Could it be that this program is only as difficult as I make it? Have I been using my insanity as an excuse for stunted growth?
Step 2: came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
The kick in the ass about sobriety is that now, my brain is always on. And it misses the dullard’s stare into the distance; the vacant passing of uninteresting time. After all the planning and scheming and lying and cheating and running and hiding, doesn’t my brain deserve a break? My alcoholism certainly thinks so.
Once my brain understood that there no longer was an escape pod, it freaked out, and continues to freak out. Not as intensely or as frequently as early on, but I can still recognize. It’s doing something about it before they congregate that’s the key. Enter the lazymind.
My brain wants to nap on a broken sofa in the middle of the afternoon. In an amber living room, old orange shag, yellow-stained shades pulled down halfway, windows open with busted screens. A glass ashtray big enough to double as a salsa bowl sits on a glass top coffee table. Dying ferns hanging from macramé bookend the console television. Muted game show. Is there a world going on outside? Who knows and who cares? I’m not drinking. No solicitors.
It’s all well and good to sit back and zone out on occasion. No one’s saying I have to be thinking about my thinking 24/7. It’s when I feel my big boat of a brain listing to one side or the other that I need to sit up and recalibrate. Icebergs ahead if I choose to turn into them.