I can't help it. I just keep thinking about Scrooge on Christmas morning. How he was incredulous that he still had hope, that Tiny Tim was still alive, that the spirits did it all in one night. My sobriety can be like that. After I screw it up for long enough and come to realize what a dipshit I have been, I also realize that I am still sober, despite it all, and still married, and still a dad, and still employed, and still....
As long as I breathe, there is hope, and as long as I take sober breaths, there is plenty of hope. Not just hope for what I can avoid, but hope for what I can do. Do you imagine that after 16 years, the spirits had to come back and kick Scrooge around for another night? Probably, if he was anything like me. Maybe the second time around, he knew it was just what he needed.
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