Under the Gub

Remember the Woody Allen movie where he's attempting to hold up a bank and he passes an unreadable note to the teller which leads everyone who works at the bank to try to interpret it and all they can come up with is, "I have a gub"?

Well, I'm under the gub. My sobriety advisor has a way of dropping little bombshells on me, always unexpectedly and out of the blue. Sunday morning he dropped another one. "For 2007 I want you to continue writing your blog, but also to start submitting your work for publication. I also want you to act and/or direct, and to keep searching for a home to buy."

Oh. Is that all?

Yes, I'll rejoin Equity, get an agent, have that fabulous career on B'way I moved to NY to have (in 1887), and build a beautiful Victorian pile overlooking the Hudson River in Hastings, New York (a la Helen Hayes). Will July be soon enough?

"Whoa" I can hear you all say. "That sounds pretty extreme, from such innocuous suggestions." Well, yes, it does. But keep in mind that my sick little mind can move from "making a typo to being homeless" in less than a second. That's the way an alkie's mind works. So when someone says, "write" I hear "be Mark Twain."

Actually, his suggestions are totally reasonable. My brother (yes, I have a brother) manages to put in a full day in New York and still have a part-time life as a cabaret artist/actor, which feeds his soul.

And he has a family, too.

The real point he was making is that after nearly 9 years of sobriety, I have the sober part down, but I haven't really been nourishing my creativity and/or joy. I have to admit that seeing Steve and Jim's show brought up a lot of feelings of unfulfillment for me.

And owning my own house will give me a sense of belonging and "home" that I've never really experienced before in my life.

Dear God, will this growing up stuff never end?