I was at an AA meeting this morning, listening to a speaker talk about his last (hopefully) drinking episode. He had relapsed a couple of times, was counting days again. In some AA groups, people announce how many days they’ve been sober until they hit 90, and then they announce years.
His story was overwhelming.
Listening to this guy talk was like being coated in wet, tepid dryer lint - from the dark wash. I can’t explain it any better than that. It was enveloping, dense, and distasteful. As he spoke about his last five days as a drinker, I felt the man recede into the background and the disease take over. It was explicit and frightening.
I’m an alcoholic. I can never forget what will happen if I drink again.
NO.
I’m an alcoholic. I can never forget what will happen if I don’t continuously do the work of remembering that I’m an alcoholic.
Love to all. Even you, the indecisive Chief Talent Officer.
Saturday, I practiced “finishing” drills with my Under-10 girls’ soccer team. “Finishing” is taking a shot on goal when you have one. Instead of pausing, hesitating, backing up, etc., you just shoot. on. goal.
My girls have had some problems with this.
So. For 90 minutes on Saturday, we played several different games with one thing in common. Shoot when you can, and when you do, follow it up.
On Sunday, we played against a pretty solid team, coached in part by my old assistant coach. Last year, my team was fully defeated: we lost every game. The division coordinator promised me a more balanced team this year, since my team last year ranked, on paper, dead last (before the season started, that is). In AYSO, teams are supposed to be balanced. Not mine, though.
Normally, I don’t coach to win. And even in this game, I didn’t put my best line on the front when things got tight in the end… but I have to admit: I wanted to win really, really badly. My old assistant coach, a nice guy outside of soccer, spent the entire game yelling at HIS daughter and HIS daughter only. He didn’t coach anyone else on the team. Very, very frustrating.
My girls? They FINISHED. They followed up their shots, they ran after their kicks. My daughter, the best thinker on the team (but not the best athlete), put herself in position to score, and nearly did.
Sure, there were many moments of “lost in space” and “everybody run to the same side of the field,” but DAMN if there wasn’t SO much improvement that parents actually came up to me afterwards and said “Wow! I guess practice works!”
We won 4-3. Rock it.
Up next: clearing.
Love to all. Even you, the guy who just stopped by my office, making little-to-no sense at all.
I’m watching the Patriots/Cowboys game when a Verizon commercial comes on. I notice that the “Dad” in the commercial is one of Maggie’s good friends from college. I’m like, “Hey Maggie! Look!” And she goes “WHOA! Isn’t that [our oldest son's friend]?”
Yup. I was so busy noticing the Dad, that I didn’t notice the Son, who comes over to our house all the time. These two folks have nothing to do with each other in real life. They were just in the same commercial.
Craziness.
Love to all. Even you, the lady who honked at me because she didn’t realize I had stopped at the stop line.
Maggie just scored the cover article of a magazine coming out in December. She’s been tracking the creation, development, eventual opening of a free Catholic school for boys in Newburgh, NY. It’s a really cool story.
Maggie also started working at a local Starbucks last week. It’s a job that she can work while the kids are in school, and the health benefits can save us 10,000 a year. Kind of amazing. It’s been kicking her ass a little, but on the overall, I think she likes it a lot.
This weekend was one of those “What’s next? When?” weekends that’s decidedly unrestful:
9am: Church [Rich, Maggie, & Kids)
10:30am:Â Ice Hockey Game [Maggie, Olders, Daughter]
10:30: Birthday Party for youngest son’s friend. [Rich, Youngest]
11:00am:Â Shopping for present for birthday party so I can bring it back before the party ends. [Rich]
12:30pm: Pickup from Birthday Party. [Rich]
2:10pm:Â Photo Day for Girls’ Soccer Team [Rich, Daughter]
2:30:Â Coach Soccer Game [Rich, Daughter - Spectated by Maggie, Youngest]
4:00:Â FOOTBALL - Cowboys vs. Giants.
Zoom, zoom, zoom. But it’s nice to have the late afternoon, early evening to chill, watch football, and hang.
Anyway, I’m sort of rambling now… so I’ll shut up.
Love to all. Even you, the angry Jets fan who seemed to personally dislike Chad Pennington.
In a perfect storm of taxable events, I have been hit with a tax bill that is… well… extraordinary. I won’t say how much it is, but let’s just say that’s it’s more than I have. Especially considering I just borrowed money to buy back my own business from Fucktard McGillicutty.
2006 will definitely go down as the Year of Rich’s Financial Fuckups.
Maggie and I got into a huge fight last night. It lasted into this morning, and is continuing, somewhat at this very moment. Somewhat, because Maggie is asleep, and I don’t know if we’re really going to talk about it any more. I’m still very upset, at myself and her, but I don’t think this is presently resolvable. Maybe I just need to sleep more.
I was in something of a depression spiral tonight, sitting at my desk at work at 7pm, half because I had work to do, and half because I didn’t want to go home yet, when my friends Eric and Lisa invited me out. I said I’d stop by for a minute or two (they were about 10 blocks away from my office), but we wound up going out to dinner. It was pretty much exactly what I needed, including the part where I snapped at the dufi (is that the plural of dufus?) at the table next to us for, well, for being dufi, but specifically for one of them (the metrosexual of the bunch) saying the word “fucking” repeatedly and loudly… while there was a little kid a table or two over.
When the guy talk back to me, there was a brief moment where I thought Eric was going to grind up one of the dufi, which would have been both bad and wonderful at the same time.
Anyway.
I’m sort of flitting between depression and acceptance and disengagement. I haven’t settled on any particular one as of yet. Work has been so busy that I haven’t had time to write, nor read. I need to catch up on my InterBrethren.
The main reason I pulled out of the new company and went solo again was because one of the partners was a fucking lunatic.
A month after I had to pay tens of thousands of dollars for my own company, risking house and sanity to get away from these hucksters, I get this email from the guy we’ve dubbed the “arsonist fireman:”
I should have advised you once I saw how difficult a time [your salesperson] was having transferring her biz and you were having integrating the process along with [my partners] reluctance or inability to be as committed as I was to doing whatever it took to grow [your company] that the deal under those terms was unfair and I should have advised you to pull out… I didn’t see this stuff till this weekend as clearly as I do right now. Why I don’t know.
Here’s what I wrote back:
All I can say is: thanks.
When I said you were a good dude, I meant it.
See you soon.
Here’s what I wanted to write:
MotherFUCKER. You take me for tens of thousands of dollars and THEN have the sudden realization that you were fucking me? Let me guess, fucktard: there won’t be a refund check coming my way with this little apology of yours. And if you need help figuring out why you didn’t understand this until “right now,” it’s because you had to threaten me and my family and my employees until you got your payoff money, and then… ONLY then, could you’re conscience come into play. Fuck you, fuck you, and…
and…
oh yeah…
fuck you.
But I didn’t. Am I a hypocrite? Yeah, kind of. I mean, I didn’t have to tell him he was a good dude. Weirdly, though, I sort of feel like he is, in certain ways. I think one of the reasons I got into business with him is because he’s like my father. And if I could “work things out” with him, then maybe I was addressing the shit I WISH I could address with my Dad. Maybe not. I don’t know.
Anyway. When you’re dealing with arsonist firemen, it’s best to let them think they put out the fire, lest they start another one.
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