You change after a little sleep

Four of us sipping our sugar and cream with a dash of coffee, and smoking our holy smokes in the Frater this morning. It was just as we began to realize the sun would stay above the clouds. Cool, anemic day, livened a bit by the new greenery of the back fourty.

I pretend this is a monastic order.

We are only a group of seven men sharing a house so we can get on our feet after years of drug abuse or/prison/or hermitage. There are no rules (except for strict sobriety), no leaders but trusted servants, etc. It's Anarchism-A.A., a capital 'R' commune I suppose.

When I first moved in last December, the Prior was being ironic when, during the local morning news (we used to watch TV here), he'd announce we should have a meditation, reading, and discussion. It became regular though: this sort of half-joking, quasi A.A. meeting ("Hullo, my names Charley and I don't wanna go to f'ng work this morning, I pass").

Now we have these much more irregular meetings, spontaneous but more serious. Murf will read, we'll each say something if we've got something to say. This morning was memorable. It turns out that two of us dodged some bullets this last week.

We all consider this new life fragile, to be closely guarded. To "drug" (yeah, a verb now) or drink again, for us, is to choose to die. It may not be suicide, but it's a choice against life and life's menus. Insanity and despair will follow, and as we talk it's a very brief acknowlegment: "Man I'd lose everything."

This morning's started in the usual, unintended manner. Murf got home from the g-yard shift at his factory, which covers him in fiberglass. After the usual quick shedding and shower he came back in and The Prior had joined me. Then K.B. with his dark smuttering, growling and coughing.

At first, I only meant to ask a question about how to behave in a factory. Like, "factory etiquette'. Some asshat at my work has decided to make himself known recently, and it strikes me as a huge surprise that it's illegal to fight. Even if you agree to fight. I mean: "?"

I guess the question has just never come up for me until now. Adults. Fighting.

Not that I'm violent, or would really even dream of proposing a fist-duel, but when someone is riding you, and cruising for a bruising if you will, what are you supposed to do nowadays? File a grievence? Jasuz. Key the person's car? Do some stange "Iron John" dance from the 80's?

So, obviously I wasn't asking from a Recovery perspective. That's when the meeting started, I suppose. The Prior said what you do is go re-introduce yourself to the guy, tell him where you draw the line, and offer to start on a new footing.

Then the Prior concluded by saying "Hi, I'm Charlie" to me, and offering his hand to shake. Role playing, in his Chevy Chase ironic manner.

I shook it and said "Hi, I'm Tubby". It was rather hypnotic. "Just a kid on crack."

Last night I'd taken it out on one of the elders at the Dead End Club. You know, one of those fellows with twenty years sobriety, who reads a newspaper during the entire meeting and then gives a canned, ten minute long speech about his version of "How It Works".

He'd finished and I double dipped. There were a lot of newcomers to this particular meeting, I knew, getting their first, awful impression of A.A. (They bus these people in from detox centers, and I think the Club should be penciled off their itinerary. Hell, everyone thinks that.)

So, I wanted to add: "We also enjoy A.A. because it's a spiritual program and not religious. You can speak as you wish of course, but usually no one will push a particular religion or "higher power" on you. Also, usually no one will mischaracterize and attack someone else's religion."

That got some attention. My double-dipping directly followed the elder's canned ham, in which he'd sneered about "catholics, protestants,jews, methodists, what have you, and their god wanting to send me to hell...".

I went on: "Also, the "bottom line" is that early sobriety sucks for some people, not all people. Most blanket statements like that are false. My own early sobriety has been wonderful, especially since I started following the suggested steps."

This all sounds plain and uncontroversial.
But he always says, or yells, really, "EARLY SOBRIETY SUCKS! LIVE WITH IT,PEOPLE!"

I never addressed the man directly, and was merely giving my own perspective, I believe. It's my right to do so, and I believe what I said was 'right', too, of course. Alcoholics are always right. Deep down though...

On my way out, "Blue", an old biker who wants to be a cult leader, stopped me without getting up and told me to sit down. He wanted to have a little talk. I said nuh-uh.

"Come on son! Only a second!"

I sat down.

"John, do you really think you are going to change Dennis' mind about religion?"

"No. I wasn't talking to Dennis. I was talking to the newcomers."

"It's in the Big Book, John. Don't cross talk. Don't debate." (True? I'm not sure. Maybe he meant the "12 by 12".

"I wasn't talking to him." I said. "I didn't address him by name, didn't address him at all. I'll see you later."

I left so full of myself I may have been jive walking in the parking lot. I got home and called Moise and bragged about putting those f'ers in their place.

But this morning all I could see was Dennis' red face. It was red, and he had a queer, overly bright smile, either from anger or embarrassment. OR, it was from amazement that I'm so stoopid.

I felt completely different about the encounter now. Sick, in fact. And I remembered some looks I'd got from people, besides Blue. I'd probably hurt the man.

So I asked the fellows, if I do something "right", but with completely corrupt motives...?

It was unanimous. I owe some sort of amends, for my own good. Even if there isn't a wrong to be made 'right'.

My heart tells me I was wrong. I know I was looking for some target last night; I was there to pass along some hostility I'd picked up on the assembly line, is what it was.

Thanks for visiting. I know I keep promising less and less of this stuff. ...