Crushing ennui

I notice I'm now taking more notice of all the other things I do and accomplish now that I'm not going to meetings.  Apparently, meeting attendance was a way of staying unconscious of several other things I undetake during a week .  For instance, one night this week I got all my laundry caught up.  I watched Ken Burns' THE WAR on PBS and it was quite good.  Another thing: I've been more thoughtful about things I do generally, like my guitar playing...I can segue into it...I'm taking more notice of my surroundings, I'm not as rushed...home is not just a place to hurry up and leave out of...

I think I went to meetings the way I used, to keep me from something, perhaps to keep me from being me, because that was not a good thing, it was not enough, not enough for me just to exist...ever notice, looking back over your using, how exquisitely more miserable it got for you as the years went by when you weren't fucked up?  God damn I hated it!  That part of the disease came very early for me...I even remember taking stabs at not using, to no avail...having tasted the relief available to me by getting loaded there was a gaping hole in me that NOTHING else could ever fill, and that I could not ignore...I could not not-know that it was there and what I could do about it...and I could handle it!  And handle it, I did, until I could handle it no more...until it was handling me, then it was throttling me, then it threatened to kill me...it has that momentum...it has a better program than I do, and I respect that...

Yes, I think that's it...subconsciously, that's what has been going on.

That's the source of unending misery, the insatiable, incessant, compulsive need for entertainment, gratification, stimulation, distraction: being is not enough. Being me is not enough.  It must be adorned, dressed up, added to...qualified, explained, rationalized...something, something, something...