A Haunting Memory

Children sometimes say awful things to their parents while they are growing up. I certainly did. I regret a lot of my behavior over the past decade but only a few things weigh on me still.

Thanksgiving weekend 2003 I went out with some high school friends on Saturday night. We went to some apartment, I can't remember whose, an acquaintance of a friend, it was questionable. I played "never-have-I-ever" for the first time and we all got very drunk.

I made it home around 3am. I stumbled inside, fell up the stairs, and eventually made it into my room. The world was spinning. A short time passed which felt like a long time. I dragged myself over to my Chicago Bears trash can and threw up. At some point during my retching my mother opened my bedroom door. She asked "Steve...are you all right?"

I looked up at her- my eyes watering, body shaking, head hovering over the sick filled Chicago Bears receptacle- and replied gruffly "Shut. The Fucking. Door." And she did. It may be the moment I regret most in my entire life.

The next morning my father came into my room. Early. He asked "Did you puke in here?" and I cannot describe the scorn and disgust which my father injected into the word puke. I lied. "No." He looked at the Chicago Bears garbage can, picked it up, got a whiff of it, muttered "Jesus Fucking Christ" and walked out closing the door.

Shortly after I got up my friend Drew picked me up and we drove back to college. I don't think my parents and I ever discussed this particular event.

There were many similar events to follow which garnered much trouble, worry, and discussion. My parents have always supported me, loved me unconditionally, and endevored to help me. They never gave up on me, they never cut me out. I am grateful for them and sometimes astonished by the patience and restraint they showed.

Now I'm in a position to be truly loving, caring, and open with my parents. It's a gift. I can be there for them the way they have always been there for me. 

My folks July 2012 a week before they, along with my sister, helped me get some help.

Philip Seymour Hoffman: A Reminder

Whenever drugs or alcohol take a life it is tragic. There is nothing selfish or weak about the struggle with addiction. Some people are born with a genetic disposition for excess, a gift for boundless consumption, often augmented by psychology. It is a struggle. A desperate, lonely, painful, guilt-ridden struggle. It requires constant vigilance and support. Frequently you have to ask for help. Sometimes you get tired of fighting. I know what it is, I've been there.

The passing of Philip Seymour Hoffman is lamentable but he leaves behind 20 years of incredible work as an artist. He has an uncompromising legacy. He will be remembered.

His death does not surprise me. It is a mantra of those in recovery that taking that first drug or that first drink has only two potential outcomes: jail or death. Relapse is common and perpetually lurking. Addiction is insidious. Drunk, high, or sober it gains strength. Any sober alcoholic or drug addict is days, minutes, even seconds away from total ruin. Myself included. It is a precarious place but with diligence, care, and compassion a sober life can be a rewarding life if never an easy one. I proffer no judgement on the late actor I'm trying to elucidate the tenuous position he and other people with addiction are in.

I do not know the circumstances of Hoffman's death but I would bet it was not some huge event but something small that drove the actor back to excessive drug use. Maybe he saw an advertisement for an alcohol he never tried. Maybe he watched the heroin scene in Pulp Fiction. Maybe he was worn down by the cold and cooped up and bored. Whatever it was I bet it was small. A fleeting moment. A brief craving. A passing trigger. And for that moment his cunning addiction had been lying in wait. One moment was all it took.

I hope his death opens peoples eyes about addiction. How serious it is and how many people need help. There's still a stigma with addiction- that its a matter of will power, that its not an actual disease, etc. Regardless of what you call it or how you classify it addiction is fatal. And these fatalities are avoidable.

I take it personal. That could be me, not that I could be a lauded movie star with an Oscar, but I could be dead. Rich/poor famous/unknown addiction does not discriminate. I would not receive accolades or retrospectives but I might warrant a headline like "Local Comedian Found Dead, Alcohol Related".

For those in recovery this is a reminder. Death is close.

Graffiti 115

I started smoking three years ago when I first tried to get sober. The old substitution method. I kept on and now in my recovery I cling to it in a way, the only vice I have left. I want and hope to quit at some point. But not now. I'm not willing to give it up. Not yet.

"Coffee and smoking are the last great addictions." -Lara Flynn Boyle

"So smoking is the perfect way to commit suicide without actually dying. I smoke because it's bad, it's really simple." -Damian Hirst

"Every citizen who stops smoking, or loses a few pounds, or starts managing his chronic disease with real diligence, is caulking a crack for the benefit of us all." -Mitch Daniels

Balance

Recently when people have asked me how I am I've said "I'm happier than I've ever been." And it's the truth. Now life isn't all ups, I haven't become wildly successful and I still have credit card debt. But I've discovered that happiness is closer to contentment than constant elation. There are periodic victories and moments of great joy but mostly things are simply good and I've found a great deal of satisfaction in that.

Everything stems from my sobriety. It's the linchpin. With my illness neutralized(with vigilance) I can pour energy, previously focused on self-destruction and basic survival, into those things that interest me and bring me joy. I can be a good friend, a good family member, a good boyfriend. I can conceive and execute my creative ideas with confidence and precision. I can see all the movies I want to see.

Happiness isn't about doing amazing things(parasailing), visiting exotic locations, or eating decadent foods- though it can be part of it- its about balance. Putting energy into and being fulfilled by different aspects of your life- work, friends, family, hobbies, romance. Finding that sweet spot where you're freely giving and freely getting. Focus too much on one thing and the scale starts to shift.

I am very much in love. Nicole has filled out my life and opened my eyes to how an honest relationship can work. Being with her I've learned the value of compromise, to look at it as a furtherance rather than a hindrance. There is very little effort involved but a lot of communication. We don't talk constantly, we don't hang out all the time, we don't define ourselves by each other. We make each other a priority and we relish the time we spend together. We don't let our relationship get in the way of friendships or creative endeavors and we don't let friendships or creative endeavors get in the way of our relationship.

Needless to say Nicole is a major reason why I'm happy. So is my sister's upcoming wedding. So is Bubble Boys season 2. So is Deep Schwa. So is coaching again. So is planning vacations for the spring and summer.

Work is boring and can be draining. I don't make enough time to call my family. I make mistakes. I feel guilt and anxiety. I'm not perfect.

In short: I'm human. And so are you.

Introspection

I've been a little worn out lately. Not sleeping right, constantly on the go. It takes its toll. Some people thrive on a busy schedule I have to temper mine with moments of solitude. Quiet time where I can reflect and recharge. Find the balance.

The moon helps.

We All Owe A Death

Stephen King's Dark Tower series is one of my favorites, I just finished reading it again. One of the lines is "we all owe a death", it's a line King has used in a couple of his books, a version of the line originally from Hamlet. It always struck me and strikes me still.

I don't think about death often. I don't fantasize about it, I don't fear it. But I suffer no illusions regarding it's inevitability. I was given a gift, life, by some entity more powerful and knowing then I will ever be. A fleeting thought passing through some cosmic creature. And to that entity a debt is owed, the price of life is death.

Sitting on the train finishing one of my favorite books I read the line and sat back and reflected. If I died today I could accept it. Not because I desire it but because I am content and happy. For the first time in a long time I've been living well, have been of service, have been finding joy in things little and large, have been freely expressing love and receiving it from friends, family, and Nicole. There would be nothing I wish I would have said, no regrets to weigh me down. I would want more and be saddened by the snuffing of my little flame but bitter- no. I am grateful for my days, each and every one.

After years of misery and addiction I'm learning how to live. I look to the future with hope and nothing more.

The Numbers For 2013

For the first time since 1999 I went 365 days without a drink.

I made 1 major purchase, a Honda VTX motorcycle.

I went on 1 vacation to Richmond, VA.

I saw 88 movies in the theater.

I went through 1 breakup.

Deep Schwa had 51 shows.

Prime had 46 shows.

The Night Shift had 23 shows.

Rick had 9 shows and was cut.

The Hague was formed and had 18 shows.

I created 1 character: Pastor Dirk Deadman.

I did 2 auditions.

I got 1 callback.

I read around 40 books, my favorite of which was The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman.

We rebooted Groh Show and released 4 episodes.

Tisher, Tim and I released 10 episodes of Bubble Boys comprising Season 1.

We recorded 6 episodes of Bubble Boys Season 2, yet to be released.

I made two collages.

Beanpole and I collaborated on 1 project.

I played 2 games of chess, both I lost.

I went to 1 concert.

I went to 0 plays.

I went to 0 weddings.

I went to 0 funerals

I fell in love, once.

Pinocchio

After the credits rolled I imagine Pinocchio had it rough.

He was a wooden puppet animated by magic and all of a sudden he's a real boy. He has no idea what feelings are or how to deal with them. Never felt love or fear or disappointment. Never felt heartbreak or loneliness. Never been in danger or injured. And one day he wakes up and humanity comes rushing in. He's left woefully unprepared. Out of his depth.

I drank a lot for a long time. I kept things muffled. I didn't develop the ability to feel my emotions and deal with them. They were buried, camouflaged, muted. I avoided honesty, tried to make myself incapable of it. I was crippled in a way, unable to communicate or articulate. I was like Pinocchio. I could walk and talk like a real boy but there was something off, something missing.

Sobriety has been a gift, eye-opening and life-changing, for which I'm grateful for every day. But it's not always easy and at times can be raw. I'm like Pinocchio, I woke up one morning and was flooded with situations and emotions I had never experienced before. I woke up present in my own life for the first time. How do you process anger or regret? Joy or longing? How do you feel it? I didn't know.

Getting sober is a transformative experience not less fantastic or magical than Pinocchio being gifted with mortality. I learn every day. I feel every day. There are ups, there are downs, and for the most part they even themselves out. I'm learning to ride the wave not fight it. I may be behind but there is room and time for growth.

Once he became a boy, a real live boy, I imagine Pinocchio felt like he had a lot of catching up to do. And I imagine he discovered what I have. Time is a great equalizer.

Stark Reminders

In recovery I've become hyper-sensitive to certain things. Mostly drinking and drug talk. Before the show yesterday someone said to themselves a couple times "I really want a drink". After the show I was heading out and someone was saying to me repeatedly "I just want to do drugs! I just want to do drugs and dance!" Which is all fine. I don't mind that kind of talk(although its somewhat startling and unpleasant) and I realize that its a reflection of behaviors some people are capable of engaging in without consequence. But those kinds of statements are flares to someone with my particular condition. Bright, hot words that demand focus and bring back memories. It's a good reminder for me, it keeps my own personal reality at the forefront.

Tonight Nicole and I went to Ryan's birthday/housewarming party. It was the first party-party I'd been to in a long while and I had a certain amount of trepidation about it. The attitudes, the environment, and the vibe felt very familiar, very conducive to the get-fucked-up-now mentality I used to have. Not to say people were out of control, but just a fun atmosphere that if someone were to get out of control no one would make a big deal of it. Being clearheaded at a party requires a different type of rhythm but once I found it I had a good time. Seeing people around me imbibing with varying degrees of restraint was bizarre. Not bad, just odd. We left at the perfect time, when a lot of people were showing up. A must for me in that type of circumstance is to keep my exposure limited.

I've found myself in a number of conversations recently where people start discussing and describing the taste of different beers. Stout vs. lager, pumpkin ale vs. pumpkin spice, fall seasonal home brew vs. micro brew specialty mint holiday whatever. Blah, blah, blah. It's not that I don't get it- beer and brewing are big hobbies for a lot of folks. But for me its unsettling. It's like seeing an ex-lover you had a falling out with- unexpected, awkward, distasteful.

These instances and my reactions to them were fleeting, echoes from my other life.  I am grateful for these brief discomforts. I am reminded of who I am and who I am becoming.

The Gift

My dad always called alcoholism "the gift" when he referred to it within the family. A couple people in my family have the gift, myself included- with extra paper, ribbons, and a personalized note.

When I was young I thought it was a positive. My dad use to say we were blessed with a boundless capacity. A seemingly insatiable appetite to imbibe. I was a hit at parties in college, I could drink more and longer than anyone I knew. I would do just about any crazy thing that came into my head, I drank beyond reason, and that was fun and exciting. Time passed , things changed.

Things started to go bad gradually-a missed day of work here, a familial disappointment there- then gained momentum. Like gravity. At first keeping a job was a struggle then an impossibility. Friendships started becoming difficult, they'd fade, then vanish. Relationships were on a collision course with emotional turmoil from the very beginning. When my life was desperate and sour and the walls were closing in I realized. Ah-ha. My dad was being ironic. The gift was a disability, the blessing-a curse. Time passed, eventually I got help.

As a sober person I've discovered my defining flaw is a gift. I wrecked my life so completely I had to put it all together again, take stock, hit bottom so thoroughly I had to start from square one and there was no where to go but up. A lot of people have problems, sometimes those problems are mild or manageable so people live with them. They never have to take a searching look at who they are or how they act because their lives aren't in total shambles. I'm grateful for my disease because it's gotten me to where I am. If it hadn't been so bad, so painful, so destructive I wouldn't have done any work on myself, wouldn't have done what was necessary to attempt to lead a healthier, happier life. Sometimes harmony can only come from catastrophe.

The meaning I derive from my dad's pet name for my particular affliction will continue to evolve. But right now I take it at face value.

Year One

7/28/12- I woke up on the floor of my apartment. 7:37am. There's flecks of broken glass scattered across the floor from a picture frame I've punched. There's a shotgun blast of cuts on my right hand. I don't have a headache yet. I have the premonition of a headache. I'm mucky swamp gas water trapped in a rubber glove. I lurch up to the sink and retch void. I take a swig out of a mostly empty Bacardi Superior 5th and wash the liquor and the gag following on its heels down with water straight from the tap. I gasp and repeat.

That was my last drink. I'm not naive or cocky enough to say it will be my last drink ever but I hope it is. I plan on it being.

A lot of things have come full circle this year. I'm single again but this time with significantly less despair and significantly more hope. I had a Second City callback this afternoon for the first time after a couple disastrous attempts. Groh Show has started recording again. I have a line on a new motorcycle, last year at this time my old bike gave up the ghosts. Life feels rich.

We need rituals. Something to pass and mark the time. Something to acknowledge the uniqueness, the shine of a given moment.

I harvested my cherry tomatoes, eight in total, and sat on the roof. I ate them slowly savoring each one. Bright and crisp and clean. And gave thanks to those disembodied spirits looking out for yours truly.

I am alive.

Schwa In Ties

Deep Schwa summer of 2013 

unpictured: Allison Yolo, Colleen Doyle, Tim Stoltenberg, Joe Canale

Unbeknownst to me all the members of Schwa wore ties tonight. I almost always wear a tie but I was rushing out of the house in the afternoon and forgot one. We took this picture, probably Schwa's first actual group photo in 5+ years. As it turned out everyone wore ties for me in solidarity and celebration of my one year anniversary of sobriety. 

The team got me a card and Susie made me a face cake which is her latest obsession. It had blueberries and was delicious. Susie also contacted Tisher, Jimmy, and Eli to come celebrate with us. It was a little strange. Sobriety and my personal struggle with it aren't something that I really talk about a ton outside of my closest friends and addiction in general is something that can be viewed as embarrassing. Even so it was very moving, I was very touched, and I felt the love and support from of my friends and teammates. Quiet frankly I was shocked by the time and effort Susie put into it, making the night special for me, it's something I will never forget and may never be able to pay her back for.

This past year has been great. Maybe one of the best of my life filled with struggle and growth. An essential part of that year has been Sunday nights with Schwa. It was great to be able to let the team in a little bit on that other part of my life and feel their encouragement.

Street Talk 14

I'm riding my bike on the sidewalk the one block from house to Montrose where I'll get on the street. Up ahead is a woman with a 2 year old boy. He's weaving all around the sidewalk awkwardly walking and delighting in it. I smile and hop over to the grass to ride past them and give them the whole sidewalk to maneuver on. The kid stumbles and sits down when I'm about 10 feet away, it's clear he has not seen me or processed my presence, he stumbled over his own feet. As I pass.

Woman: Gee onm thhh fffeeerr rrrrraaa. diii ssss a chiiiii.

She's not mumbling she's just not talking loudly, I thinking she's talking to the kid and I smile at them. It takes me about 10 seconds and 50 feet to process that she actually said "Get on the fucking road. This is a child." At first I'm hit with a cold bucket of shame. I should have stopped and walked the bike. I didn't mean to frighten her and I clearly didn't frighten the kid. Wish she would have known that I was in total control and I thought I was more than far enough away. I think of going back to apologize.

Then I'm hit with a wave of rage. Who the fuck does this lady think she is? I was six feet away from her and her kid. Does she think she owns the sidewalk? Where does she think she's living? This is Chicago, the big fucking City, if you want your kid to have a bubble of safety around him move out to fucking Winnetka. Not only that, this is Uptown off the Wilson Redline stop, not a consummate neighborhood for safety. I think of going back and asking her to repeat herself, think of intimidating her, telling her to move, asking her if she's got a problem and then letting her know I'm her fucking problem.

Needless to say I don't do either. I realize, while she was saying it, all I did was pleasantly smile at her. That's the appropriate reaction, most likely her overprotective mothering instincts just flared up or she had a bad day or she's going through a divorce or break up or she's hungry or she's tired. Whatever it is it's not me and I have no control over it. I look at the shame and the rage and the different hypotheticals, I realize their utter uselessness, take a deep breath and let them go out into the ether.

I continue riding my bike to meet Tisher where we will in the near future share a small plate of extremely sloppy yet delicious lobster stuffed deviled eggs.

Imprisonment

My biggest fear is jail time.
Not the inmates or the institution or the showers.
The spacial confinement.
When I was a child I was afraid of being locked into things.
Closets, rooms, haunted houses, roller coaster cars.
I had panic attacks whenever I was playfully smothered.
Or held down or had my arms pinned.
I took no pleasure in play wrestling or being tickled.
Overt restriction of any kind terrified me.
As I grew older this fear expanded.
I became afraid of crowded places.
Places I had never been.
Unknown social situations.
Over the years I had run ins with the law.
An enclosed cell became my jittery, trembling, sweat-soaked nightmare.
There came a point last year when I was confined.
My worst fears realized.
And my mind rattled in it's cage.
And fought and clawed against reality.
And when I was ready to give up, give in, something changed.
Shifted. Realigned. Opened up.
My surroundings were a reflection of my self.
I was restricted by my addiction.
Any exercise of my will was hollow.
Acting out for no other reason than to divert attention.
I wasn't free, I was fleeing.
Of course I was afraid of prison, I was constantly on the run.
From responsibilities, from consequences, from emotions, from anything I could out distance.
I got a glimpse of what being free was.
Comfort in my own skin. Ease. Peace.
Ultimately I discovered everything that is outside is uncontrollable. People, places, situations.
I can control myself and my reactions.
With an honest look at who I am, what I want, and how I act I can put my feet on the path of being truly free. Freedom within myself regardless of my situation or geography.

Now I rarely think of jail or cells or locked things. And I'm farther away from them than I've ever been. Only the ghost of my past fear remains.

Slowly dissipating.

Truth Will Out

I'm a proficient liar. As a product of being raised by two lawyers and some unfortunate habits I developed growing up I became very good at misdirection, omission, and untruth. I became interested in acting and performing when I was young and that also enhanced my abilities for interpersonal deception. The key to a good lie is three fold.

1. Believe It- You have to summon up the same kind of ease you have when telling something that's true. There's a little switch in your brain you can flip to make yourself believe, on a very basic superficial level, something false is true for a short time in order to deceive someone.

2. Elements of Truth-  If your story or deception has elements of truth in it it will be easier to tell. Out-and-out lies are difficult to tell because of all the unknown variables, but lies with parts of truth will make the lies sound true.

3. Simplicity- The more complex the lie or deception the easier it is to identify as an untruth. Keep things simple, the simplest explanations are usually the correct ones, most everyone operates on this basic reasoning, so something simple will not set off any flags but something elaborate will invite scrutiny.

I don't advocate lying and I'm not proud of having done it or the time I spent analyzing its application. I list this information here to give some credence to my experience with it and my subsequent change of heart.

For the past couple years I've tried to analyze my own behavior and be more truthful. In the past year I've tried not to lie at all and have been moderately successful. The reason being I discovered how pointless, selfish, and harmful it is.

In order to be happy you need to have relationships, romantic and otherwise, you need to have friends and family that love and support you and that you love and support in turn. Those relationships, those connections, are two way streets, they are partnerships, and are built on a level of trust. Lying and deceiving your loved ones degrades that bond, breaks it down, until you are left with shallow connections or no connections at all. Loneliness is a toxic thing, it breeds desperation and dangerous behavior. They way to combat that is simply to be honest. It may be hard at times to express yourself, it may be a challenge, but in the end expressing yourself and having your needs known and listening to the needs of others strengthens your relationships as well as your well being. If you have honest fruitful relationships you will be happy and balanced. Not all the time of course but more often than not.

Deception creates drama, creates tension, creates pain and misunderstanding and hurt. The more lies you tell the more they have to be maintained with other lies. And in the end the truth always comes to light. Truth will out. It's buoyant. And once it does there's collateral damage to deal with. Save yourself the trouble and be as truthful as you can be to forgo all that. Life is never simple but we can manage and grow and develop ourselves if we stay open and consider the needs and wants and desires of those around us as well as our own.

Stay in your truth.

Sun Through Tracks

When I was a boy
the city loomed
and swallowed me
As a man
it cradles
nutures
and supports me.

When I was a boy
I hated the city
fought against it
As a man
it's a part of me
a silent conspiraor
comforting and wise.

Be Like Water

I first heard this idea years ago from the biopic Dragon: A Bruce Lee Story. I think it extends much further than martial arts to performing, interpersonal communication, work, on and on. Strength and purpose is found in flexibility not rigidity. Being confident and comfortable, knowing yourself and expressing yourself, not in despite of other people or things but in harmony with those things external. Lee goes on to say something like: water is the strongest thing in the world, you can't cut it or break it, but water can wear down rock, running water never grows stale so you got to just keep on flowing. He talks about being so aware that you can always act in an honest manner, staying in ones truth.

I've been thinking about this a lot recently. I use to be very angry and reactionary. I'm getting better at reacting after a pause and only saying those things that are constructive while still expressing my wants and needs. There is a lot of unnecessary conflict and I'm trying to let those things that don't matter or which I have no control simply flow through and around me.

"It is like a finger pointing a way to the moon, don't concentrate on the finger or you will miss all that heavenly glory." -Bruce Lee

There's a great remix with parts of this interview here.

Ebert

Roger Ebert passed away yesterday only a day after he announced a "leave of presence". It's a sad time for writers and film lovers everywhere.

My dad loved and lauded Ebert ever since I can remember. One of my first memories about movies is my father saying, which he has repeated countless times since, "Well, Ebert gave it..." I've nurtured a love for movies since an early age and at age fourteen started watching at least a movie a week in the theater. Starting at 14, when I had the patience to read a newspaper, I began reading Ebert's reviews. Using his writing as a signpost and sounding board for movies I liked, disliked, and wanted to see. It become much easier when all his reviews became available online and I could go back and read his reviews of older movies I loved and loathed.

Ebert most importantly loved movies, was passionate about them. Articulated why the highs were high and why the lows were low. I always felt an affinity for him, I could hear his voice in my head while reading, he elucidated points I could only vaguely grasp. He was also a fellow recovering alcoholic, which I only found out recently, he blogged about AA in as articulate and straightforward a manner as all his reviews(Ebert on AA). I didn't always agree with his assessments. His 2012 review of Flight in particular comes to mind. A movie I hated which he gave 4 stars to and said "It is nearly flawless." but I can sympathize with wanting a movie to be good when the main character is in recovery.

What I liked most was reading his reviews of a film I didn't like which other people did or a film I did like which other people didn't and him being able to articulate what was wrong or right. I didn't care for The Master when most people did. Ebert gave it 2 1/2 stars and said:

"The Master" is fabulously well-acted and crafted, but when I reach for it, my hand closes on air. It has rich material and isn't clear what it thinks about it. It has two performances of Oscar caliber, but do they connect? It shows invention and curiosity. It is often spellbinding. But what does it intend to communicate?

Another film of 2012 which I loved which was widely panned Ebert gave 4 stars and said:

"End of Watch" is one of the best police movies in recent years, a virtuoso fusion of performances and often startling action...After too many police movies about officers who essentially use their badges as licenses to run wild, it's inspiring to realize that these men take their mission — to serve and protect — with such seriousness they're willing to risk their lives.

Ebert inspired me to start writing movie reviews and to date I've written around 150. He's inspired and cultivated a host of film makers, film lovers, and film critics. His presence and influence will echo for decades.

"Kindness covers all of my political beliefs. No need to spell them out. I believe that if, at the end, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do. To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts. We must try to contribute joy to the world. That is true no matter what our problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try." -Roger Ebert

Winds Of Change

I woke up today and had a job. It's a weird feeling considering I've been unemployed for the past eight months. It's a great relief. And for the first and probably the only time in my life an office job seems like a new adventure. Unknown and exciting.

Since the last time I was in an office and had a job my life has been transformed. My perceptions, mood, and the way I communicate have changed and continue to evolve. I don't think I will be any more interested in relatively tedious office work but I will look on it with fresh eyes. I don't anticipate being phased by things as much, I don't anticipate getting caught up in the minutia of things, I feel I've cultivated an increasing ability to let things that don't matter slide. Like rain off a slicker.

I'm excited to make some money. I'm excited to get my days going earlier and to do more in them. I'm excited to be part of the grind again and to put myself to the test.

I'm not exited to work in customer service for a highly specialized insurance firm but I am excited to return to the shifting-churning-pulsing human machine that makes Chicago purr. For the first time I'm in a place where I can look on the opportunity with cheerful anticipation rather than cynicism and dread.

The only constant in life is change. More often than not for the better.

I Love Jelly Beans

I've always enjoyed sweets but I've never been the type of person that had a sweet tooth or always ordered desserts. Over the four years of college I hardly had any sweets at all. But throughout my whole life I've always had a weak spot, an insatiable craving, for jelly beans.

One of my earliest memories is waking up in my old house on Easter morning and finding a trail of jelly beans from my room, around the house, to my Easter basket in the living room. Over the years my dad, I think in a way to express his repressed creativity, would make jelly bean designs and trails all over the house on Easter morning. From childhood till now I've been hooked. The fruitiness, the texture, the slightly processed flavor, I don't know. I've tried many many different kinds of jelly beans and loved them all.

Since getting sober I've developed a pretty prominent sweet tooth. I'm told it's a common side effect. You're body is used to a certain amount of sugar so you continue to crave it. A couple months ago I was eating ice cream every night but I've since been able to cure my sugar fever. Except now, with Easter on the horizon, all the stores have stocked a wondrous variety of jelly beans.

And I figure why not indulge, it makes me feel like a kid again.