Alcoholism is an emotional disease. I don’t mean it’s a disease that makes you cry, though that happens as well. I mean to say that it’s a disease that attacks my emotions and feelings. I know it’s officially called a thinking disease, but it seems that my emotions and feelings are arriving long before my brain; camping out for front row seats to the show.  Far too often I start my day with, “what’s wrong?”

The common response?  I’m tired.  But by the time I become what I’d consider awake, I’ve already spent a good hour or so marinating in a low-level broth of anger; resentful of the day ahead, and with it my responsibilities.

Step Eleven: sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.

Now, I’m not advocating popping out of bed, throwing wide the curtains and wishing the darkness a good morning, good morning, à la Debbie Reynolds (even though with me that’s totally possible:  I’m at 100 mph within five minutes of waking up). I, um… hold on.

Now that I’ve written and reread the above paragraph two or three times, why not pop up and take the world in a warm embrace?  Because it’s not my style?  Because being happy and awake in the morning isn’t cool?  Well, how cool was it when I’d kick off the day covered in urine?  Am I concerned that I’ll use up all my goodness for the day before anyone can see it?  I’ll start being pleasant once I’m around other people, is that the idea?  Though years of inability have proven otherwise, I still think I can flip a switch on my emotions.

Getting back to center tends to be a slow, arduous task.  Getting away from center tends to happens when I’m off on my own.  Today, pray for the willingness to be attentive.

Oh, and also:  the center doesn’t have to be bland.  Or boring.  Or the end of fun as I know it.  It just has to be the true me.

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