Two years dry and sober have me thinking so many different things. The strangest part is seeing simple things as new. Just one example was the way the light was falling from the skylight, hitting the bathroom tub. It looked warm and comforting, familiar and old. I can only assume that’s how it feels for a soldier coming home after six months of war. Does that make me a real hero? I think so. I am actually impressed with myself for actually doing this thing. It qualifies as a battle.

It’s also weird that time itself is different now. Two years feels like twenty and yesterday at the same time. It’s difficult to explain but it feels like I’m nostalgic for how alcohol made me feel, intoxicated and energetic, but I’m someone else having someone else’s memories. It really throws me into a science fiction frame of mind, questioning all of reality, time and space.

I wonder what’s actually happening to my brain? Is it permanent damage or trying to rebuild itself? Is it just aging or just starting to grow from years of arrested development? Probably all of the above.

I remember the taste of crisp, cold, twangy beer, but I have little real desire to drink again. I remember, clearly, enjoying a tall Schlitz Malt Liquor when I was about eight years old. I was instantly enamored with it’s power of taste and tingling intoxication.

I sometimes think I probably could enjoy a drink again and not fall into the habitual pattern, but I ask, why? I don’t need it and I’ll probably regret it. I’ve taken that as far as I could and somehow, I’m still alive. Everyday life is so much better without it. That temptation is easier to ignore now, but it comes and goes. If it can be equated to Tennyson, ” ‘Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all”, I have to strongly disagree. We would all be better off never falling for alcohol.

I also know and fear the power of that addiction. The feeling that I could just take it or leave it is really a trick to get me to start drinking again. It’s what the voices are saying. It’s the Devil himself. The addiction. Luckily, I’m defiant and stubborn and have somehow turned those attributes around against the Devil, I think. I hope.

I’ve also had to come to terms with the reality of our boozing culture in my journey to sobriety. I despise alcohol. I wish it was never invented. It ruins so many lives. But, I have to acknowledge, not everyone has a problem.

But, there’s a part of me that believes that everyone does have a problem and they just don’t know it, because all alcohol is inherently a problem. If you have a problem, and you drink, you have a drinking problem.

I see the, not so subtle, changes in personality and am amazed at how people don’t recognize or acknowledge it. Sometimes they justify it or outright deny it. At least I was always very open and clear about my alcoholism, except when I wasn’t, which was always. Is that clear enough?

I don’t miss the legal risk of drinking and driving. The chance of getting arrested…again. The embarrassment, the possibility of having kids taken away, and the monetary cost is so stressful. The State has a money grab system that punishes lightweight drinkers and lines politicians’ pockets with cash for years. The only good thing is the required education, although, if you are wealthy and connected, or pretty enough, you can get out of it. It’s just another way to vaguely legally oppress the poor and slap the wrists of the opportunistic. It’s the American way.

I do miss the illusion of freedom, starting the weekend early, or rewarding the accomplishment of just making it through the day, everyday, sometimes with a crisp, cold beer in a cute and tiny paper bag on the way home from the last job site, or usually, with an all day iced twelve pack in the cooler in the back, patiently waiting for hours for the moment of birth, always providing a good beer buzz by the time I hit the driveway. And I miss the laughter, smoke, and libations with the crew, leaning against the fender on the tired and resting, rugged pickup truck. The continuing celebration and ritual of being a working man. The refreshment mixed with the sweat and the dirt and the blood of the everyday struggle, settling the nerves of yesterday’s hangover, hitting the reset button on my vital organs. Man, I miss that. Who wouldn’t?

My wife called me while I was working outside in the light rain on a job site. I put down my equipment and shut off the ridiculously loud engine as I answered before it went to voicemail. I could instantly tell that she was annoyed but I didn’t know why. The phone was cutting out as we tried to decipher what we were saying, and like most of our greetings we just yell “Hello” and “What? Can you hear me?” until the link is established. I had texted a work related question a few minutes before, but really wasn’t expecting a response knowing that I was out of cel tower range. She had replied to my text, but I didn’t know that.

But my phone, in my pocket, replied back to her and continued the conversation completely on its own. Most likely from the moisture on my shorts pocket touching the phone screen while I was moving around. Not only did it continue the conversation, it did it with an attitude.

It answered her with predictive text, “uh, ok”, which is something I would never say, much less, put in a written message. Even though I sometimes get complacent and skip being totally and completely polite to my spouse, this was a professional work conversation and I always do my best to keep it civil, clear, and concise. I’m actually surprised she thought it was me. She did become suspicious on the second auto fill text that stated a snarky “why?” Almost with a smirk and a sassy Texas drawl.

It was out of context, confusing and also unlike even my worst bad attitude, so she called to actually hear my words with my voice. She started the analog conversation with, “…..What the fuck?” I knew instantly that this was no robot calling.

After finally sorting out the text conversation through the frustrating broken cel tower signal, we were still somehow annoyed. A lingering after effect of an ignorant algorithmic presumptuous artificial intelligence. Like having sticky fingers after a crumbly honey covered biscuit.

And that got me thinking. Why does my phone think I talk like a dick-head? I don’t ever text words like these. I might say them as a joke, but I’d never put it in actual writing. 

That got me thinking more. How does this thing even work?

Since I don’t really know, I’ll guess.

I assume that predictive text is based on generalized common language spoken by mass amounts of average people. It sure as hell didn’t get that shit from me! The data may come from Facebook or Twitter or some form of crappy public conversation on social media since there’s totally no way they’re actually spying on our text conversations.

And that got me thinking even more. Does the average person really talk like that? Is the average person a dick-head? Are most people shitty, bitter, pissy conversationalists? And is that how we shape and define all of our information based on how people think and speak?

Are TV shows, YouTube videos, movies, books, and Presidents chosen the same way? Is that how we got Trump the toddler bully, Hillary the rhetorical teenager, Cruz the high school commencement speaker, Pelosi the six year old drama queen, McConnell the turtle faced republi-bot, Schumer the hyperbolic step dad, and Marjorie Taylor Greene the batshit crazy conspiracy tart? Sounds about right.

Maybe, it’s time for someone to look into this. A study to determine if people mimic what is perceived as popular culture. Does anyone know anyone at Cornell or Stanford? Are those places even real? Well, I’ve never seen them. I’m just sayin’.

We know that humans greatest talent is copying each other. That’s how we get popular phrases like, “That’s what she said!” and “Get er’ done” or my all time favorite, “Just fuck me and feed me beans”. There’s nothing wrong with mimicking each other. It’s how we have survived for so long. It helps us stay likable and socially connected so we don’t eat each others cooked brains in our own tribe.

But what happens if the “popular” sayings were being generated collectively by the worst humans ever?  What if we start to mimic the computerized interpretation of ourselves. Uh….what if we already are?

Would it be the decline of our own social survival? Would husbands and wives start to treat each other differently resulting in less love and compassion for each other? Would that mean that less babies would be made and the inevitability of the decline of human reproduction? The end of woman? The end of man?

I don’t know. Probably.

#trump2028