On the wagon

As of yesterday, it's been four weeks since I've had a drink. I'm just slightly proud of that, and I'm still trying to figure out why.

There are several reasons why I've stopped drinking.

1. One of my parents was a brutal alcoholic.
2. Prove to myself I could stop.
3. I hate the gut.
4. When I drink, I treat the rest of my family like shit and separate from them. (I didn't realize how bad this was until I stopped.)
5. Insomnia. (Didn't realize how bad this one was, either.)
6. Lack of energy/motivation.

Those are a few. Since I've stopped drinking, I've been more productive at work and my level of physical strength and drive has doubled.

The one drawback? I'm having trouble staying motivated when it comes to fiction. I keep thinking of all the stuff that my family needs me to do. However, I'm committed to fixing this. I've gotten too far to stop. 

I didn't make any big announcement about not drinking. But most of my friends and family have figured it out by what I consume and don't consume in their presence.

It was interesting to discover at least one major urge for drinking. I really didn't think I had any -- until the day that I learned I may have to travel to a conference for work, which is something I really, really hate to do. I don't mind traveling for fun, but traveling for work, being away from my family, and having to dress up in a suit is just horrible.

As feelings of dread washed over me, that's the craving hit, badly, right in my gut.

Was I, or am I an alcoholic? I'm not sure. I haven't had any sort of withdrawal that I can think of. But of the reasons listed above, the top one and number four are the biggest. And I never want to be in the position of being asked or forced to stop.

I remember as a kid having to call the police when shit would go down at home. As a parent now myself, I've never personally flown so far off the handle. But I've had thoughts, and that's not a place I want to go.

Checking in

I'm sitting in the driveway right now, thinking about love and how I've been somehow pretty damned blessed in that department. I've always gotten a lot more love than I've been capable of dishing out. I don't know why this is. I think I'm one of those guys, or people, who just can't give away the whole store. Like it could crush me, or do something much worse than that.

It's totally stupid, of course. The truth is that I love some people more than they could ever imagine. I'm just too chicken to show it.

(Actually, this is not 100% true. I have a good friend, actually one of my best friends, who a while back gave me a big-ass bear hug. He sensed I needed it, and I did. We do this every time we see each other now. It's like food.)

I'm still working a lot. Income is looking good, but I'm under too much pressure for this not to be the case. I keep thinking about what would happen if something happened to me. A lot of people are counting on me. The fear is incredible, but I can't let that show.

Actually, this sort of thing got me back to running, biking and the gym. Any guy my age would be ecstatic to have my genes. I have a full head of hair, very little gray and still get carded at bars. I know different, though. I don't feel 21 at all. I knew I had to start taking better care of myself.

The sad part about all this is that I have so little energy left to create art. All my creative writing is on hold. That's just the way it is right now, I guess. Having no energy means I'm too tired beat myself up over it.

A little love for Dee Dee

I wish I could always say it was you, Dee Dee. But I confess: You were not my first favorite Ramone.

When I first saw Rock 'n Roll High School in my teens, I was fascinated by Joey. The ultimate outsider, he looked exactly like I felt.

When I began playing guitar, it was Johnny. Nobody would ever look cooler or more dangerous with a guitar in his hands.

But eventually, reason settled in. How could you not be everyone's favorite Ramone? You named the band, you wrote my favorite songs, you were the most punk. Sid Vicious looked up to you.

You also had the cajones to turn from punk to rap--even though, as you later acknowledged, "I'm not a Negro."

Some of my favorite lyrics:

This is Dee Dee King on the mic
A hundred and fifty pounds of dynamite

She don't do the wash, don't do the cookin
She don't have to cuz she's good lookin'.

I want to ride the surf, at ninety miles an hour.
Hope you don't get, get, sour.

I was sitting there, thinking of a caper
But no new rhymes appeared on the paper.

And my personal favorite:

I seen it all, I had a ball
Someone should make a Dee Dee doll.

I'm poking fun, but in all honesty, I love Dee Dee's first solo album, Standing in the Spotlight. There's nothing quite like it. There's some true corn, but a few decent riffs and a ton of sincerity.

Take "Baby Doll." On one hand, it's overproduced schlock. On the other, Dee Dee's singing is heartfelt and genuine.



They really should make a Dee Dee doll. Oh wait, they did.