I'm coming up on a birthday and a sober anniversary, so here's some more valuable stuff I have learned:
We go through a lot of pain to avoid a little discomfort.
Life is lived forward and understood backward.
I don’t suffer from low self-esteem. I suffer from high self-involvement.
In any given situation, I can act like a child and avoid responsibility, act like a parent giving unwanted advice, or act like an adult and accept what’s mine.
Trying is failing with honor.
It’s not my problems I’m afraid of, it’s my solutions.
Reality is a shared perception of what may be.
I love the way things should be.
Forgiveness is admitting you have not robbed me of the peace of God.
Glance at the past, don’t stare at it.
Most of us only know anxiety, excitement and depression.
I am an addiction in search of a substance.
Everything is fine. I’m not.
No one ever treated me as bad as I treated myself.
If you’re bothered by old behavior, it’s not old behavior—it’s new behavior.
It’s “ready aim fire,” not “fire ready aim.”
Just because I don’t feel good doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong
My life changes without my permission
So think about all that... There's no garantee it will better your life, but it will start you thinking.
Here's installment 67 of Wasted Miracles:
Chapter 17
“Goddamit!” The blonde girl yelled, slamming the door of the cabin shut. It made a hollow metallic sound that seemed to ring for a moment before being swallowed by the steady thrumming of the ships’ engine.
“You promised!”
The brunette turned, a set stubborn look on her face. “I wasn’t going to take anything. I wanted to look. Wanted to see what it was.”
“Sure.”
The silence hung between them.
The blonde wore a brief bathrobe over a one-piece turquoise bathing suit. Her hair was damp, hung in streaks. The brunette was in bras and panties. A pair of shorts and a bright yellow T-shirt that read “I ¤ Barbados” were laid out on the bunk before her.
The blonde took the bundle that was wrapped in brown paper and sealed in a CVS Drug Store bag, inspected it closely.
The brunette looked sullen. “I told you. I didn’t touch anything. I just wanted to look.”
“Look, my ass...” She turned the bundle this way and that. “Fuckin addict. I should have known better. Jesus, how stupid could I get, try to trust someone with a habit.”
The brunette’s voice flared. “I haven’t used in almost a year! You know that! I wanted to look!”
The blonde took a deep breath, held it. “You wanted to look. And what would that get you, looking? Gonna feel better if you look?”
“You never told me what was in there.”
“You couldn’t guess? You think someone’s gonna give us ten grand to cart a box of donuts half way round the world?”
“You never told me!”
The blonde sighed. “Give me a break.”
“You didn’t trust me.”
The blonde took a tote bag from the top shelf of the cabin’s small closet, placed the bundle in it, zipped up the bag, dropped it on the bunk.
“I thought we went through all that before, didn’t we? Didn’t I tell you that it was easier that way, something happens, you don’t know what it was, didn’t even know it was there. I was trying to protect you. Jesus!”
The brunette’s voice lost its edge, turned soft. “I forgot.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I wouldn’t use. I’m through with that. I wouldn’t do that to you. Or to me.”
The blonde nodded. “Right. That’s what you said.”
“I meant it.”
The blonde took the bag, put it into the closet, draped a towel over it. “Just leave it alone, OK? Trust me. Just a little while longer.”
The brunette shrugged. “I know what it is, you know. I’m not stupid.”
“Never said you were.”
“Bolivian marching powder.” She giggled. “Lots of it.”
“That’s a good guess.”
“I’m right. I just know I am.”
The blonde shrugged again. “Does it matter? Ten thousand. Like I said, it’s not donuts.”
The brunette slipped into her shorts, pulled the T-shirt over her head. “I guess it doesn’t. Matter, I mean. What do I know. Maybe it is donuts.”
“Keep that thought,” the blonde answered. “Very, very expensive donuts.”
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