The manicurist at the meeting sits and does her nails; the discussion goes on around her as she files away. Cell phones go off for the people who can’t put their lives on hold for their sobriety. The knitter knits and the dissenters descend; with the chatting chickens and the grumbling grouse, all these populate the meeting. It has taken the first half of the hour to take everyone else’s inventory. I have the remaining 30 to take my own.
Let your evenings reflect your mornings like the sea reflects the sky.
The trouble with not burying my dead issues
is that in very short order they begin to smell
and not, too long after that they start to attract vultures.
When I am able to drain all the juice out of these botherations
and they become freeze-dried decorations
like Roy Rodger’s Trigger,
I find that I can still climb aboard
but they just don’t take me anywhere.
I have found, just for me,
that I prefer visiting the grave of a past problem
far better than having to live with its corpse,
but then I am funny like that.
I have never been one for hanging on to crucifixion,
other’s or my own.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault