Photo by Dennis Steinauer Darrin and I bantered about alcohol, as people often do. We joked about sneaking a flask into an inappropriate venue—not sure I can remember which one, maybe the book sale we’re both working in July. Sarcasm, not seriousness. Guy talk. Tribe talk. Then I fessed up. “I’m nine years sober.” Nine … Continue reading What I Told to Al-Anon
Drunk
Sick, and stuff
01/01/2025 We woke up sick, both of us at the same time, Susan more obvious than me. Her voice scratched out “good morning“ as I tiptoed past her mattress tucked under the ping pong table in the basement. My only detectable symptom was a sore throat, and not really all that sore yet. Where do … Continue reading Sick, and stuff
Six Years “Sober”
Six years sober. Strong word, sober. It implies not drunk. Drunk wasn’t my problem, not six years ago. Twenty-six years ago, drunk fit well. Six years ago, sometimes buzzed, tipsy. But usually, just relaxed... every night. Relaxed or buzzed every night. Until I quit. New Year’s Day seems like a good sobriety anniversary. Easy to … Continue reading Six Years “Sober”
Beyond the Bottom
I still check the news twenty time a day. When I finish a task at work, a breaking-point. After a run. When I wake up, when I go to bed. When I head off to the loo. Sometimes I go to the bathroom simply to read the news. No prying eyes, no one counting my … Continue reading Beyond the Bottom
When I was a D!ck
Years ago, when I joined The Writers' Brigade, Gettysburg's only public writers' group, long-time member Keith Johnson put a name to the steady stream of intensely personal prose I churned out. He called it confessional nonfiction. The name fit. Much of what I produced seemed to spring from an uncontrollable desire to come clean. To … Continue reading When I was a D!ck
I miss…
Intellectual bathroom graffiti: I F*@KED YOUR MOTHER! Directly beneath this gem, in a different pen, a different hand: GO HOME DAD, YOU”RE DRUNK! I’d like to stop right there. A flash-post. Call it done. Flash what? Not fiction. This one is real. On the bathroom wall of the Tune Inn, circa 1986. Every time I … Continue reading I miss…
The Other Stuff 