Today are my birthdays.
I am 52 years old. And 26 years old.
It is the 52nd anniversary of my natal birth.
It also the 26th anniversary of my sobriety.
I am half as old as I am.
And yes, I sobered up on St. Patrick's Day.
Funny story how I got my name.
The doctor named me.
I was the last born of six girls in my family; my parents had run out of girl names.
They had a boy name all ready; had I been born with dangly bits rather than a hoo-haw, I would have been David Daniel.
That would have been my sister's name had she been born with dangly bits rather than a hoo-haw. Instead, she went for 2 weeks with a middle name, but no first name. The parents had a hard time coming up with a first name to go with the middle name (which is a horrible middle name; my sister is eternally grateful that they did, finally, come up with something to go in front of it).
In any event, after the topography established that I was a girl and not David Daniel, the doctor asked what I should be named.
The parents were stumped. The doctor said "well, it's St. Patrick's Day. Why not name her Patricia?"
Not acceptable -- too long, too formal.
"Well, what about Patty?"
Too many girls being named Patty in 1959.
So the doctor threw an "s" in the middle, and Patsy was inscribed on my birth certificate.
I've never forgiven him for that. My life started out with a grudge.
Well, OK, I did eventually forgive him. Part of that whole sobering up thing.
26 years -- wow, that seems in the abstract to be a fucking long time, huh? I never could have imagined it back in 1985.
When I sobered up I hung out a lot at the York Street Club (often said to be the first and oldest AA Club), where I met a wonderful woman named Janey, who had been sober for an unbelievable 25 years! I asked her how she had done it -- I never saw Janey at meetings, nor did she hang out at the Club a lot.
She told me her secret. "After about five years or so, you just get used to it. Drinking no longer defines who you are. And neither does not drinking".
Works for me. And her timeline was pretty much spot on -- after about 5 years, I stopped thinking about it for the most part.
What really amazes me about growing older is just how fast the years race by these days. Man -- my birthday already? Wasn't it just Christmas a few days ago?
The speed of time is really a pain in the ass -- I'll put off doing something until tomorrow, and suddenly it's three weeks later and I still haven't accomplished it. Which explains why my tomato seeds, which I swore I'd get started by the end of February, are just sprouting.
Shit. Late again.
The first vote I cast in a Presidential election was against Ronald Reagan in 1980.
Although I voted in every fucking election, it was not until 2008 that I actually cast a ballot in favor of a Presidential candidate.
Today I'm wearing my green O'Bama t-shirt.
I have voted for one Republican. I was living in Oregon during my early 20s, and voted for Bob Packwood.
We know how that turned out.
Lesson learned. I've never voted for another Republican. Although I have declined to vote for Democratic candidate.
In a rec list diary, verbalpaintball wishes stupid people would recognize that they are stupid. My years have taught me: stupid people can't. They don't know enough to know their areas of ignorance.
Kind of like toddlers, who think they know everything they need to know.
Or teenagers.
Or just about anyone under 35.
Really, twenty-somethings, you have to go through quite a lot before you can realize just how much you don't know, no matter how well educated you are.
With maturity comes the the knowledge that we are all really stupid in many ways. But with that recognition comes wisdom.
And part of that wisdom is that which was repeated, meeting after meeting, 26 years ago in that old mansion in Denver: knowing the difference between what can and cannot be changed.
And not sweating the small stuff.
And almost all of it is small stuff.