Charge – Public Urination

I don’t talk much about recovery on this blog. There are so many theories around addiction, around recovery that I’d rather not wade in with opinions on what process is right or the best. What works for me works for me. If you are one of those with an opinion for or against 12 step recovery, spirituality, I’m interested in it but I’m not going to defend or justify what works for me.

 oops

I grew up in Cape Breton at a time when otherness of any sort was not easy. I as neither a conformist nor even a loud nonconformist. Fear ruled my life, which was why I wasn’t so loud, I guess. To deal with it I drank, to make friends I drank, to make it with some of my friends, we drank. Alcohol quickly ruled my life – I wrote about it, wrote while drinking, read books by drunks (A Fan’s Notes anybody?) Didn’t trust people who wouldn’t drink. You get the picture.

 I hid a bottle back here somewhere

When I moved to Toronto 1978 I ended up in AA (long story about how that happened may turn up here eventually). There was a strong gay presence in AA when I arrived which made it easier to stick. I kept coming back, & still do keep coming back.

 I see snakes, everywhere

It took a few years of being sober before I was able to clearly see how much of a drunk I had become – I say drunk because ‘alcoholic’ bring a certain clinical detachment to what I mess I had become. I listened at the meetings I went I saw that my emotional patterns/rationalizations were the same as people whose lives & drinking experiences were totally different from mine – let’s face it a tattoo is a tattoo regardless of the body it is on.

Male – White – 27

Charge – Public Urination

our plan was to have a last draft

but when one of my buds made a joke

about the country-western song just ending

I started to cover my laugh

with the hand

that was bringing the glass

to my eager lips

the jerking

jolt flung the sweet amber suds

into a perfect arc over my shoulder

the sweat slippery glass darted

from my loose grip

O for a photo of that glorious

go-for-the-gold momentum

beer escaping with glass chasing after it

me turning in my seat

eyes agog   mouth agape

stunned amazement

at

the

slow

motion

ballet

I didn’t realized how much energy

I had in my arm

to lift with such ballistic force

that the joke was so freaking funny

to give an extra dash of dynamic energy

the beer flew    spread    lost perfection

splattered wetly on the table behind us

splashed on food    faces

there was a dismayed shriek

anger   fucking assholes

the glass came tumbling after

hitting someone on the shoulder

bouncing  smashing on the table

I was no longer laughing

no one was laughing

my chair tipped as I stood

it fell in the path of

the bearded biker guy whose girlfriend

got the beer wave in her food

his furious fists punched empty air

as he stumbled over the chair

next thing I knew

my buds and I were outside

in a bitter ten-below-zero wind

I was pissing a steaming amber arc

on a car door handle

while one of my buds was up chucking

a police cruiser pulled over

I turned to get out of the way

slipped in vomit

spun in an imperfect circle

tumbled ass-over-tea-kettle

landed on my back

in a snow bank under a street lamp

fly down   limp dick chillin’

boys in blue hauled me to my feet

and that’s one of the many many reasons

I now chose not to drink

 chillin’