Fear and trembling in Las Vegas
Maybe 6 years ago or something, I told the joke the first time. “I got sober without having to find God. And honestly, I feel like I got jibbed”. The year before that, I told no one but myself: “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, I have to fucking just stay not drinking without getting religious. I can’t do it. I can’t be that. I don’t want to be one of THOSE GUYS”. I don’t want to be a stereotype. I don’t want to be a hero with a thousand faces.
I don’t count the days. I have a bad sense of time. Couldn’t tell you what I spent the last year doing. An alcoholic once told me that he didn’t count time in years any more, but in jobs and ex girlfriends. I think that’s right.
I’m renovating a house. I’ve been doing it for a week. Medium sized town in the other end of the country, never been here before. Job came out of nowhere, and any reasonable person would be outraged at the living arrangements provided. I sleep on the floor, in the same rooms I paint, I take baths in the neighbours apartment every evening. No kitchen appliances, lots of salads. Sometimes actual craftsmen show up to do this or that thing, sometimes I’m alone. Every day I count the amount of work hours I’ve done in my head and run the math on income taxes. How much money have I earned. I go to the store a few streets down to…
