Posts tagged Cary Tennis

Salon Joins the Act…

In today’s Salon advice column by (AA? I believe so…) Cary Tennis, an AA member writes in to say that he has hated every bloody minute he has spent in AA. So, Salon doesn’t actually have to dive in and write an AA critical article, it gets one of its readers to do it for them. Whatever. It’s a start. The conversation is picking up…

I’m Sober, I’m Depressed and I hate AA

Dear Cary,

It’s Saturday night and in a few more weeks I will have been sober six years, with the help of AA, daily meetings, sponsors, steps, the whole bit. I’ve had times of peace and serenity, and gratitude for my healthy body and mind. But, for the most part, I’ve hated it from the beginning. And it’s just getting worse. I try other meetings — there are hundreds every week in the city I live in. I’ve also been to meetings in many different countries, and in the U.S. from Anchorage to Key West.

I’m a musician and travel a lot. That’s another thing. I don’t find any joy in my music anymore. My neighbors are having a jam tonight and I am in bed, listening, trying to watch a movie, wishing I could be there drinking a beer and jamming with them. My joy is gone. Vamoose. It went back in March of ’05. And now, even if drinking means death to me, it seems like a better choice than continuing to live this way. Continue reading Salon Joins the Act…

Good Drunkalog

Bonus: Not a slogan in sight.

From Cary Tennis’s March 19th Since You Asked advice column, “Sober and Boring” at Salon. An excerpt:

I crave your attention but I can’t do the old strip-tease for free. A body’s got to get paid. Truth be told I still want your whispered admiration and your secret envy of my coolness but not enough to wreck my car and go to jail for it. I have to be the boring one in the crowd of loud laughter or go down screaming to an early grave. I’ll live with that. I’m in it for the long haul now. Survival is my trump card. Survival breaks scissors, cuts paper, covers rock. My premature death lacks a certain je ne sais quoi, however amusing it might sound over Jameson and darts or a deafening Damned show where anyone skinny enough to wear all black and play guitar and shoot brown heroin in the men’s room can get on the guest list. Do the math.