Wheel in the Sky

Sobriety, SPOT, Do What You Want

Last week I had my fourteenth sober birthday. To celebrate I went to the dentist.

Obviously that’s not even remotely true. I had to get my temporary crown on my cracked tooth replaced with the actual crown. The timing was purely coincidental.

I was supposed to go to the dentist a couple weeks ago but couldn’t for health reasons so they rescheduled me for February 2, which is also Shakira’s birthday. And James Joyce’s birthday. And my sober birthday.

2/2. Easy to remember.

It’s weird to think of sobriety in terms of years because the only thing that matters is today. Today is a good day if I don’t take a drink.  

Fourteen years of good days seems, I don’t know, egotistical and unrealistic? Who has a good day fourteen years in a row? Not me, but here we are.  

It’s like the Monte Carlo fallacy. The odds of hitting red or black are exactly the same every time I play. It doesn’t matter how many times I bet or the outcome of the wheel. The odds are exactly the same with each new spin.

Same shit with sobriety. Every day is a new spin of the wheel, a new opportunity to fuck up my life. With stakes like that, I need daily reminders:

Do I want to fuck up my life today?

Nope, not today.

All right then.

I don’t want to say my outlook has improved because my opinion of how things are going on Planet Shitshow is pretty negative, but things have come into focus. I have a clarity about things that I lacked fourteen years ago. For instance, I have a different view of oral hygiene.

When I worked in the 9-5 world I had great health insurance but seldom used it. I knew I had a drinking problem and there was something wrong with me, deeply deeply rotten, and the dentist was where I felt the most vulnerable. I was bad with money, neglected my health, blew off appointments, and when the dentist told me to open wide and shined a light inside my mouth I felt bottomless shame.

I don’t tell a lot of war stories from my heavy drinking days because mostly what I remember is the fear.

For decades I had this recurring dream where people are after me and I’m on the run. I might be on foot or in a car but it’s usually a city, some kind of densely inhabited grid that might be my hometown, or a foreign seaport I visited when I was in the Navy, or some Blade Runner shit. There are always people after me. It might be cops or soldiers or men in black but it’s always some version of Shore Patrol, some patriarchal authority posse that has complete dominion over my body and I need to get the fuck away.

I hope none of you are psychologists.

Anyway, it was all fear. Fear of getting caught in a lie. Fear of getting pulled over. Fear of running out of money. Fear of people finding out what kind of person I really am.

I don’t have those fears anymore.

I go to the dentist knowing there might be bad news. There will probably be some pain or at the very least discomfort, and I lean into it. You could say it’s what I’m there for.

I’m not afraid of what the dentist might say or do. Yes, I worry about the cost, but I hope for the best and when it’s over I feel the way I imagine Christians feel—I’m talking about the true believers here—when they leave church and are filled to the brim of their holy heads with grace.

Same with me, except it’s mouthwash? Minty fresh breath? I don’t know, but I like it. Every time I go to the dentist I feel like I did a good deed for some poor bastard and the poor bastard is me.  

My dentist listens to music while she works and often sings along. Her favorite band is Journey. Once she tried to explain to me all the drama going on with the band’s singer but I couldn’t quite follow what she was telling me. We were both a little distracted.

I always have the urge to hug my dentist at the end of my appointment but she’s a covered head to toe in protective equipment and it would be awkward and weird so I don’t.

Instead, I go outside and walk to my car. There’s a liquor store right next door with all the ingredients I need to ruin my life.

There was a time in my life whenever I was in between appointments and no one knew where I was or what I was up to I would take a drink or two. Didn’t matter what day of the week it was or if it was morning, afternoon, or night. Didn’t matter what else I had planned. Even if I woke up thinking, “No drinking today,” if a secret sliver of time opened up I would drink.

Those days seem like a bad dream, less than a dream because my actions were driven by a compulsion that has nothing to do with me my actual dreams. That was the disease taking the wheel and highjacking my good intentions.

Not anymore. As long as the wheel in the sky keeps on turning, I’ll keep putting my money on number two because when it hits you know I’m going to let it ride.

2/2. Double deuce.

Now won’t that be a party…

Spot Photo Update

Last week I mentioned how a gang of good people have organized a fundraiser for SPOT’s healthcare. I wanted to share that I’ve already received the print I ordered and I’m very happy with it. I mean look at it. This sucker is big. It’s not too late to get one to decorate your den and it’s for a very good cause.

Do What You Want

Dave at Largehearted Boy has informed me that the ebook for Do What You Want, which I wrote with Bad Religion, is available for just $4.99 at Amazon. There are also deep discounts to be had on books by other rock authors, including Bob Mould, Lol Tolhurst, Dave Mustaine, Rob Halford, and Mark Lanegan.

Real Dogs in Space

I’ll leave you with this survey of dogs featured in the work of Raymond Pettibon in The Paris Review of all places. Take care and don’t forget to floss.