Swifty phiphty niner

I had an interesting hour with my therapist.   I was spun out by my head exhausting all possibilities between a and b without knowing any facts.   I was guessing but I based it on old history.   Of course it has to do with a woman I went out on a date with.   It was a great date, we had dinner, frozen yogurt, we held hands and we even kissed ever so lightly on the lips as our night ended.   There was no problem with the date, it was after the date that my trouble began.   I wanted to see her again.   Of course I did.   But it was the when that was driving my anxiety.   I felt I had to have more control over the when.   She has kids so there are automatic certain days that are out and then there are vacations coming up for the both of us so that leaves a very thin window of opportunity.   In fact there is a Wednesday coming up that would be ideal but it’s a work night for her so it would be a short night if it were to be a night at...

I haven’t written in a few days.   The day I didn’t write was July 2, 2015.   I didn’t write that day because I didn’t know what to say.   You see that Thursday was the 2 year anniversary of my friend, Jane, putting a gun into her mouth and pulling the trigger.   I shared in the noon meeting about it and got trembly and teary as I felt once again that there was a plug of guilt on my part.   That I could have done some things differently and maybe history would have been changed.   I knew she was addicted to pain killers but I didn’t know the extant of the booze she was drinking until one day at the Primary Purpose AA meeting.   They were giving out chips for birthdays and I picked up a chip for 9 months.   Then I heard a voice coming from back of the room, “Christopher Shirley.   Christopher Shirley is a mother fucker.   Christopher.   Christopher Shirley, you are a mother fucker.” “Thanks Jane it’s nice to see you too!” I sat ...