January 9
Crestfallen
“Whoa is me, I have crested the rise only to slide down the
other side. Hard work and determination
culminated in victory but alas it was short lived. Success is barely meaningful if it is
permanent. Poor, poor dear, I will have
to strive once more at the face of a new challenge or even worse might have to
make another run at this one. How shall
I ever bear it?” I lament, my sponsor smiles.
“Are you learning to be amused at yourself or hoping to
bring back melodrama to the everyman?”
She queries.
“A little of both I think, whining is a consolation to me,”
I reply.
“It’s nice that you’re not doing it at me, but even nicer
that you have let your achievements teach you to laugh at your mishaps,” says
my sponsor with a kiss to my forehead.
Butter both sides of your intentions
*
BREAKING MY OWN GLASS
The police of a small town caught a serial glass breaker today.
The man who owned a plate glass repair shop
Was breaking store front windows.
I break my own.
I go through my life, I slash my own tires
And break my own glass.
I fear continuity, stability, success.
I love damage control, making arts and craft from my slivers and shards
"Think what you could do with undamaged goods." Says my sponsor
I don't know how to do anything with undamaged goods
Except damage them or give them to others.
"Saddest thing I've ever heard." she counters
I can make a quilt from discarded clothes, mosaics from shattered dishes
A collage from junk mail and rescue every stray on the block,
See the potential in every person in a crowded hall
And hold your hand and cheer you on.
"What have you done for you lately?" my sponsor taunts
She is making my point, what can I do for me?
Search and destroy?
Live outside myself?
I have to be sober to be me, I can't go around making a mess
Just so I have something familiar to wallow in.
What if I can't do anything fresh?
"Learn to market the retreads.' she says
The police of a small town caught a serial glass breaker today.
The man who owned a plate glass repair shop
Was breaking store front windows.
I break my own.
I go through my life, I slash my own tires
And break my own glass.
I fear continuity, stability, success.
I love damage control, making arts and craft from my slivers and shards
"Think what you could do with undamaged goods." Says my sponsor
I don't know how to do anything with undamaged goods
Except damage them or give them to others.
"Saddest thing I've ever heard." she counters
I can make a quilt from discarded clothes, mosaics from shattered dishes
A collage from junk mail and rescue every stray on the block,
See the potential in every person in a crowded hall
And hold your hand and cheer you on.
"What have you done for you lately?" my sponsor taunts
She is making my point, what can I do for me?
Search and destroy?
Live outside myself?
I have to be sober to be me, I can't go around making a mess
Just so I have something familiar to wallow in.
What if I can't do anything fresh?
"Learn to market the retreads.' she says
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to
Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault
