I mean, the office.

We've got a dry drunk in the house, lately. Actually, two now, since my mind is now consumed with various speeches which all conclude: "In short, this is a war." So I'm not right either.

This Oxford house is well known for its stability, which reflects all of our commitment to working the 12 Steps. But I'm seething right now, and it feels unmanly to be mad at another man. You're supposed to knock said man out, not brood. Take his gun and use the handle to break his trigger fingers.

Something Rockford or Maverick.

"Meh". A little prayer for the brother, that he gets well. A prayer each day for how many days.

I never have had an enemy, unless you count the hell hath no fury sort of enemy.

It struck me when I became a Christian and was told to pray for my enemies. The thought made me laugh: life would be kinda funny with a real Enemy! Like Clousseau had enemies, like Peter Parker had enemies. Superman's enemy was Lex Luther. James Bond was Spectre (an acronym, I forget what it stands for, too tired to look it up.)

Twenty years ago, Zigzag and I decided to play enemies with bottle rockets. We'd stalk one another around town and try to get in a good shot without hitting any bystanders. Or, we'd play in his big back yard, where we set fire to a field one day with some smoke grenades.

It was all just as stimulating playing Enemy then, at age twenty, as it was when I was ten.
____
I remember once when Morton Downey had his infamous talk show in L.A. Once he got so mad at a guest he slugged him, or insulted his wife, or spat on him---I forget---and this made national news on local channels because what followed was so funny and so revealing. Downey proceeded to accuse his guest of doing the very same thing that he had just done in front of a million witnesses.

Really, it was that night's 10 o'clock news light, comic story, saved for last, and syndicated. Just such a perfect example of human nature gone haywire.

Not the hitting, the spitting, etc. but the man's delusion that those things had just happened to him.

That's what I'm facing here. A dry, crazy ass drunk, behaving like an immature 11 year old. He's in crisis. The likeihood of his relapsing is small, but possible, and I'd hate to see him go if he has to throw in the towel.

I don't know what's bothering him. I don't think anyone does. We're all sick, after all. And it's amazing there are so few problems like this.
____
Mostly such a lovely day again, and excuse me, best described as "ah, me".

Half a day at work, feeding the newspapers into the inserter, day-dreaming, waiting for the occasional appearance of that one office beauty everyone waits for. She always smiles. She walks the hundred yards to the little office and then walks back and maybe that's once a shift.

We have a man from Bosnia, I originally thought was deaf and dumb. He's in his 60's and simply hasn't learned much English. He knows how to get your attention though, yelling over the powerhouse clanging and bells, "BEAUTIFUL GIRL! BEAUTIFUL GIRL!!"

Ah, so. And we use sign language. Once I pointed to my left ring finger with a questioning look on my face. Meaning to convey "was she wearing a ring?"

"WHO CARES?" he shouted.

I made a fist and knocked at my heart and rolled my eyes, as if without hope.

He waved her away, conveying, I think, that there are many more, she's not so special.

But that was another girl who rarely appears. Our regular, she is married, and you just sort of love her from afar anyway, sort of enjoying the meaningless infatuation.
Glad to be alive.
___
Tomorrow I have my job interview, to move across the street from the factory to the office girls.

We'll see. Thanks for visiting.

post script: a spontaneous cook-out, we're all in the living room at 10:30, including a couple of luvlies from our orbit, having a good time. I feel much better. Also, The Prior taught me how to tie a full windsor.