The Cloud

Things have remained great as day 32 of sobriety comes to an end. I can safely say that I 100% do not want to drink today. Granted, this pink cloud has been quite a ride the last couple days. For those that don’t know, the pink cloud or pink cloud syndrome, describes a stage of early addiction recovery that involves feelings of euphoria, elation, and optimism about sobriety. Basically, my neurotransmitters are firing like normal again. Pink cloud can occur on major sobriety dates and other life accomplishments, or so I’m told. It can also occur after a good AA meeting, which I’ve attended a total of 6 in the last 72 hrs. Either way, I’ll take it in whatever form. On the flip side, however, it can be a dangerous phenomenon as heightened confidence invites complacency.

 For me though, it’s been a WILD ride and I’m embracing it. Pure bliss, unconditional love for life, and craziest of all is the desire to small talk with strangers. After asking the gal at the veterinary clinic how her day was going, she replied with “eh…it’s a Tuesday.” I must’ve started foaming at the mouth when she asked about mine. I just couldn’t hold it in, “ya know… we’re on this side of the dirt, and the sun is shining!” If it weren’t for my internal voice telling me not to say weird shit, I would’ve proceeded to tell her how liberating The Twelve Steps are. If you read my last post, you might’ve noticed the cloud because I hadn’t before I typed it. In fact, I was only made aware of my pink cloud after my newly acquired savior complex almost got me in a tight spot and some good friends pointed it out. Illusions of grandeur that was. Maybe later I’ll share the whole story. Anyway, I should be careful as this cloud isn’t black and white, and accurately separating those emotions is no easy task.

 Back at the farm, my dad and I were getting the tractor and planter ready for milo. Upon entering the shop to look for tools, I slowly scanned my eyes over the 12 foot bench and the heap of farm supplies that lay in front of it.

Suddenly, I experienced a perspective shift, a sort of out of body experience. It felt as if I had walked into someone else’s shop and the owner was no longer alive on this earth, or maybe he was cast away to some institution. Like a crime scene without blood or a body. A scene frozen in time, left just the way it was before they departed. As the tools seemed to evade us, I turned to my dad and said, “This is some alcoholic shit. Tomorrow didn’t matter so why put tools back where they belong.” In consolation, he replied, “it’s all good Jake, it’s in the past.” It was strange to hear his contentedness as that had been a strict lesson he preached my entire childhood. That’s how things were in my active addiction though, a ‘fuck-it-all’ mess. And if that life could be represented by a few pictures, these would be it.

I’m glad that person is gone. I’m sure his headstone is facing west, cause he didn’t believe in salvation anyway. I did know him once. He was an old burned out flame who couldn’t find his way through the dark. If only he knew me.