? I called a friend who said her gardner had just told her about someone who wanted to rent out a carriage house. And I called the woman and asked if I could rent her loft as it turned out to be. She asked when and I said now, and she was a little bit taken aback and said fine. I also told her I had a dog, a wheaten terrier which she also said was ok since the grounds were all fenced and she had a dog for her son too. And that was it. Shorty and I moved into a wonderful loft that had a few pieces of furniture. We unloaded my clothes, computer, Shorty's food and bowls and bed along with my China and silver and cased out the mice. And then I started to find out who I was. I was about 3 weeks shy of 57 at that point. Terrified of living alone but on my own just the same. In a glorious loft in the woods with a wrap around terrace and even a tiny stove and refrigerator and two fire places! I bought five folding chairs and sprung for a couple of frying pans and a tea pot and had my tiny tv with a built in disc player so I could watch movies. Oh and I had my 30 year old Bang and Olufson ghetto blaster so I could listen to classical music round the clock. (I have to add right here that my son loaned me $10,000 for first and last months rent along with food till I could figure out how to earn a living once again.) And I start out all over again. The only things I knew I loved were classical music, walking in the woods with Shorty, watching movies, reading, writing and going to AA meetings. I also adored drinking coffee and started making all kinds of different teas. And if I really wanted a treat: I would eat one bulls eye which is a carmel with cream in the middle. That was one of the happiest times in my life as it turned out. And I started to think about what I liked to do and to keep it very simple. I didnt have to be the greatest anything and twist myself up into a pretzel trying to do it. All I had to do was just be and try to do the next write thing. There is an appropriate sign in AA for this. It just says Keep it simple.

Starting the day over...

I am a little off today. Even though I am 60 and have not had a period for three years I feel the way I used to just before I got hit. (That was the term of art we used for getting our period. Getting hit.) So I feel cranky, grouchy, restless, irritable and discontent. And I have no idea why. I have been to meetings 7 out of the last 8 days, its the beginning of the month so I have money in my bank account, I am losing weight, I just had my hair highlighted, a manicure, pedicure, my clothes look good, I even have new underwear and made appointments for all the doctors I needed to make appointments for, I have a job which I dont love but it is only part time and it gives me that much breathing room and I am writing. And I adore the man I live with and the house we live in. My dog is great and I recently got her new food, new heartworm medicine. So what is it? The only thing I can think of is that my therapist is gone to the south of France for 6 weeks and my sponsor is leaving for vacation and is ripping her house apart for new construction and has been tough to reach of late. So that must be it. I have such a tough time attaching anyway and I guess I was finally attaching to my therapist and she left town and now my sponsor who was kind of back up (and equally tough for me to attach to) is headed out of town. Must be really really old stuff. I tend to shrug those things off but at my peril I guess. I am learning to let it out. I sat mute at the Saturday morning meeting this morning and couldnt really identify with the speaker. And instead of just putting my hand up and saying I felt irritable and that I needed to check in I said nothing. My mistake. So now I am sitting in my own shit. And I was mean to Jeff my soul mate, love, boyfriend, significant other housemate, companion. Didn’t want to ride with the top down. Whats with that? The weather is perfect. And now we are at his friend’s house and we are out at their pool and they are out of town till tonight. I guess I should call my sponsor back and call another alcoholic and ask how they are doing. Get out of my own head. And early on my first sponsor taught me when things seemed to be going to hell and spiraling out of control that I could start my day over at any time. I guess that’s what I need to do. Start my day over even though it is almost 5:00 PM. #

on meditation

I think one of my favorite days on earth (other than the day my son was born) was on a walk with my sober dog Shorty. I had about a year of sobriety at the time and was not doing much more than listening to classical music, watching movies at night, going to meetings and walking with Shorty in the woods. We lived in a loft in Snedens Landing and would go straight down Woods Road into Tallman State Park. One day Shorty and I were just walking. It was the very end of summer. Perfect summer. No humidity, sunny, warm but not too warm and it may have even been in September because the leaves were just starting to change and there is no special thing on the surface that happened. Shorty was on his leash. I walked behind him just looking up at the trees and all around us in the woods on our path. And for a moment or two I was one with the world. With the trees, with the woods, with the bushes, the air, the sun, the sky. I often think of that feeling. To me that is meditation. Losing myself. I can't tell you how to get it back. What I do know is I have never felt that feeling while shopping on Madison Avenue or when I was on a quest for something material. Usually that feeling comes when I am in nature. Walking along the river perhaps. It can also happen to me when I am listening to classical music. So it can happen in a concert hall. But usually at the symphony I am thinking about what I am wearing and our seats and if the woman or man behind me can see and it is more difficult to just become with the music. But it can happen. I once heard at a meeting that if you listen to music you have an easier time meditating. It takes your mind away from itself which is key of course so that my mind can go where it needs to go. It has also happened to me (something I call getting access to my unconscious) when I have been writing. I sort of leave myself and do not think but words are coming out of me onto the page. What a great gift. Is that meditating?

move a muscle ...change a thought.

In the very beginning of my sobriety I got way more caught up in drama, in my head and all my insecurities. I was riddled with doubt and it could get so bad that I would be paralyzed with fear. When I could remember I would call my sponsor and she always told me to move a muscle change a thought. And it does work for me. Something that simple. They say that AA is a simple program for complicated people. I once heard a guy share that he could complicate a pen. And that pretty much describes me. I could complicate a pen. But at least I now know that if I am sitting at my desk obsessing about my pen all I have to do is put the thing down on my desk and go to the kitchen and wash lettuce. Or go outside and pick fresh lettuce. Usually my moving a muscle and changing where I am involve going to nature. But it works for me. Every time.

one day at a time....

I can hear my late father telling me to take it easy ....one day at a time. I hated that. What did it mean? I wanted everything right now. And I have pretty much lived my life trying to do everything at once. In my tv news career I could not ever be satisfied with where I was. I was always sending out resumes because I wanted to be in a bigger and better market. NOW. My stomach turns thinking about it. And I could not be happy. I needed more. If only I would say. Or when I am in NY I will be happy. I finally got to NY and I was a little happy after a while but then I wanted a bigger position. Not sure what this has to do with one day at a time but I guess what I am constantly amazed about is how by just stringing one day at a time together I have three and a half years of sobriety. I am a sober woman and I did it one day at a time. Or I should say I do it one day at a time. It does add up. The way I lived drinking needing everything immediately I could never get any feeling of a solid life because I was so intent on solving my entire life problem whatever it was right then and there. If I was fighting with my second ex-husband I would demand to know if the marriage was over. It seemed to me I just had to get it over and to know the answer. NOW. I always wanted everything neat and clean and sealed up. And that's when it came to me. The only time everything will ever be neat and clean and all sealed up is when I am lying in a coffin and my life is done. So until then I better enjoy each moment and live in the moment one day at a time. I also need to add here that taking on way too much was always my m.o. I try to do everything...and in the same vein as one day at a time is one thing at a time. I heard at a meeting early on this tip from an old timer: He said moving houses used to seem unmanageable. There was just so much to do. So what he learned to do was to break it down. Like one day at a time he took one drawer at a time. So he would pack up one drawer of a dresser. That was his goal. And that seemed do able. not so overwhelming. Then when he was finished with that one drawer going on to the next drawer and before he knew it his house was packed. I need to think about that with everything I do. Baby steps. And just as long as I don't drink one day at a time and try to stay in the moment and do the next right thing when I do make a move I am doing well.

a bird's beak and being present...

Walking Scout this morning I realized I am always wanting just small changes. It started out I was thinking about Jeff's house, the house I live in now with Jeff. It is a lovely house. Perfect for us. He has done an amazing job. And it is pretty enough. Trellis work in the garden, perfect space inside the house, a wonderful kitchen with a huge wood French farmer-type or I guess they would call that a peasant table. Any way you get the picture, sky lights, molding, pretty furniture. All very country French. Jeff even built me a library/ work/ office space which is lovely. But me I am walking the dog thinking, it would be perfect if it had awnings. Gray and white striped awnings, and a new front door, probably dark grey wood. I hate the present front door with its 3 dopey little circle windows. And maybe some trellis work up the front with vines and ivy growing on the house. And there is more. I think it should have white wood window boxes on all of the windows. And a fence. I think to myself that life would be so much better if it were all fenced. White tall fencing so that Scout could romp around freely--maybe even have a dog door--and the deer could not get in to chew up all the plants that Jeff carefully puts in. How crazy is all that? Really crazy. Because the reality is while the house probably would look a little prettier that way my life would be just the same. Whatever petty jealousies and insecurities large and small and all that stuff, it would all be the same. The house would just look a little different. So why is it that I spend all this energy thinking about how the house should look? The reality is if I just look within--and I am learning in AA that it is an inside job--I would realize how little the outside of the house matters. It is pretty enough. And the fencing, well we can't afford it. So deal with it. Scout doesnt run away ever and the deer have already eaten what they are going to eat this year and I can look out the windown and see the Hudson River right there. Just beyond all the lush green trees. And really my time would be much better spent thinking about things of substance. Or just taking it all in while I am still here on earth. When I first sat down to write I happened to look up from the page and there before me right out the window sitting on the electric wire that comes from the house--another thing that I would like to see changed--can't they bury those wires underground?--standing on the wire was a tiny bird, probably a woodpecker--glorious with a red and white a black coat and it opened its mouth just so slowly and I am sitting close enough to see its beak opening and just the bird sitting there with its open mouth was thrilling. So the reality is if I just take in what is around me and what is I can be transported. And if the electric wire had been buried then I never would have had the chance to see that bird open its mouth.#

trust

Something I dont have much of even though I like to pretend I do. The reality is my mother died when I was 13 (breast cancer) and even now at 60 my stomach turns in on itself just thinking about it. What happened after that? I have a huge character defect. I see abandonment in everything. I mean everything. Before I got sober I drank and ran if I thought there was even the remotest chance that a boyfriend would dump me, that my boss did not like the job I was doing, you name it....if I thought it I ran, took a new husband, a new job, a new best friend, a new whole career. I always wanted to be one step ahead and I guess I was just determined that no one would ever leave me again. I would leave first. Now I am sober (3 and a half years) and I am seeing this and ugh! feeling this and trying to understand and act like a sober woman of grace and dignity. I have a jobette. Working part time in a law firm (something I know almost nothing about...I was a tv news reporter for 25 years) and my boss made a comment yesterday after one month of my being there something (probably minor) about this wasnt working. How in the world would he go away on the 20th if he had to answer all the calls? I am thinking he meant that I wasnt handling enough. But I don't know the cases and who the people are and I am not a lawyer or even a paralegal. So how could he possibly expect me to know what to do without him? Anyway I have been trying to solve this in my own head. Should I go back to real estate? What should I do for extra money? And have been mildly panicked. And then of course writing this I got a few thoughts: First I need to give it to God. Just say you take it. Take it out of my head. I cant be of service to anyone let alone myself if I am obbsessing over a jobette and whether or not he likes me and whether I may get fired. The reality is today I am working there. Today I am doing a lot better than when I first started the job and gaining experience every day. I am just me. And it is likely a good situation for both of us. My boss gets a sober, experienced grown up who can handle things well once I learn them. And I am dependable and I show up ready and willing to work. And organized. I have a lot to offer and he pays me very little money. On my side the very little money gives me extra spending money. I can go into the city and get my hair highlighted for one. And it is just 4 afternoons a week. So I get three full days off and every morning off. And the main thing is just not to run. I have to trust that I am where I am supposed to be. That I at least did not run back to real estate (I just thought about it briefly) and I am writing about it and the huge thing. I didn't drink over it. I go to a 6th and 7th step meeting on Tuesday nights and I shared about my not trusting and the whole abandonment thing and another woman shared that she has the same thing. That her father was killed when she was 6. There are so many times I hear about this in the rooms. Of course I drank because I am an alcoholic. But the underlying problem, the thing that caused that huge hole to begin with was the death of my mother when I was a girl. And slowly little by little I am healing from it and learning to trust. #

sharing ...like writing...

I am finally getting it about sharing. Sharing helps me so much in a number of ways. I get whatever off my chest. I hear myself talking and sometimes if I share honestly and openly ...not worried about what anyone thinks or what is coming out of my mouth....just letting her rip...I hear myself and like when I write this way I discover something about myself. About why I am feeling a certain way. And when it all comes together when I share I find or hear myself with the solution. And I am also learning that when I share I am helping other people in AA. That they may hear something that I say that touches their lives, that they can identify with and open a path to greater understanding for themselves. I love that. That I help myself and people around me. So this is why I write. Same story. All the same things happen. In the best of times when I can just let myself go to the page and write I feel, I become lost in the writing and it is likely the hand of God or my higher power or my genius or whatever we want to call that something that is outside of me. That is not the Lelley trying to be cute or clever or something artificial, just the real true me comes out. I am not clear exactly how this works but I am told not to concern myself with why only that it happens which I know to be true. It has happened for me while writing in the best of times. In my prose fiction and even in my print and tv news writing. And now the best sharing for me is when I let go and just share. Not all head about what I should share...I just pray for God (lately) to speak through me and let go. But truth be told I have only done that a couple of times. Other times it is a combination of figuring out what I will say and then getting lost in my share and somehwere in the sharing I stop trying to share the right share and am just speaking...some other voice or some other place. I want to add right here that with the sharing it took some time to figure out its importance to me and to the people in the rooms. (Amy S first told me that you have to "feel it to heal it" and so I started sharing and crying (lots of crying) because I didnt want that horrible nashing in my stomach. And somehow sharing whatever I was feeling let the twisted feeling come out. Here is what else I want to say. I learned when I was a tv news reporter not to open my mouth during an interview to talk about myself or to insert myself in any way. That I learned was the best way to screw up an interview. Lets say I was interviewing a CEO about his company. And if he said he was a lonely kid and then I said I was a lonely kid too it totally interrupted his chain of thought. I had no business interrupting by inserting myself. I guess thats why we share just keeping the focus on ourselves. So that everyone just listens as we speak and we all gain. Same thing with an interview. I just took the no speak too far. I never interrupted after a while but I thought I should never talk about myself because of the screwing up an interview. But that is so wrong. I now know I can help but only if I speak truly and honestly. Anything else I am wasting everyone's time.

compassion for myself and my character defects. if i am doing attention getting devices i need to have a little compassion for mself. recognize the defect (why i am acting out) like fear of abandonment and realize that i need to heal myself and help myself not get mad at myself. more i will write on this. (note to self)!

attention getting devices...

When I was a little kid my wonderful mother got very sick (breast cancer) and she died when I was 13 and my sister was 11. Dad and my sister and I died right along with her. It was horrible. I still feel that empty hopeless sadness. But at least my father adored me. He hated my little sister. Just hated her. So for Lynnie mom's death was probably triple horrendous. And after mom died there was just no one who paid attention to her. So she used to sit in the library on the couch with a scissors or a paper clip of just her finger nails and she used to gouge the couch pulling out the feathers and sometimes even the fabric of the white couch. When dad would come home from work and see her handiwork he used to yell at her and tell her that was an attention getting device. And he was very likely very correct in his diagnosis. He just didn't do the next right thing and do what he needed to do: give her some attention. and compassion. Some help. I mean imagine screaming at a little kid for being scared and sick. And needing you. I mean sure it wasnt cool to see his couch all torn up but it was a cry for help. So my recovery reminds me of this. All too often when my son say is to mean to me I start getting mad at him. And thinking I should distance myself from him so that I don't get attacked. But what I am learning is that even though it hurts to see him pluck out my heart feathers by being mean to me I need to look beyond the flying feathers of my ego and realize that he is hurting and that he needs my help or at least my compassion. I don't want to compound his sadness, his fear, his problems by hating him or at least not talking to him. I need to not only take care of myself but to go beyond my self. To pray for him. To send him love and understanding and quietly realize that if I am mean back I am only prolonging his agony and making it worse. If I write him a letter chastising him for being mean to me (as I at first thought of doing--yikes!) I am sending him the wrong kind of attention.

3 and a half years

My sober date is February 1, 2007. And I have no idea where to start here or even what I am trying to say. Its a little like sharing. Sometimes I raise my hand and just let it come out. When I am really on the beam I pray to God to talk through me and to let me be a channel. I have only done this maybe twice with complete sincerity. Most times I sit in meetings trying to figure out what I will say so that my shares will be the best shares ever and everyone will think I am brilliant and wonderful and they will learn from me and adore me. And then of course I don't hear a word anyone else says because I am so busy in my own head that I can't hear anyone else. What a loss! But somehow I have gone to enough meetings now and worked with my sponsor on the steps and shared and cried that slowly I am hearing things in meetings. There are even whole meetings where I just listen. And come away feeling better. For a long time the only way that I could come out of a meeting feeling better was when I shared. When I confessed to my sponsor what I was doing about sitting in meetings trying to create the perfect share she gave me a great tip. She told me to share first thing. Get it out of the way and then sit back and listen. So that's pretty much where I am today. I try to share first thing. And its not that I have anything that great to say or am any different than anyone else, I am just so grateful to be sober, alive and in AA working a great program (much of the time) that I thought I would write about what I do and keep track of what works and what doesnt for me and maybe someone else could chip in and give me other ways of thinking about things and who knows. But here it is. My handbook for recovering. One day at a time. And this is day one of the handbook. Lets see what happens.