February 22nd, 2003


Time to start cooking

Stuffed shell pasta. Buttermilk pie. Of course, like normal, pretty much everyone I invited to dinner tonight bailed, including some who had said, Sure, I can do dinner next weekend. Delicious food. Now with yummy leftovers.


But before I go off and peel apples and cook, I have a rant.

And acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing, or situation—some fact of my life—unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing, or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment.

That's a quote from a story entitled Doctor, Alcoholic, Addict that appeared in the 3rd edition of the book Alcoholics Anonymous. I use it because it is probably the most quoted thing in A.A. today. And the most wrong. I hear it all the time from all sorts of people as well, not just A.A.ers. Your brother died, you just need to accept it. Crap like that. That's all well and good, and theoretically, could solve my problem.

But exactly how the fuck am I supposed to accept something?

That's the important part. You can't just flip a switch in the brain and accept something that is upsetting. The way most people use the word, it is a synonym for be okay with.

Some things just are crappy, and I will never stop being upset over them. They may not rule my life, but acceptance is not the way to get there. Because acceptance doesn't tell you how to get there.