We won’t mention the word…

Sittin’ here watchin’ th’ rain. And th’ wind. And th’ radar — and thinking about how lucky I am to be sober, and able to avoid the drama and bullshit with which I would have surrounded an occasion like Tropical Storm Fay, back in the day.

Of course, it would have been a perfect opportunity to drink. Even in my cop days, when I at least managed not to drink on the job (I had other things to tide me over), I would have complained about having to be there (Hey, I’m a f****g executive!), and as soon as I finally got away from the job I would have fallen into the bottle and whatever else I could find for however long I figured I could get away with it.

[Do we ever consider, when thinking about our “honesty” while out there, about all the time we stole from employers? Family? Friends? Ourselves? Did we include that in our 4th, 5th, 8th and 9th?]

Now I’m at work (I did bitch a little, nobody’s perfect), and it’s no big deal. The storm will cross the state 60 or 70 miles west of us and, given its strength, all we’ll get are some gusty winds, a lot of rain — which we can badly use — and maybe a few small tornados. It’s not CharleyFrancesIvanJeanne, and certainly not Andrew. Neither do I live in Bangladesh, nor am I in danger of losing another home through storm or foreclosure.

All in all, it’s a pretty damned nice day.

[Hey, I wrote a blog about _____, and never mentioned the word once! Good for me.]

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