I Wish I Was an Alcoholic so I could join AA
I need to reveal the exact nature of my wrongs
I’ve reached the age of repentance. As they say in AA, I am ready to admit to God, to myself and to another human being (in this case the more human beings the better) the exact nature of my wrongs.
I have often wished I was an alcoholic or drug addict so I could go to AA and confess my sins. And make new friends. Former addicts are some of my favorite people but they tend to just hang out with each other.
But I’m depressingly sober. I have the occasional drink but more than one just puts me in a coma. I do overeat, but OA (Overeaters Anonymous) is no fun at all. They want you to be “abstinent” with food an oxymoron in my book. Life is too short to give up Junior Mints.
So, I am confessing to you, my dear and compassionate readers, the exact nature of my wrongs in hopes of absolution.
I’m a guilt pusher. Last week an acquaintance who I thought was interested in being my friend broke a lunch date and I told her I was “disappointed.” She texted me “I don’t do guilt” and that’s probably the last I’ll hear from her. So embarrassing. I have tried guilt pushing my daughter but she’s on to me and doesn’t buy it.
I’m a thief. I occasionally “forget” to check out items at Walmart. Especially if they’re making me do self-checkout. Is this shoplifting? I consider it minimum wage.
I’m a gossip. I talk about people behind their backs despite the fact that my religion, Judaism, considers it a sin. Why couldn’t I have been born a Catholic where the sins are mostly about sex? I don’t do sex anymore. Gossip is the next best thing. My motto, courtesy Alice Roosevelt Longworth, is “If you have something bad to say about somebody, come sit by me.”
I am a scofflaw. I occasionally run a red light and make an illegal U-turn. I even break rules I agree with—like mask wearing. In my defense, I live in Florida.
I am slothful. I suffer from semi-entropy. I am an object that once at rest, stays at rest and once in motion seeks to rest. As a result, I don’t get enough exercise and I pay a cleaning lady more than I can afford rather than exerting the energy necessary to actually run a vacuum. In fact, I don’t own a vacuum.
I am irresponsible. Especially when it comes to my finances. I won’t go into the specifics of my on-again, off-again relationship with the US banking system and the I.R.S. Suffice it to say that unlike Donald Trump, I’m not rich enough to get away with tax evasion, but I do try nonetheless.
I am in denial. About a lot of things but especially death. I have not done my living will and all that other stuff you’re supposed to do. I don’t think I’m alone in this one.
I am a slugabed. Since I’m not an early bird I fail to catch any worms, or lunch specials. Your lunch is my breakfast. I’m lucky if I can make it to happy hour. I would call myself a night owl but I don’t actually work late either. My productivity is confined to a couple of hours in the afternoon. Nights are reserved for binge watching.
I’m inconsiderate. I’ve never met a birthday I remembered. I fail to bring hostess gifts. I forget to return phone calls. I have no excuse, not even old age. I’ve always been this way.
Despite my failings I’m an entertaining companion, loyal to a fault and I do have bouts of generosity. Does that count?
As for making amends, I’m happy to apologize to anyone I’ve wronged. So, if that’s you, let me know, and I’ll send you a carefully crafted mea culpa, after which I’ll expect you to take me out for a drink.
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