And your little dog too.

So much time was spent trying to come up with the most clever URL (my clever fellows, you stole my greatest www dot ideas), I fear I've lost my night's meager writing desire. I wanted to start this account long ago, but never thought I had a life point pivotal enough to ooze on paper or tap in binary code. The other day I was alarmed to think how much my ego has romanticized about such a moment. May I part the seas, will the moon to implode, and only then will I start eJournaling like the rest of society!

I do wish I started this 150 days ago, when I got sober. If you knew me prior to that day, to many, I'm sorry. If you met me after, well you missed quite a show! I have felt amazing in sobriety, working my steps like the good sober others of the 86'd variety. This week, however, I struggle. Step 7: Ask god to humbly remove my defects of character. I did not think I would have issues giving up _____, _____, and ______, but I do! They protect me when I'm insecure and scared. When I think I'm less than, I cling to my little defects like I once clung to various smoking apparati. And so, outside of Embarcadero bart, Zeus cracks me with a lightning bolt. In only 6 hours I had curbed multiple urges to dance with my defective devil. Realizing this, and that I did not act them out, I suddenly felt like a horse who had been broken. A disco ball with no luster, no shine. I felt boring, vulnerable, and goody goody.

Light another cigarette - mom hates them and dad suggests the California culture will ostracize me. Inhale, regain composure, and sneer at the dirty stray pigeon. There, feel better, Candi?

A little.

Sponsor says at these moments I should call her or pray. If I call her, she will tell me to pray. End picture is always supposed to be me giggling at my sneaky higher power. Slapping my forehead, "I should have known it was you all along!" Today I had no desire for such jovial eye openers. I want to practice my defects, roll and rot in them. Laugh and throw mud at passers by. It's my right to engage with some ill intent, some destruction. After all, I gave up booze and drugs. What else? If my defects are taken I will surely be exposed and naked, prone to evaporating into tiny little particles of purity. No thanks. It's the evil goo that holds me tight.

So back to my pranking higher power... I already did my second and third step so this god shit should be in the bag. But did I really embrace the idea? I still have no clear vision of what that is. In my beginning months of sobriety, I just nodded, followed, and took suggestions as though militant demands. Sponsor, yes sponsor! Anything to keep me out of bars where old friends would cheers me, while old girlfriends would judge me, and I would inevitably skip down a yellow brick road, arm 'n arm with the wicked witch, scaring the shit out of cowardly lions. Just for fun. I do not want to go back there. It was dark, it was mean, and I was too altered to care.

So my best thinking takes me here. Don't address it. Avoid it. Let's start that journal you've been thinking about. Ack. I suddenly feel like Doogie Houser. I need a life lesson closing while early 90's bee-boo-boo-bop-beep music plays over my keystrokes. But Vinnie never climbs through my bedroom window, and I am not a child doctor. Just a sober sally seventh stepping to insanity. Good one, god.