B.I.C.

This morning I visualized life back in the city. I'm a writer, butt in chair, so I saw me writing/working, to the sound of Lake Michigan seagulls. B.I.C began ten years ago when I got published by magazines and it's essential because I long to be a wildly successful memoir writer (my memoir is crazy, true and funny). I saw me doing my other home based work, seeing the tops of neighbors heads as they walked past my building on Pine Grove. I hope I get a wide variety of tops of heads because on my treadmill, that's still my view. So I'll make one AA meeting a week. I would abhor even touching, smelling alcohol, let alone drink it. But that one meeting will be a celebration, with other folk, destroyed by poison but having overcome.

Lastly, Karen'll be fine. When she got back yesterday she said, "I'm going to Jewel, do you need anything?" I forgot that I desperately needed toothpaste, shampoo and food and said, "Yes. Get me three paperbacks that say New York Times Bestseller." Now I'm happy.