Check In.

I've been sober for over 1 year and 7 months.

I'm still alive.

I've had to face myself a bit more.

I'm not as bad as I thought I was.

I'm not quite schizophrenic, bipolar, deranged in permanent marauding, overly dramatic, saccharine, or dry caustic flippant way.  Okay, maybe a dry caustic flippant way, but only that.

I feel much smaller in the world.  But my smallness is more solid than my bigness was.

I'm hopeful.  I'm tired.  I'm imperfect.  And I have more than a lot to learn. I try to manage layers of guilt and recognize my irrational tendencies, of which I have many.

I'm trying to infuse the lost humor into the quilt I've been wrapped in.  It is working.

I'm late.