| March
18, 2003
the stuff
of saints
It happens
daily that I make someone feel good about himself. I am sought out
for this. Just today, a friend confided that he thinks of me whenever
he feels beleaguered. As he put it, "whenever I think my life
is a steaming pile of monkey shit, I think about you and feel much
better."
This
does not insult me; on the contrary, it gratifies me. Some people
never get a calling or, if they do, the charges are reversed.
Since getting sober and divorced, I have inspired countless others to avoid
being me. When I witness dawning in another the realization that,
thank God, they aren't me, I am overcome by a sense of peace. Actually,
I am overcome by flatulence then by peace, but you catch my drift.
Even as my community property settlement is finalized, and I scour ladies'
magazines for casserole recipes featuring Alpo as a main component,
I can't help feeling blessed. Suicide by living is the stuff of saints. |