Skip to main content

Not that kind of miracle!! XD

Since I've started with a new sponsor, we've started back at my first step. (Pretty typical) I don't mind it too much except that my homework assignment's been a bit frustrating. Not even sure why.

In the first step, you find that gift of desperation that motivates a truly honest and earnest program. At the least, it pins down just how bad and miserable we were before trying to work a program. So often we only remember & long for the good times. In short, it's the answer to "Why the fuck am I even doing this?".

So after a day of reflection, sponsor time, a meeting, and so on, my head was in a bit of a strange place Friday night. See, as I said I'd already been struggling with this first step, but then I struck on at least one very painful but very powerful summary of part of my first step. Then things got weird. And actually kinda funny, too.

I was on the escalator going into the Dupont Circle metro station. A song came on my iriver; one I associate very strongly with my Mani, exboyfriend. It basically describes & feels like everything that sucked about our post-breakup exing and the pain of our relationship itself.

A stray thought wandered into my forebrain: if I were still drinking or to go back out and drink again, I'd turn back into the person I was with him. Abusive. Manipulative. Inconsiderate. Reckless. Spiteful. Passive aggressive. I loved him, and still love him, but when we were together I hurt him very much, and just didn't care most of the time. What kind of person does that? Did I want to be that person--again? That was, literally, a sobering revelation for me.

And then I just couldn't shake it. The way that realization made me feel. The guilt. The burden of it. The first step can really fuck with a guy's serenity all on its own--turning stones you hadn't noticed or thought about in years--and this just added to it. As my train pulled into the station, I half prayed something to the effect of, "Help me to forgive myself, help me get through this with patience and gratitude..." Something like that.

As I sat on the train still listening to my iriver, some innocent foolishness from earlier in the evening began kicking in with its consequences. See, I'd had a large coffee with my sponsor, three glasses of water at dinner with friends, and then a small coffee while I thought on my first step and waited for my train. In short, I had to pee. And I had to pee bad.

I hate having to pee--by which I mean that full-bladder-feeling. I'm not sure if I have a small bladder or a low tolerance, but it drives me up a wall. So here I'm on a train, with a very full bladder, and no clear plan how to empty it.

I had about 30 some minutes in front of me to get from Dupont Circle to Wheaton, and then walk over to the mall (maybe it would still be open...?) to get my bike and bike home for 20 minutes.... Waiting didn't seem like too good an option.

I tried sitting in every position I could. But still that hot, urging pressure. It got so bad I was nearly sick to my stomach--a sensation that only worsened the situation. I started going through station layouts in my head, seeing if I remembered anywhere they might have a bathroom hidden away. I also weighed the needs of other customers--it seemed likely that high volume stations would likely have bathrooms.

At this time of night, the trains were only running every 20 minutes. I was hesitant to get off at a station and ask if it had a bathroom--nevermind where or if I could even use it--because I'd have to wait about 20 minutes for another train if I guessed wrong. I considered any contingencies I could expect to be available--Silver Spring was practically on top of a Starbucks (but would it still be open...?) and Fort Totten would probably have some bushes outside....

Meanwhile, I tried breathing exercises, prayer, meditation. Sitting this way, then that way, or with this leg like that. It only got worse. It was almost dizzying. Dude, it was bad. Really really bad.

Finally I hopped off at Silver Spring. It doubles as an Amtrak station and there was the chance of a Starbucks, too...I didn't think I could walk too much farther if I was wrong, but goddamnit I wasn't gonna make it home otherwise.

They had a bathroom. One that didn't even need to be unlocked--less waiting!--and plenty of available toilets. I ran over, whipped out, let loose, and sighed sweet relief/release. I peed for at least a minute solid.

And then it occurred to me. I hadn't thought once about Mani or exing or feeling shitty for at least 30 minutes. I'd been completely distracted by my bladder. I'd broken the rumination trap.... Well, I hadn't done anything--except drunk waaaay too much coffee and water, and prayed....

Was this supposed to be some kind of spiritual experience?! I honestly don't know, and don't really care, but it made me laugh. The whole experience, whatever it was, reminded me not to take myself so seriously--certainly not too seriously. I'm only a man. I've fucked up plenty in my lifetime, sure, but life isn't so severe as to be totally hopeless.

As the Doctor likes to say--"Where there's life, there's hope.".


Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Rocky Horror - Better than Glee.

You know, I've routinely refused to watch Glee. Like whoa. I've seen bits, it's amusing, but not my thing. Plus how can I be a properly pretentions intellectual fag if I don't look down on & snub snobbily some ragingly popular thing?? It's just not proper decorum, really.

I'm also in a Rocky Horror Picture Show shadowcast (website in progress, but that's us :)). Naturally, they were all excited about that Glee episode when they first heard about it; I on the other hand gave a pained smile and said "Isn't that special. I'm still not watching it."

Part of me's pretty glad I didn't, frankly. (hah! get it? like Tim Curry.)

A Valentine's Special.

Yeah, I'm one of those guys who's never really been with someone around Valentine's. I am sometimes baffled how other people manage these things--and why I can't. To be fair, it's probably as much my not trying enough and trying too hard as it is anything pariticularly wrong with me. Like, I know I don't get myself out there enough to meet guys and when I do it's probably compensatory and usually flawed from the start.

The other question is--why does it matter so much to me? Evidently it seems like something I want but something I'm scared of, too. It may also be something I'm just not very good at. I'm secretly timid and fearful of most confrontation and directness. For all my communication skills, I always seem to chicken out when it comes to talking to guys in a healthy, sustaining way. I'm a dreamer who wants something nice badly enough to stick to something for the concept of having it more than the reality of dealing with it; I want to…