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May 13 • Whose Ass-fault is This?

Day 674

I don't know which is worse for me emotionally, having to fight for every second of sanity, or those times when it seems like everything is on the right path until an unexpected twist or bump throws me into doubt and remembered pain. A few years ago, I bought a new car. Not a luxury car by any means, it was still the nicest vehicle I had ever owned. It had great electronic gadgets, fantastic gas mileage, and I even opted for those low profile tires that increase the sporty sensation when taking curves a little too fast. I liked this car. Of course, I felt guilty for spending the money on a brand new vehicle whose value decreased significantly the moment I drove it off the lot, but I had been saving and comparing and felt as good as I could about such a purchase.

There should be warning stickers on cars with low profile tires, or they should not be allowed to be sold in places where the temperature ever gets below asphalt-popping temperatures. In the four years I've had this vehicle, I've replaced eight tires and two wheels due to inappropriate contact with potholes or chuckholes or whatever you want to call these enemies of the state. You can reasonably question my driving skills as well as Indiana's track record for road repairs, but that's just a silly number of blown tires for a guy that had never blown a tire in previous decades. It clearly is a design flaw that has victimized me and my checkbook. And here comes the metaphor. I am in recovery from sexual addiction. I've worked hard on developing skills for navigating the road to health, and I've been feeling pretty good about my chances lately... BOOM! Did you hear that? Damn pothole. So I go back to the tire store, er, 12 Step community, and I get some new treads with better grip, and I'm back on the road again. And again. And again. I can get a different car with big knobby tires to solve my pothole problem, but I think my choices on recovery road are not as easy. This is my new normal life, and I'm thankful for it and for the addicts that walk with me, and the family that loves me through it. As Val Kilmer's dying Doc Holiday said to Kurt Russell's hapless Wyat Earp,

"There is no normal life...It's just life. Get on with it."

Getting on.




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