Monday, November 25, 2013

Reflections

While spending last weekend in San Diego we were awakened by a drunken party in the room next door.

Everything was loud. And very funny. Even though it didn't seem that humorous to me. And it went on til about midnight with banging of doors, screaming and drama.

After a while we reached our limit and called security. While their visit seemed to quell their exuberance somewhat, they still spent most of the night carrying on – albeit at a lower tempo.

In the morning I began to reflect on my own drinking. And somehow I prettied it up by telling myself that I was never as bad as the neighbors who interrupted our serenity the night before. For a few moments I was sure I never bothered anyone.

But, of course, that’s a self-serving distortion of my history. My drinking, what I recall of it (because there are many years I don’t remember much at all), got me into all kinds of difficulty. And I’m sure a lot of it wasn’t very quiet.

In fact, my drinking was so bad at one point, that other criminals and addicts didn’t want to associate with me because I was so reckless and out of control.

I need always remember the dark places my disease took me.