Each Day Deliberately

Murf gets home around 7 a.m. just as I'm doing my morning prayers, waiting for the coffee to brew and smoking my first, not unholy cigarette of the day. Sitting at the table of the basement kitchenette, watching the sun rise.

He may as well be from China, working the night shift. "Hello, John-John! See you have my coffee about ready. Thanks!" he says, passing down the hall to his room, where he sheds his fiberglass dusted clothes.

"You're welcome."

God, my first good deed of the day, thank you. So easy at first. Then he comes back and is cheerfully talkative, and subject oriented, thank goodness. Always something interesting to report. His catch phrase (I'd assign him) is "but you know what-".



Left turn. Right here. But you know what, we could turn around. They say it's a simple program but you know what.
*
He's a good man. I didn't know what to make of him at first, but learned quickly that he has a lot of friends. (If I'm mistaken in that, he should have. But he does.)

"John-John" he called me. I don't mind that, never have. Get to hear my name twice.

Then K.B. is up, slit eyed and stumbling after being up all night on the computer. But Murf wakes him up quick, just asking what's up. Then Charlie comes down and we're four of us gettting pretty loud, a range of subjects mostly alarming and mostly hilarious somehow. Everyone's always got something urgent to do, just to keep on track.

Charlie says apparently without irony, "you just do the next right thing, is all". But after ten minutes we realize he's trying his very best to speak in cliches only, and he's racking his brain. "90 meetings in 90 days, fellows."

"We'll love you, until you learn to love yourself." (Then what, I wonder.)

"Faith chases away fear."

"A drug is a drug."

"Live life on life's terms, dude. Is what I say. But I'm just a dumb painter, ex-con out of prison a few 24 hours."

It was the start of a day, and I'm learning how to fence them off and tell them apart now.

Wrote a letter to a friend, which I'm partly plagarizing myself here. Got in to work at the plant around 1 p.m., did my thing there for three hours, then walked across the street to apply for a programming job.

...Home, fixed up my resume too fast, almost disinterested...and then to a meeting at the Dead End Club. You enter through the back entrance to this building.



It's A.A. but sometimes over-stimulating. You can smoke, which is copacetic, but sometimes you want to go outside to smoke in the fresh air. It's crowded. No ventilation.

Fire-trap, too. I once noticed the tag on the cushion of my chair there. Never seen one like it before: it read something like, 'MATERIAL DOES NOT MEET FIRE-CODE REGULATIONS OF THE STATE OF CALIFORNIA'. Which may explain why it was here in Missouri.

I have a Love it or Leave it attitude toward the club. If I don't love it, I leave it. Every other week I'm fed up, and don't miss it since I'm going to meetings downtown also.

Here are the painful cases. Maybe some of them stopped too late, (if you can ever say that), maybe some use the club for "controlled drinking", when they've just run out of money.

But there are others too. Time flies here. We talk about life in such a way, usually with stories, hopefully with stories. There are those too who talk solely about what a great meeting we're having, or will have , or might have. (My least favorite subject at A.A. : A.A. How important it is to have these meetings!)

Shut the f__uck up, you've had your five minutes, now let someone else talk who has a story to tell, g*od-da_mnit!

I'm kidding about that picture. Actually The Cabaret is next door to our shack. I was going to take a picture of the club but how could I resist this?



Now the day in its completedness nnnnmnnm, closes. With pork chops, I hope. I bought 'em, K.B. may fix 'em. I wonder what tomorrow brings, besides a full day at work. If I am always doing the next right thing, there's not much to worry about, and plenty to hope for, so good night, or good morning, where ever/when ever you are.

-jackson