This hasn't been an especially prolific few weeks. Maybe sometimes a body... somebody... somebody like me... needs a few days to recharge or something like that. It's certainly not been uneventful, what with the employment situation and such. Then there's the question of Mike.
There are a lot of Mikes, though now there is one less.
The one less in question is Optical Mike, just one of a tribe of Mikes in my life. The particular Mike was one from the early days of my journey... and I realize just now that being cryptic makes this all sound homo-erotic. It's not.
Optical Mike came into the clubhouse a few months after I did. He had bottomed out pretty badly. The more appropriate term might be face-planted. He lost pretty much everything except his life. Now that he couldn't hang onto any sort of time, he went and fucked that up too. It left me feeling more than just sad for him. I'm just fucking disgusted. I fucking hate addiction.
Mike was a good guy. He got everything else. He was just recently re-married and went on a long honeymoon cruise. He had his daughter back in his life. He had a job. Everything looked good on the outside.
But he never got recovery, or it never got him. It's hung a kind of pall over everything else, both good and bad, these last few weeks. I'm not ready to process it yet or maybe this is how I'm going to process it. I'm not sure yet.