Worst Month Ever

Well, thank God that's nearly over! June, I mean. It was my worst June ever (and that includes all the spoiled birthdays I had during the 15 years my ex and I suffered each other's company).

Here's a photo of Shrub before he was anybody, summing up my attitude towards this past month.



Or, perhaps, he's just telegraphing his opinion of the American People in the face of $5.00 a gallon gasoline.

Probably both.

One of my oldest friends died in June. I turned 60. I lost my cellphone. The air conditioner died. My dad's in the hospital and my step-mom is losing her mind to dementia (bringing back ever so fond memories of my birth mom's slide into insanity, and how I had to face that all on my own... while drinking), losing my 12-Step program's 10th "anniversary piece" at the movies last Saturday night (go see "Wall-E"... it's adorable and easily the best film this year, so far), and probably some other crap that I've totally forgotten.

We have a saying in 12-Step recovery to the effect that it won't be a major catastrophe that sends us back out drinking but, rather, it'll be "a broken shoelace" that breaks the camel's back.

I tell you, if it weren't for my sponsor, his wife, my friends and family I chose, I can easily see how I could've slipped right back into active addiction, even after 10 years of sobriety.

And then, this morning, I stumbled across two images on the internet which struck me dumb. They're both images of God's enduring love for mankind, his constant "tweaking" of the human genome and the spectacular results which even accidents behind the Divine Plan can achieve.

Here they are:



That's the singer "Pink", over there.



And that's Matthew McConaughey, with the "glutes of death", to the right. As though you needed directions to find either of them.

With two such lovely specimens running around loose, I just might decide to stay sober for another day or two on the outside chance I suddenly win the lottery and the grand prize is the boy model.