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I think I am done with the Satan stories.

What started out as a fun story about a one night stand gets really ugly. I realize that. I take full responsibility for posting this on the internet, but I dare anyone to judge me, for my poor taste in subject matter, to the choices I made, to the people I fucked over, for the reasons I drank, etc. If this story doesn’t resonate with you, then you’ve never been in the gutter, and probably consider yourself too wise to end up there. Then this story (and maybe this blog) is not for you. I’m lucky I’m alive to write these stories, and I take pride in my ability convey them, with a touch of humor, objectively and subjectively. I don’t write for the masses.

If you don’t think John is the hero in all of this, then you can’t see the forest for the trees. Every alcoholic has to decide on their own to get sober (or in my case, scared enough to get help). What my neighbor did wasn’t exactly helping me, but it kept me with him and out of danger, until I was ready to wake up. It happened slowly, but surely (as I was being prayed for without my knowledge). Could the story have turned out differently? Sure. I like to remember this line from The Desiderata: And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. I like to believe that. I think it’s easy to (screw those parallel universes or multiple realities or whatever). Bad shit happens, but it’s a part of our story. I never promised you a rose garden…So get over it. Sorry Jack Nicholson, it’s not all noodle salad. 

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