There’s no getting away from it: you have to clean. Anthea Turner
I am in a new place in my life. I live in the same house, all the furniture is the same, the pictures on the wall are still the same. There are some of my favorite photos, some of my better paintings and of course the wall of music. The knick knacks haven’t changed, there’s my collection of vases, his collection of steins and some clay sculptures made by my daughter and myself. Yes the house is the same, the difference is I am slowly but surely rearranging the furniture inside my house. This is what is going on inside my brain right now, I am slowly removing all the crap and baggage. It’s a long process and sometimes I wonder if I will ever get rid of that ugly couch that has been weighing in my mind for so many years. I think I may be able to get rid of the frame, but I’m sure the cushions are going to stubborn themselves to death and always be hidden in a dark closet in the living room of my brain. If this all sounds a bit confusing, what I am referring to is sobriety and the stubborn couch cushions are triggers that hit me every so often and make me want to have that first drink on the path to oblivion. Yes, I know they will probably always be there, but over time the sharpness of the image is fading, the colors aren’t as bright. Each day gets a little easier. Excuse me while I go straighten that picture that is on a slight bit of a tilt.