For some people, the party they didn’t pick is the party they worry about. For me it’s the opposite. The way I figure it, the only party I can enjoy is the party where I happen to be, so why worry about any other? Call me an ego-manic, but I am the party.
This idea is based on the you’re born alone, you live alone, you die alone theory, which I was obliged to subscribe to during an Al-anon meeting all about Step Three, surrendering to your Higher Power, which is something that always seems to come up with those people. My wife made me go. They hand you an egg timer and you start talking. I quoted Harold Pinter. You could have heard a pin drop.
But I had three minutes left, and I spotted a few customers in the room. So I moved right into the God is love part, which follows perfectly. I expressed love as my hope and salvation, the route to grace, the antidote to hell, and the only proof of God. Hell is the state into which you are born, which is alone, which is also the way you die.
It’s the living you must endure, your own private eternity where, whether you like it or not, you live every day in the present. Alone. For some people it’s purgatory - caught not in hell, hating everybody, yet with paradise just out of reach. They can see the love, they just can’t get any.
Now we all know that love stinks, but that’s only unless you forget to fuck sex. Like my mother said when I got divorced, if you think it’s about sex, think again, buddy. I’m talking about loving the people in the room, any room, which can only be the room you happen to be in, even if it’s just you, which is where the party begins.
It’s easy. To love these people is to listen to them. Everybody else at the meeting gets four minutes too, and you’d be amazed at what they have to say. How could you not love them? So I wrapped it up with some sand left in my timer. But if you want a perfect boiled egg, you should take it out early and let it sit for a minute.
