I'm getting older too

I'm sitting here listening to Stevie Nicks singing "Landslide."


"I'm getting older too."


And I am. Running out of time to figure out what I want. Afraid that by the time I figure it out it'll be too late and I'll be alone for good.


Don't know what made me so afraid of life. Can only look back and point fingers for so long. At some point it doesn't matter anymore. Those reasons won't seem so important alone in the dark. Those people will be faded into dust.


And it's on me anyway. I can have anything I want if I'm want it. If I want to write a book I can write a book. And if I don't. If I want to waste my days and nights in some world that doesn't exist then that's what I'll get in the end -- a non-existance.


A co-worker's brother was murdered today. A guy I know in the business dropped dead of a heart attack the other day. Our time here is limited. And if I'm going to spend it obsessing about the past or dreaming of the future ... well then I'm pissing on the present, as anyone whose spent a day in the rooms knows.


Speaking of the rooms. All this is at least hammering home the need to stay close. A guy I know went out last week. I'm not going to comment on what I thought of his sobriety or program, the point is he forgot the basics and paid the price. Hopefully he'll get it next time.


My favorite meeting is going through a transition. Always a moody meeting, it has shrunk lately. Most of the regulars are gone. I feel like I'm keeping the light on for them. I don't mind. That room is the one place in L.A. AA where I feel truly comfortable and if one day it's me and my shadow there, those walls will keep me sober for the day.


I wish I liked the recovery out here more but I think most of it is bullshit. Fortunately I had wise teachers who told me to focus on what I need from it and take it. I can get resentments against the people in the rooms, just not the rooms themselves.


Didn't mean to turn this into another one of those posts. The truth is I just wanted to write something before I went to bed. Figure if I can just push the rock a little each day then maybe it will move a few feet up the mountain.


"Time makes you bolder."

Let It Go

Can learn to do so many things. Get through the days. Somehow survive the nights. But still don't know how to like me. And if I can't do that I won't have you. Coming up on a half century on this planet And I still torture myself more than anyone else. Keep putting up walls that only hurt myself. Keep hiding from the light and avoiding the sun. Mad at the world for hating myself. Never let myself have any fun. Maybe when I'm alone. When I've got nowhere else to run. I'll drop down. And let it all go.

Chasing Them Away

No one to make eggs for. No one to pour coffee for. No one to watch Reliable Sources with. No one to not laugh at SNL with. Never learning, always running. Never climbing, always falling. Big empty inside Just holes in a wall to remind me where I went wrong No one to put up with me. Keep chasing them all away.

Run Now

He lit a cigarette. Took a deep drag and let the smoke out slowly.
Suddenly all the tension that had been building for ten years disappeared in a second.
Tomorrow he could beat himself up.
But tonight he was going to disappear.

Growing Old

Growing old means obsessing about things that happened 30 years ago that meant nothing to you at the time but now seem like the key to every decision you ever made.

I didn't know when I was in my teens and early 20s bouncing back and forth between New York and Washington, D.C. that those memories would be so strong years later. I can't remember what I did last week, but I can tell you what I did every day in 1986.

I can tell you about the Amtrak trains. Roaming around Georgetown. Getting bombed in the East Village when it still was the East Village. I remember life had some meaning then and promise. Now it's just a compromise.

You can't call this a midlife crisis because I'm not planning on living until I'm 94. Just call it some ramblings from the back row.

Almost Time

Starting to realize there's something more to this game.
A life spent writing about other lives is no life.
Stuck bent over a computer all day.
With nothing but a little pay to show for it.

Almost at the point that I'd rather write for myself for free.
I'd rather use my words for my way.
Use my words and see if I can't make them pay.
Rather play that play.

Another year has gone by me.
Don't want to be 70 and full of regrets
Reading a bunch of old clips that didn't mean shit.
Better to take a shot at doing my thing.

Could fall flat on my face.
Rather do that than look back with shame.
At myself for all I didn't do.
And all the time I wasted.

Chasing someone else's life while wasting mine.

My Own Making

Not sure why that cut doesn't heal
Maybe because I keep pulling off the scab
The wound doesn't even bleed any more
And I'm not sure what it is I'm not trying to feel

Keep digging deep
There's nothing left to pull out
Keep squeezing that wound
There's nothing there to come out

Tired of feeling so tired
Keep driving down the same road
Can't keep my eyes open
And yet I'm still wired

Would reach for a drink but that's no more
Would love a smoke but those days are gone
Would take a pill but the bottle's empty

So here I sit in another moment of my own making.