I just had a moronic to and fro with a “Friend of Bill” who threw out all the stops to get me to come back for one more AA benediction. I demurred. I am not interested in picking that scab until it gets infected again. A life of instant replays? No thank you.

Last year, when my world was collapsing, I picked up a drink after almost 38 years. I wanted to numb myself while my sink drained. Did it work? Absolutely. As advertised. There are things I still don’t remember. Thankfully.

Was it dangerous? Of course. I was also abusing Xanax and could have stroked out. Did I think I would die? Possibly. Did I give a shit at the time? No.

So this guy is railing at me, quoting chapter and verse of the Big Book. He has a fucking anecdote for everything. You know the type.

He is convinced that unless I bow my head and ask my higher power for help, I will soon be on the road back to perdition. Bullshit, I say.

If my higher power is the only one that can keep me from the devil’s brew, where the hell was he when I picked up a drink in the first place? He must be a Baptist.

AA can be like religion, in that you can’t keep your sobriety unless you give it away. Sounds like Ponzi.

I’m the boss of me. The forces of good and evil have nothing to do with my decisions. Would I do what I did all over again? Maybe. It would be my decision at that time.

If I got a bad diagnosis there’s no telling what I would do, but I’m not going to soil myself in anticipation.

So my clean and sober friend, who lives by the “Chicken Little” philosophy of life, will have to hit the streets in search of another “victim”.

I am in control of this “Enterprise.”