"When his substance of choice is eliminated, the addict will begin to obsess over some other substance(s) or compulsive behavior(s)." -Something that might well be written in some nonfiction book about addiction.
You know what I like about Altoids smalls? They're small.
I've been saying this for weeks now, making sure each time that I'm not saying it to somebody who's already heard me say it. I don't know why I like this non-joke so much. Something about it feels natural and very much befitting to my personality. I especially enjoy when somebody correctly guesses the answer, leaving me to quickly echo their response.
"They're small?"
"They're small."
The 7-11 was out of the wintergreen smalls last night, so I had to get a tin of the peppermint ones. Today I automatically popped one in after my early-afternoon cigarillo, and found that my tongue is not in any shape to deal with peppermint when it is coated in tobacco smoke. When the mild burning subsided, I mused that the scents of peppermint and tobacco now ran through my breath, and this is exactly the combination of scents attributed to the grandfather in the original "Parent Trap". I smelled the way an early 1960's old man smelled. I was happy to smell this way, as I strolled along Lawndale Avenue, the sun sneaking in past the edges of my brown sunglasses, and my dog panting laboriously as she pulled at her leash. I wished it was a leather leash. I'm going to buy her a leather leash.
I've found that the right combination of coffee and cigars (read: a fucking ton of coffee and cigars) can minimize my obsessively self-aware social discomfort that has tailed alongside my newfound sobriety. Over the weekend, I was able to channel the old Steve, Steve the Drinker, in a moment of shirtless buffoonery in the upper canopy of the Chicago skyline. I was partly proud that I could shed my self-conscious awkwardness for a beat and go with the drunken flow, despite my sobriety. But I couldn't help but ask myself, "Is this really sobriety?"
Nope. It wasn't. I hadn't had a drink; therefore, I was sober. But sobriety isn't the recreation of a former self through less harmful substances, places, people, and attitudes. It's not being so caffeinated that I shake worse than I ever did during alcohol withdrawal. It's not trying to be "mysterious" so that I don't come off as awkward. Sobriety is being awkward sometimes. It's getting frustrated with problems rather than getting away from problems. And sometimes, sobriety is realizing that a certain scene just ain't my scene any more. And it's at those times that I'm always glad that I'm sober, so I can just hop in my car and drive away.
So, I'm finding my way in this mess of coffee, cigars, and Altoids smalls. What a clean mess, it is, compared to the mess I was living in until January 11, 2010. At least I can see it all around me.
My compulsive spending habit, on the other hand, is more difficult for me to wrap my head around. But I'm afraid that, for now, I'll give in to my self-destructive mechanism of putting off thinking about it for another day.
