How to Be Unsophisticated

Calling for Check-Ins. Plus--new demons!

Just to check in …

I have this insecurity—or frustration, rather—about how gross and unsophisticated my reading habits are, particularly when it comes to the artists and writers beloved by many of the writers and artists who excite me. I try to keep up, but I still end up feeling like a total poser, especially when someone like Gary Indiana dies. Several people on my timeline wrote thoughtful tributes and then posted their favorite work of his. I enjoyed some of what I read, especially the diary excerpts that Bomb magazine ran. I had never heard of him before. I wanted to, though. But maybe I’m just not a Gary Indiana type of guy.

Sometimes, I wish I'd gone to a different school or grown up in a town where people liked to go to art museums, so I would make an effort to go to art museums and, therefore, would constantly take my kids to art museums. But I don’t and it gnaws at me. "We need to go to more museums before it's too late, or you'll end up drawn towards stupid things like Iron Maiden and Starburst like me!" I haven't said this out loud just yet, but it's coming.

Anyway, here's why I'm twisted up about this. I tried to read a smart-person book again this week. Well, actually, I don't even know if it's considered a smart-person book. I went for The Bhagavad Gita. I saw several copies of it on the bookshelves of some of the counselors at rehab, and I always wondered what it was about. I bought it a few years ago and tried to get through it a couple times, but never really dove into it because it didn't light me up all that much. (Other popular books on the rehab shelves: Siddhartha by Herman Hesse. Oh, and The Alchemist.)

I’m trying to become a better reader again since I've started to write a book. I'm much less hung up on the book-writing process, but I suddenly became stricken with self-doubt and paranoid that I must read at least half a dozen of the 100 best books of the 21st Century by the end of the year if I want to do any serious writing. I've maybe read five books that are on there. Three and a half is probably more accurate. But I've read Pulphead (Number 81) a few times. Well, it's perhaps more accurate to say I've read several of the stories inside Pulphead a few times. Okay, you got me. This is shamefully accurate — I've read the Axl Rose slinky-snake story twice and read the first 2,000 words of "Upon This Rock" probably 80 times. It's so good, but it drags towards the end.

So that's what's up with me. I'm feeling dumb but also very inspired. If anyone can share their favorite Gary Indiana book with me, I'll probably buy it, read the first 20 pages, and never open it again. Or, who knows, maybe it'll change my life.

Anyway, how are you?

Our November Check-Ins run next Tuesday—so we need your help. Tell us what's up with your recovery—share your triumphs, setbacks, or whatever else is lifting you up or holding you down. Help us help you help everyone.

The perfect length is 150-300 words.

Here's a GREAT example of what we're looking for.

“I started a new job today, after losing my career pinnacle job late last year. And then I lost another one after six weeks, because of the economy or some such thing. Anyways, the new job is full of lovely nerdy people who are excited I'm on their team, and they are paying me just fine to work part-time hours. So of course I came home and cried a bunch, because my ego is having a temper tantrum and my gratitude game is not as strong as I tell people it is. But right now, I'm on the deck listening to the neighbor kid practicing piano and he's gotten pretty good at it, so my pity party has a very dramatic soundtrack going. It'll all be fine.”

EMAIL ME HERE: ajd@thesmallbow.com subject NOVEMBER CHECK-IN

Again, it will be published NEXT TUESDAY.

Anyone who contributes gets a FREE month of TSB's Sunday edition. If you didn't get hooked up last month, please email me and let me know, and I'll get you situated.

(We also donate $25 to the Katal Center each month on behalf of TSB.)

Also, at the end of this newsletter, I'm rerunning a Check-In from our archives. It's from June 2022 and full of early post-pandemic angst and exultation. It's available to our paid subscribers, which could be you. Here's the pitch, accompanied by two new demon illustrations from Edith:

TSB is funded entirely by paying subscribers. Your money helps pay for all our freelancers and TSB's fantastic illustrator, Edith Zimmerman. We’re in the process of building this out—more contributors, more podcasting, more meetings, more merch, and more MORE—so we need all the help you can give us.

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This is The Small Bow newsletter. It is mainly written and edited by A.J. Daulerio. And Edith Zimmerman always illustrates it. We send it out every Tuesday and Friday.

You can also get a Sunday issue for $8 a month or $60 per year. The Sunday issue is a recovery bonanza full of gratitude lists, a study guide to my daily recovery routines, a poem I like, and more exclusive essays.

If you would like to donate to The TSB Podcast, this is where you can do that.

Or if you like someone an awful lot, you can give them a subscription.

Thank you so much for your support! Follow us on Instagram if you want more of Edith’s illustrations. We also have merch.

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ZOOM MEETING SCHEDULE

Monday: 5:30 p.m. PT/ 8:30 p.m ET

Wednesday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET

Thursday: (Women and non-binary meeting) 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET

Friday: 10 a.m. PT/1 p.m. ET

Saturday: Mental Health Focus (Peer support for bipolar/anxiety/depression) 9:30 a.m. PT/12:30 p.m. ET

Sunday: (Mental Health and Sobriety Support Group) 1:00 p.m PT/4 p.m. ET

*****

If you don't feel comfortable calling yourself an "alcoholic," that's fine. If you have issues with sex, food, drugs, DEBT, codependency, love, loneliness, depression, come on in. Newcomers are especially welcome.

FORMAT: CROSSTALK, TOPIC MEETING

We're there for an hour, sometimes more. We'd love to have you.

Meeting ID: 874 2568 6609

PASSWORD TO ZOOM: nickfoles

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A POEM ON THE WAY OUT:

Broken Promises

by David Kirby

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I have met them in dark alleys, limping and one-armed;   

I have seen them playing cards under a single light-bulb   

and tried to join in, but they refused me rudely,   

knowing I would only let them win.   

I have seen them in the foyers of theaters,   

coming back late from the interval   

long after the others have taken their seats,   

and in deserted shopping malls late at night,   

peering at things they can never buy,   

and I have found them wandering   

in a wood where I too have wandered.   

This morning I caught one;   

small and stupid, too slow to get away,   

it was only a promise I had made to myself once   

and then forgot, but it screamed and kicked at me   

and ran to join the others, who looked at me with reproach   

in their long, sad faces.

When I drew near them, they scurried away,   

even though they will sleep in my yard tonight.   

I hate them for their ingratitude,   

I who have kept countless promises,   

as dead now as Shakespeare’s children.   

“You bastards,” I scream,   

“you have to love me—I gave you life!”

— “Big-Leg Music”

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This was originally published on June 7, 2022

Sometimes It’s Better Never To Look Down

by The Small Bow Family Orchestra

*****

I gave my son a ride to his friend's house–the meeting point for a week-long camping trip. It was raining this Saturday. The parents were huddled in the garage, and I did not see them when I stopped the car. But then my son told me that the parents were around.

I felt too shy to step out and greet them, so I pretended I was on my phone. At some point, I leaned right to have a tree trunk hide me from one of the parents who came out. A few minutes later, I made a U-turn on the narrow street instead of driving by.

I held the part of me that was scared. I did not drink when I got home.

*****

I miss the easy camaraderie offered by alcohol & drugs, or at least I miss the illusion of it.

I hate big three-day weekends like Memorial Day, weekends devoted to partying and frolicking in a body of water with ten of your closest friends. Who are these people with so many friends & the body confidence to take pictures in swimsuits? I am jealous and bitter.