I just got done holding a 12-Step meeting in prison.   Thank you all so much for your kind support, compassion and understanding.  (D.M., you have my special gratitude).  Cricket has been incredible, as well as Lori from Oasis.  No, silly, not the "Gentleman's Club" Oasis!  The Oasis Arts Center that put together the portrait project.

Stepping back from the abyss, I tread softly.  I don't want the edge to crumble beneath me.

Sometimes I have to stop listening to NPR.  The constant in-depth reporting of the endless maladies of our world lose their charm.  I have to give up for a bit, knowing that in amongst the doom there are many gems I've missed.

Tonight, I drove out to the Cannery, a medium security women's facility of the Philadelphia Prisons System.  I hold Monday night 12-Step meetings there.  After I'd signed in at ASD, I waited in the parking lot of the Cannery, listening to NPR interview my hero Temple Grandin.  Sad to miss the last half of the program, I went up to the gates at the appointed time.

It was a good meeting, ebbing and flowing between hope and despair, in a way an outside meeting does.  Only it's more so inside, in my experience.  We all suffer the mood swings of addiction, the women inside suffering lost freedoms, children, partners, yet expressing hope that this will be their last bid.  I may be glad to leave, but sometimes I succumb to hopelessness, thinking that the message of experience, strength and hope that I carry will only live behind the razor wire.

That really isn't my problem though.  If I trust the greater spirit, then my part is done.  I only wish I did trust more.  I see amazing women, who have humour and grace in an untenable position.  But when they walk out into the chaotic world, they are sorely under duress, lacking funds, life skills; the list goes on.

Anyway, as I drove home, NPR was playing the music of an African man on their PRI program that you can listen to here.  Until recently Victor Deme has been largely ignored.  Not because his music was bad.  Rather, it did not conform to the music of his country.  You may also like to see a video of Msr. Deme, which I offer you also:

Also, I would like to say that I am sorry for being away for a bit.  I've been loony-tunes with a bit of barking mad recently.  Awful, actually.  That said, I've been working on killing my computer with heavy doses of cat hair, relentless saving of useless info, a dash of liquid and bloody felines that see it as a great way to get attention.  To the point where I may open the first ever "My Cat on Keyboard" blog. (@2009)!

So for my birthday, Cricket is going to have this puppy tuned up, bless her.  Guess I'll have to pull out all that porn I've been down-, or is it up-loading when it's sexy?  Which means, boys 'n' girls, my berloody computer is going away.  As of tomorrow.  So I'll see you in the next decade.  Have fun, enjoy the Mad Tree Party we set up but have yet to invite anyone to and throw some Marlins on the grill.

Cricket will lend me her fancy-pants computer whilst mine's gone.  But you know how this is.  See you in a week or so, sweeties!

This title is pretty loaded with insinuations, inferences and ignominious associations.  In fact, it makes me a tad nervous to even address it.  But this year I learned to start to create boundaries.  It's a new beginning for me, spineless sycophant that I am!  Anyway, the reason why I'm writing this, is due to my friend "X".

X was my second sponsor in a 12-Step Program that I'm in.  My first was a male friend, so when X (a female) became available, I switched.  At the time X had about fourteen years or so sober, but it was her presence that drew me to her.

Within a few months, she was having a full on melt-down.  She exhibited behavior that I would never have tolerated in a "regular" friend.  It became so that I was her mental health sponsor and she was my incredibly needy sponsee.

I helped her move in with her fiance, packing up her house, carrying it into my van and bringing it into their new place.  As I unloaded my van, she sulked in a chair, angry at the man she was moving in with.  Did I mention that I'm not so great in the conflict area?

Despite being hospitalized for months at a time over the past decade, X visited me just once in lock-down.  The last time I was in.  She wanted to show me the new engagement ring she had.  Such a nice thought for a suicidal person on a locked down ward just after Christmas.

I'd given her the link to this blog some time back.  I wrote a post about her struggles with depression, which she sent to friends and family.  Heck, some of them might be reading this right now.  But I know X isn't.  How do I know?

Well, a couple of months back I got tired.  See, X only calls me when life isn't rosy in her world.  Given, X has some terrible health problems.  Like cancer.  But she wields her illness like a white flag.  Everything that has happened, or will, is under the flag.  She is above judgement, beyond reproach, excused and accounted for.  Her behavior is untouchable.

Her trump card is cancer.

The other day, she left a message on my phone, saying that she hadn't heard from me.  That she was worried.  That she was angry at me for not calling.  X said that she thought maybe I was in hospital, that maybe Cricket would call her.

It is true I haven't called her in the past four or five weeks.  Frankly I was burned out.  She was improving medically, so I wasn't so worried.  I needed to take care of myself as I crashed and burned after the death of Hello Newman.  So many of you, my virtual family, have offered support in my times of need.  When I had to put Hello Newman to sleep, I was moved by the compassionate and caring comments.

X has no idea about Hello Newman.  Although she linked my blog to family members when I wrote a couple of posts about her depression, she clearly doesn't read it.  Else, she might have a clue.

And here is the telling part.  If you are truly concerned about a friend, you let them know it.  You don't tell them that you're pissed.  That just makes the pissed on person dig in deeper, to avoid the spray.  Call me silly like a smiley, but implied threats of anger and guilt make me want to run away screaming like a little boy.

My current sponsor, with over twenty-five years of sobriety refuses to let me DTMFA (thanks             Dan Savage), saying we in the program are all each others appointed friends.  Others, like a previous sponsor, said that some are here to help you learn a skill like Patience, Compassion, Understanding  and Tolerance.  Fecking fabulous.

I just need the skills of Spine, No-fear, Up Your Bum (no, silly, it's a figure of speech)!  and emailing all the Xs out there.  Can I dump my sponsor for being so annoyingly right?  Can I DTMFA myself?  Just asking.