Greeting cards on display at retail.

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Well, it probably goes without saying that the response to my post on gratitude has been overwhelming.

It turns out you guys like being mentioned as much as I enjoy an annual romp in the sack of sentimentality.  At this point I’m kind of thinking I should stop writing about recovery and start writing greeting cards.

It’s also impressive to note that my Twitter audience seems to be growing at an exponential pace that even I, with my Type A personality, could not have predicted…and of course, I love that, and I’m totally trying to figure out how that’s happening so I can harness it and make it happen more–I mean after all, more is better.

I just love alcoholics and drug addicts.  Seriously. I mean when you drag us out of the gutter and stick us under a hot shower, get us a haircut and put 15 or 20 lbs on us, we clean up so well.  And we love to support each other.

~You wanna fly airplanes? I’m totally down with that!

~You wanna go to the firing range and shoot AKs at a target we pretend is your ex-husband? Done.

~You wanna take a 4 day trek to Machu Picchu? Right on.

I mean its’ some really beautiful shit, because we often come from places where whatever support there might have been is long gone.  Or maybe we never got what we really needed to begin with.  So we’re kind of in this thing together, just rocking the party, doin the deal, making it happen.

This is the last hurrah on being 11.  It’s time to dig in and see what I can make this year bring me, how I can make each day serve me as I serve a power greater than myself.  As a friend says, its’ a little humble, a little cocky. It’s knowing that sobriety allows me to do anything…and then having the guts to actually try something.

Despite the confidence that practically eeks out of every word, a lot of times I feel a little awkward and kind of like I don’t know what to do next.  I think in part that’s why I’ve always loved words. They can build bravado around something that’s really crumbling (I can hardly resist the urge to go Politico on your ass right now!)

But come to think of it, that’s exactly how I felt when I was 11 years old–I was crumbling.  And I’m gonna assume that since I was popping blood pressure pills and heart medication in 1983 just to see what happened (obviously I didn’t know they were blood pressure pills–for Christ’s sake, give me some credit!) this year is going to be a lot better than that one.

Peace.

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