"Signs, Signs Everywhere There's Signs"....

I love the song SIGNS. We sang it in Mr. Lamb's music class when I was in grade school. The original version was written by The Five Man Electric Band. A lot of people think it's a Tesla song. It reminds me of the sixties. The lyrics that revolve around accepting change, and seeing the signs around us, are profound.

For the better part of my life when the world said zig, I zagged. It was intentional. I hated conformity, and being one of the crowd. I was fiercely independent. My definition of independence meant defiance. I thought rules were suggestions. If I liked a rule, I followed it. If I didn't care for it, I dismissed it because I knew better.

Recently, I was issued a ticket for pausing at a stop sign. I paused. No one was around, so I interpreted the sign as pause instead of stop. It was clearly marked. I know what a stop sign means. It means stop, not pause. I had my reasons for the infraction. My wife was in mid-flight on a trip to Germany to visit our daughter. I was praying for a safe flight. I was making deliveries and needed to get back to work. My reasoning for committing the violation were my perceptions, not the reality. It was not what the sign read.

We all have a small still voice inside of us. Before I have said or done anything hurtful or wrong, the small still voice warned me for a split second before I acted. I used to dismiss it. Sometimes I still do. Once again, I knew better. The voice was wrong! Some call it conscience. I call it GOD.

My third marriage was a disaster. My ex wife and I were toxic together. In our abbreviated  marriage we never lived together for a week. We were very much alike. That's what made things so volatile. I was trapped deep in addiction. She had a violent temper. We were not on the same page. I dismissed our troubled beginnings. I thought they were growing pains.

There were signs all over the place before we got married. I saw her instantaneous anger rear its ugly head towards her two year old daughter at Christmas. The little girl opened a present and didn't like what was inside. Her mother became enraged and tossed all of her gifts into a garbage dumpster. After I left the house I returned to the dumpster to retrieve the toys and wrapped packages.

I figured I could change her. I felt as if the insanity is what I deserved. My addictions, and low self esteem talked me in to, what I knew I should run from. I ignored the signs. I jumped in to marriage with her against the advice of my friends and loved ones. I drew closer to her because I thought people were attacking her. Nobody knew her like I did! They were right. I reacted in spite. I knew in my heart that it was a mistake. My drive to zag overtook me. It was going to be me and her against the world. She threw my belongings out into the street the night we were wed.

If I had listened to the voice, heeded the signs I witnessed, and listened to the people observing the situation from the outside, I would not have made the choices I did. Nobody needed to tell me. I knew it, but tossed it, out of the window.

When I get into an argument with someone, in that split second before I say the words I'm going to regret, the tiny voice warns me not to do it. In my younger days I told the voice to SHUT UP and out spilled the venom. On some occasions it still does. I pay the price, often after wounding someone I care for deeply. Then I ask myself why I didn't listen.

As I mature, the tiny voice has gotten louder. I don't ignore it anymore. I realize that the voice is my gut feeling. If I went with that early warning system all the time, I would find myself in better places, with more positive outcomes. I realize the tiny voice is usually right. I can not recall a time when it was wrong.

There are signs everywhere, inside and outside of us. From getting a new job, to buying that shirt I can't afford, there are always signs I can follow or dismiss. I am glad that I can see, and hear, them now. I listen to them when I am unsure. Acceptance does not mean that I am compromising my independence. It proves that I am growing in it.

I now know that zigging doesn't mean I will always like doing it. The outcome is usually to my benefit. Now, I halt at stop signs, and look both ways. The cost of the ticket was enough to teach me it's a stop sign, not a suggested pause. There will be a price to pay...If I don't read the signs....

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW  on Amazon and Amazon Europe. Personalized copies can be purchased through PAYPAL at tommyconnolly.com. 


Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

Two Slices Of Pickle And A Dose Of Reality

A Sliver of Hope, a New Direction and a Genius Idea!

As of this writing Squeaky is cancer free. We have been through some other medical hurdles she has been presented with. We are tighter than ever. This entry was written in September, 2011 when she was facing Kidney Cancer surgery. I am grateful to say she made it through a tough season. She's got game! I am blessed to have her as my BFF.

As an addict my default thinking is usually me. I want the universe and all of its' atoms formed, or random, to revolve around my plans. Whoever came up with the expression "there is no ME in team" was not an addict. I can say that with almost complete certainty. It is not that we don't have feelings for others but that our addiction demands 100% percent of our attention. Once the booze is gone the melon needs to be rewired for healthy thinking.

In recovery I have found that the biggest problem that fueled my years of self-destruction was the love-hate relationship I had with myself. I would wake up each day and hate myself more and more.  My addiction LOVED it. The more I hated me, the more I would turn to chemicals and booze to try and escape MYSELF temporarily. The next day I would wake up with an extra helping of self hate and some physical pain, guilt and shame to throw into the mix. Then the games would begin again for another 24 hours.

For years I thought I was using because the world was all wrong! I realize now that I was using because I was all wrong inside. It was my thinking.  I had a twisted perception on reality. More precisely, I used because the people and atoms of the universe didn't act in a way that met with my satisfaction. As I grow in sobriety I have learned to like myself by accepting the fact that the world will do what it is supposed to do. I accept others as they are. Most importantly I try not to spend too much time alone in my head. It can become a Wall Street riot up there in a jiffy.

Now that I am sober I work with other alcoholics and addicts new to recovery. I perform for fundraisers and causes because I am grateful to give back this gift that was freely given to me. I will never give back enough. God and recovery groups gave me my life, family and a purpose to live back.

Squeaky and I had been going through a rough season leading up to the "Rally Round Recovery 2011." I was working on a film. I had just returned from California after a week of therapy and a shoot for an "Animal Planet" series. I am in final editing of my book Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, God and Myself. I am about to start 2 new films. I was working to promote the premier of "Chasing Hollywood." I was in hyper "ME" mode. This happens in sobriety and reality.

Squeaky's kidney surgery was scheduled for 2 days later. The doctors were not sure if they were going to take a portion of her right kidney or the whole thing. I cleared my schedule of EVERYTHING. I thank God for giving me the sense to do that. I did bring a galley copy of the book that I intended to read as Squeaky lay in recovery. I made arrangements to stay with her while she was in the hospital. They were very accommodating. I never once opened the galley.

As the time passed all I could think about was the stupid arguments leading up until that day and question God about putting her through this instead of me. I was the idiot! My heart was shifting back to center. Why is it that we have to be in a big pile of shite with a loved one,  they're in an operating room or funeral parlor for us to look at how truly dear they are to us? It boggles my mind! We fight about wrapping paper and who ate my cereal? For the love of GOD who cares?!

The surgery went better than we could ever have imagined. They were able to use the Da Vinci robotic surgery method on her, and as the doctor said, "if her kidney were a hamburger we only had to take two pickle slices." It was the greatest horrible analogy I had ever heard.  It did make me a bit crazy that they assign patients numbers now during operations. They have a television you can check like an arrival board at the airport to see if they are "boarding," "on the runway," "ready for takeoff," "inflight," "on the tarmack" and "safely on the ground." Her flight was near perfect.

He said she would be staying for 2 nights. That was okay with me. They would know if it was cancer later in the week. She was medicated.  Her family was there to support her, and me, during the day. It kept me calm. In post-op she smiled and mumbled in tongues. She looked glorious. Every time she moved I jumped afraid she was in pain or going to fall out of bed or needed the nurse. I contorted myself up in the tiny Hobbit like chair and slept with one eye open grateful we dodged a bullet.

Being the real alcoholic I am I spent the hours beating myself up a bit. I also reviewed my behavior and realized I was not sharing enough of the projects I was involved in with my wife. I am proud she appeared with me in "Chasing Hollywood." It can be seen in its entirety on youtube. My Squeaky is on IMDB as Pina Connor. That is the Cats Pajamas! But I used to read scripts to her. I used to read all my blogs to her. I used to consult her on every career move I was making as I was making them. Her opinions played into my decisions on what road to take.

I can't tell you what we talked about during her 60 hour stay there. I honestly don't remember. We just talked and laughed like things were early in our relationship. We were focused on each other and I was in the NOW, not so danged worried about the future. We laughed at stupid stuff. She made me stop goofing around because the laughter made her side ache. I fetched ice chips and cups of coffee. I started calling her sliver kidney. She chuckles at the nickname.

Everything I try to do is for the betterment of the family and marriage. When things are going wrong in my life, I need to look at myself first. The problem I often have is that I have a grand plan inside my head. It is carefully crafted. We will work together spreading a message of hope and recovery to alcoholic/addicts and their loved ones. She can't see my thoughts. ACTIONS speak louder than thoughts. God calls the shots. I just show up for each DAYS game and worry less about the season....

Welcome to Zanie's for the First Time Tommy Connolly!

In the last chapter Ain't Life Zany?, I mentioned that performing there represented a closing of the circle for me from addiction to sobriety. It was also opening a door of comedy opportunity and a milestone in my new life. It nearly didn't happen at all.

Bert Haas is the "man" at Zanies. Average in size with an infectious smile, he is all business. When he says be on time it's not a California suggestion. It's a Judge's edict. I was coming in from Plainfield and left the house at 6pm thinking 90 minutes was more than enough time to reach the club with time for a quick bite. Squeaky and my oldest daughter Andrea were accompanying me on my peacemaking journey and we were in for the ride of our lives.

Every conceivable traffic snarl, accident and construction slowdown was thrown up in front of us. The trip down the double nickel usually took 40 minutes. 40 minutes into this trip we were only at Harlem Avenue. Thankfully God graced someone with GPS design and technology. We shot through Berwyn and Cicero and all of the back streets that shot off of Ogden Avenue. We literally pulled up to the club at 7:30. I double parked in the bike only lane, kissed Squeaky and made a mad dash for the front door.

The wonderful girl at the door must have been expecting me because instead of a "Hello" I got a "Through the kitchen and up the stairs." I arrived at the top of the club out of breath, sticky and panicky. Mr. Haas was there too. He curtly greeted me with a "I was just coming down to look for you." I was the last guy to make it. I have been told if you are late you are out of luck.

I have done dozens of showcases in comedy clubs around Chicago. Loosely speaking a showcase is a show that features a variety of comics. There is no feature or headliner, just an emcee and a parade of hopefuls. This was a true SHOWCASE. It is where you are showcasing your talent for the booker to play at the club or other clubs the booker handles. Bert gave a great crash course on comedy, expectations, jokes, being a pro, rejection and life. It was priceless advice for a comic or anyone trying to achieve any goal in life.

I was the old guy in the room at 45. The average age of the other comics was about 25. The mix of size and shape of my fellows was diverse in race and ethnicity. It was a comedy melting pot. My head was spinning but I wasn't nervous. I really didn't have heady expectations about the performance. As I sat looking at the talent around me I was grateful to be among the few who get the chance to play such a legendary venue.

I was performing tenth or there about. The walls were covered with signed pictures from all the greats. I could fill the rest of this page with names alone. I smiled when I saw David Brenner's photo hanging across from the bar and a short distance from the ladies room. He had a ringside seat to all the action. He would like it that way. I snapped a picture to send him as a memento. It was also a reminder of those days when I walked by in a different dimension. In that moment I was in crystal clarity.

The house was packed and many of my friends came to see me perform. The youngsters that hit the stage before me were good. Some of them amazing. A couple of them will be stars. I sat with my wife and daughter at the rear of the club waiting for my number to come up. I was lucky. My number should have been up a long time ago.

I stroked Squeaky's hair and looked at my beautiful daughter and some new realities hit me and old ones were solidified. As for the new, I am a good comic but it is becoming a young man's sport. These boys had game. I will not become the "next big thing." I am cool with that. The new breed is faster and sharper. I didn't start performing comedy until I was 40! There is a market for guys like me. I have come pretty far pretty fast in five years, two and a half of them sober.

I am a story teller. I look forward to the release of "Soul Parole" and getting out on the road and telling people the story of my life as a depressed drunken caterpillar and my new life as a sober, functional, husband, father, actor and comic butterfly. I enjoy my work with Comics for Convicts. I will never stop performing. It's in my blood. Making people laugh is my greatest high and no one gets hurt when I use it.

The true reality of the night was seeing new friends and old school mates in the audience there to cheer me on. I have a great wife and kids. I have wonderful people in my life that I can have true working, functional relationships with. Addicts don't have that luxury. I may not make it as a big star or play Vegas. I have appeared in and been featured in some great films already with some amazing actors in just 10 months. I have played Zanie's. I am rich beyond anything Ben Franklin's can provide.

I held my own on stage. I did not slay 'em nor did I bomb. I held my own. I hugged my friends and I thanked Mr. Haas. Then I thanked God for all his grace. I got in the car with my beautiful wife and daughter, the true riches in my life, and headed home. The ladies were dosing off as I reviewed my performance. I always think I can do better.  I don't know where things are headed but I trust God. He's been doing a great job running my life when I let him. The sounds echoed in my ears..."Please welcome to Zanie's for the first time Tommy Connolly." It was the first. It may be the last. But it was.

The Luck O' The Irish Aint All That Bad!

Last night was the 8th out of the last 10 St. Patrick's Days that I spent sober! There aren't many Irishmen who can say that and be proud, but I am. For many years every day was St. Patty's Day for me. I also want to clarify for those who don't know. If you tell someone that they have the "luck o' the Irish." you are not telling them they are on a streak of jolly tidings. The Irish traditionally have had shite for luck. To wish someone "the luck of the Irish," is to basically wish them hunger, loss of home, servitude, oppression and general misery. You're better off wishing someone no luck at all than to bestow upon them the "luck o' the Irish."

Last night the Micks beat the odds. We had one helluva night in the working town of Joliet, Illinois, a miniature Pittsburgh or Boston about 30 miles outside of Chicago. On an unseasonably warm night I was blessed to take the stage with 7 other Irish comics and 1 Mexican (minority requirements) for a night of laughter and friendship at the good old American Legion Harwood Post. It was the first show put together by Patrick Bagdon (soon to go national) and myself. I have to say for our first time out of the gate it was a huge success.

Being no stranger to self promotion myself, all of the other comics promoted the show for a month and the turnout was great. The crowd looked like part of the cast from "The Departed," some from "Happy Days," and the rest from "How the World Turns." It was the great American melting pot. The line up consisted of me, Patrick Bagdon, Horacio Ramirez, Kristen Toomey McLaughlin, Dan Brennan, Derek Miller, Sean Patrick Conroy, Joe Larkin and Patrick O'Hara. Everyone was on game. Everyone was in top form; a rarity when everyone in the lineup hits a home run.

Making people laugh is something that has always given me great pleasure and satisfaction. Last night was no exception. Comics are a rare breed and a unique species. We take the darkness of the world and turn it into light. We take our pain and let people in on it and get a chuckle out of it. There is no such thing as a well adjusted comic. We have to be a little off center to come up with some of the material that spills from our lips. Mostly we say the things that most people want to but don't dare to. We say what most folks dare to think.

Beyond making people laugh, I was touched to the center of my being by all the friends, old and new, who came out to support me. It would be impossible to name them all but I have to point out my friend Todd Brown. I've known him since we were in diapers. That's when we were little, not a freaky thing. Plus Lisa Koon. These are friends I hadn't seen in 20 years who I used to run with when I was about 5. Fond memories of Mokena and grade school filled my head. It was like we left off where we were during our last conversation. Nothing had changed.

There were friends from recovery and friends from high school and the comedy circuit. I actually had to take my set list with me onstage because I was afraid I was going to forget my routine! By the grace of God I didn't. I got some laughs. I got some groans. Both acceptable responses for a comic's happiness. My cousin, who just lost his mother, even showed up to support me. It almost brought me to tears. The whole night had me feeling like a big ball of mush. I just wanted to hug and kiss everyone in the joint, and I think I did.

I tend to beat up on myself for mistakes I have made in my life too much. Last night God showed me I truly am loved. He has blessed me with a talent I love to share. Seeing so many friends made me put the bat down and ease up on myself. I may not be a man rich in earthly treasure but when it comes to friends my cup runneth over. In one night many years of regret and insecurity was washed away and replaced by a feeling of love and real friendship. I was truly happy and grateful, two feelings I think I could really get used to. Thanks again. God bless us all.

I Was In a Funk.. But Sly and the Family Stone Never Showed!

It's been a few days since my last blog. Facebook didn't let me post it for some reason. It was probably the fact that I mentioned China and Turkey and love in the same blog. It obviously got picked up by Big Brother and checked out. Sorry but I'm a child of the Sixties. I was in fact a child in the 60's and some of my views mirror those times. I think the 70's get a bad rap too. At least until 1975. We had some great music in the 70's that gets overlooked by disco and bad clothes.

I have been going through a down time the last few days. No work. Family pressure abounds. I also suffer from depression but those days come and I know they'll pass. The worst thing I do when I'm in a funk is to isolate. Being alone can be a pretty scary place for me. When I am stuck listening to me all day it's like I'm stuck with a comedian and drama queen. Oh wait! I am a comedian and drama queen. Depression is not a dessert best served alone. It can be very cold.

 I know all the punchlines to my jokes so hearing them over-and-over in my head is not good. I always know what's coming. Of course I need to bring in the drama by posting heavy, brooding troubadours like John Prine, Johnny Cash, Tom Waits, The Cure and Kris Kristofferson. I love to share my pain. Ever since I was a little boy I always felt that songs could capture my emotions and express them better than my own yapping. I still feel that way. When I found myself listening to John Coltrane all day I knew there was a problem. Note to readers: Coltrane is great to chill out to but not recommended if your hamster just died.

I have learned from my depression and recovery that the best solution for keeping a healthy attitude is by getting out of myself. I picked up the phone and called some people in recovery. Unfortunately when two people in recovery try to make a plan of action you end up with 5 opinions. I went outside. I talked to a couple friends and I checked my Facebook.

Facebook takes a bad rap. I think it is ingenius. While I was feeling low I had words of encouragement from old friends, new friends, strangers, my grade school science teacher and folks who suffer from the same maladies I do. That is far out! That is technology at it's finest. When I get a friend request from "Hot Mama Waitin" things get a little dicey. I thank you all for being my friends.

The problem for me is when I get the strange notion that I can control people, places and things. Worry is not innate. We picked it up along the way along with anxiety. I can say that I have never worried my way into pleasant conclusions consistently. It's a wasted energy. I think the Buddhists got something there. Did you ever see a pissed off Tibetan monk? I didn't think so. I have yet to see the Dalai Lama punch a photographer on CNN. I have learned that I can't sit on the problem or I will slowly rot. If I take hold of the solution I grow and thrive.

Last night, Squeaky and I went to our first recovery group for people who have addicts in their lives. It was unusual for me to be on the other side of the table and hear what it's like to live with addiction, or more accurately, how it effects everyone. Addiction is like a bad potato. When one starts to rot it makes everyone around them rot to. It enlightened me and stung a little. There was a young girl who reflected on late night fights and broken dishes. Childhood incidents that I lived and can recall like yesterday were suddenly brought back to the forefront. My anger at my stepfather grew steadily. That was until I remembered he is dead now. You win some, you lose some! I have forgiven him.

The main thing to remember is every day is a gift. Sometimes the gift is G.I. Joe with kung fu grip, other days it's a turtleneck. Thats the way it goes. When I think I'm in the dumps I have to remember there are people all over the world living in dumps. I can only do my best. When I don't try to make someone smile or reach out a hand of encouragement I'm not showing God my appreciation for pulling me from the horrible pit, the miry clay that was my life for 20 plus years.

If you're not comfortable in your skin, if you're miserable or if you're at the end of your rope, then call a friend. If you don't you might throw that rope over the limb of an old oak tree. I have been to those depths. It wasn't until I reached out my hand for help that I was saved from myself. Sometimes you have to surrender the battle to win the war. Sometimes life is going to give you a turtleneck or worse yet, tube socks. I will always reach out for help because I know in my soul I can't handle this on my own or I will self-destruct and waste away.

Thank you again for being there for me. Sunny is getting stronger by the day. We are optimistic but realistic. I have to turn things over to God and the people around me. I can do many things by myself but I am never alone. There is strength in numbers. Sometimes you're the dog, sometimes you're the hydrant. That's the way it goes. Thanks for helping me back out of the pit. The air is much fresher up here. I have put away the Coltrane and have turned up the Beatles, Led Zeppelin and Van Morrison. Like Sly said in the Summer of Love, "I'm just here to celebrate!" God Bless!

An Apology from the Author...I'm Still Me!

Thanks for giving me the opportunity to vent and whine about my blog and if I should continue it or not. I was basing my decision to stop or go based on the amount of readers that I had and commented that readers had fallen from 100 a day to 100 a week. That is the worst thing that I have ever said in this blog and I apologize for it. When I started the blog I made it clear that if I helped one person my years of alcoholism were not spent in vain. Maybe one of those hundred people who checked in to my blog this week got a little shot of hope. My rant violated the basic tenets of recovery assistance. My motives were selfish, not pure.

In alcohol recovery we say the alcohol is removed but the "ism" is always there. I have heard this as an acronym of "I'm Still Me." I am in recovery but the character flaws that drove my addiction are still in me. The drunk in me is always going to live in me. I just have the upper hand and have arrested its' development. These flaws get better, or less powerful in my personality, but it will be a lifetime of repair. There are terms that are taken from recovery literature that fit me to the letter. I am an "Ego-maniac with low self esteem." I suffer from "terminal uniqueness." I also still seek approval and want everyone to love me. It is okay for me not to love or approve of everyone, but I want everyone to think I am the swellest guy. What a great guy!

There are pure and selfish motives. Until a few days ago my blog was written with pure motives. My request to vote on the blog was an attempt to seek approval for my work. It was a selfish motive. My dear friend Linda got me to reassess my motives in writing the blog. I have shared the messy details of my life and from the comments and emails I know my work is useful to some. That's all that is important. It is also important to me to review and repair the wrongs I have done to society, friends and loved ones. Ultimately I am baring my soul to rid myself of the baggage I have carried for so long.

I have written about how addiction is an equal opportunity killer. I have droned on about how the disease doesn't care about money,class or race. When we found out about our daughter's struggles I felt like I failed her, my wife and myself. At the root of addiction is low self esteem or self-criticism. In a drunken rage or high an addict verbalizes and criticizes those around them. It's nothing like the number we do on ourselves. The thought that I did not see the "signs" of addiction in my daughter made me question a lot of things about myself. I reached out to you to pat me on the back and lighten my load of feeling like a failure.

It's easy for me to share the pain that I have endured and relate how I alienated my wife and family. When the subject turned to my daughter I had to see her from the view of a daddy and an addict. Both crushed me. Seeing my wife endure another possible addiction roller coaster was my first chance to see the look in her eyes that I created hundreds of times. I felt it to the depth of my soul. It was a moment of clarity in seeing the years of pain I put her through. As a blackout drinker I don't remember most of the horrible things I said to her and others. She remembers every mean, cutting remark I made. In the last few days I am on the other side of the addiction coin. I feel her pain. It is not only the pain and uncertainty of our daughter's situation but a sobering reminder of my past. Now I feel her pain.

At this point our baby is doing all the right things. I am an optimist cloaked in a realist. I know that I am powerless over other people's actions. That's the bitch of the matter! I have redoubled my recovery maintenance and am going to be starting on a new road with my life. I have blogged about the loved ones of addicts and now I am one. There are many recovery groups for the family members of addicts or the children of addict parents. My wife and I will now be attending these meetings together. She is also going to venture out on her own and work on her own recovery. Since addiction is a family disease it is also a family recovery.

I don't know why addiction picked our family. It doesn't really matter. Asking why, how come or where did I go wrong is of no value. The answer is in solutions, not reviewing the problems. It doesn't matter why. It is what it is. Obviously I won't be sharing intimate details of my daughter's recovery. That's for the family only. However I will share my feelings and experiences on the new journey we are taking with her as a part of family recovery. God works in strange ways. I have stopped questioning him. I stand by my premise that there are no coincidences.

If you are suffering with an addict or are enabling or co-dependent there is help out there. If God wanted us to handle life alone He would have stopped at Adam. There is strength in numbers. Sharing our experience, strength, hope, good and bad is how healing begins. It's also the reason recovery groups continue to exist and grow. My intentions are pure. My motives are right. I want to thank you for letting me share my life, my soul, darkness and light with you. I will continue on with my blog until God has another assignment for me.

Sometimes Recovery Really Makes Me Want A Drink!

Based on the small number of reads I've had on my blog reflecting on how hard it is to forgive myself for my past, either it really sucked or it was avoided completely due to the subject matter. If you avoided it because it hit a nerve, I'll make sure I don't write about denial. If you are planning on reading it, and just haven't gotten around to it, a procrastination blog will send head your head spinning - someday.

This is blog 98 since I started it on December 13, 2010. 99 is going to be from my wife's perspective on her experiences living with me and her ex husband who also had drinking issues. Number 100 will be a summary, and then we'll see what happens. God will let me know how to proceed. It fascinates me that out of the 97 blogs I have written, and over 5000 reads in 60 days, that the comments have been about a dozen total. It shows me that people are interested in my experiences but don't want to be the one at the front of the classroom with a question.

If you ever need to reach out and don't want to comment, email me directly at tommyconnolly@att.net . I will do my best to share my experience with you and point you in the right direction to finding support. I will answer all emails to the best of my ability based on MY experiences with addiction and recovery. I am not a doctor. I'm a recovering drunk and addict. Admitting there's a problem is the first step in solving any crisis. The willingness to reach out for help is the wild card. Nobody wants to admit that they are out of control or risk being found out. Believe me, you're out. Addiction and recovery is a team effort, not a solo act.

I have written about being homeless and wanting to take my own life in my beautiful home. I have written about doing scenes with Jennifer Beals, William H. Macy and Kate Winslet. Through most of my addiction, I was just a working stiff. I was a functional alcoholic and addict. In using the word functional I am referring to the fact that I held a job, looked fairly normal, was a part of the family and put on one helluva show. I didn't get wasted until after work and on weekends. If I stood in a line-up of 10 people, and you were asked which one was the fall down drunk, I would probably be your tenth choice.

The first response an addict or alcoholic does when contemplating whether they have a problem is to look for all the differences in the stories they hear. Common thoughts amongst the alcoholic are "I never did that" or "I make a ton of dough and drive a nice car, drunks live in the gutter" or "I never got arrested." Some other "Top 10 drunk denial excuses" include: "I go to work every day", "I never had a DUI", "I can stop whenever I want to, I just don't want to", "If you had my life you would drink too", "I'm different!" Please let me make it clear that addiction doesn't care what you drive, wear, do for a living or if you are sipping the finest scotch or a bottle of Mad Dog.

Let me ask you a simple question. In the middle of the night have you ever considered that you may have a problem with alcohol or drugs or that you really need to cut back? I know you probably quickly dismissed it as being silly, but if the thought came to your mind EVER, that is a huge red flag. I have never sat watching "Ancient Aliens" and wondered if I was E.T.! If you have ever considered the POSSIBILITY of having a problem explore it now. All those things you "haven't done" are known in recovery as "YETS."

Addiction and alcoholism always progress. They never regress. Have you ever found yourself dreading a weekend barbecue at the home of a friend who doesn't serve alcohol? You probably politely declined the invitation or you had a few in you before you got there. That's what I did. Do you find yourself getting a little uncomfortable around someone you know who doesn't drink? I bet you didn't have that same feeling eating a Big Mac next to a chubby guy! These are warning flags.

Have you ever had a few drinks before a party so you could sip only a few once you got there so people didn't notice how much you drank? Have you told your wife the "half story?" This is a term I coined because if my wife came home and smelled beer on me and asked me how many I had I would quickly reply 3 when it was really 6. If I was ripped I would say I didn't eat anything all day and probably should have eaten before I drank. For those of you who drink vodka thinking it is odorless, it is as odorless as skunk roadkill!

Believe me when I tell you that I have lost everything, gained it back and nearly lost it all again due to booze and drugs. It is just a matter of time. Addiction is patient. It will wait for years being happy that you're drunk when it really wants you dead! By the time you get to the bitter end of abuse you will probably wish you were dead. My addiction made me question my sanity, marriage, jobs, opportunities and running away from it all. No matter where I run to, I am there to greet myself and my addiction is adaptable to any climate, occupation, relationship or rationality.

Today my wife smiles at me instead of avoiding me. My kids talk to me about anything without fear of me going off. My employers get my best everyday. Today I can look at that guy in the mirror and be okay with him. I used to hate looking at that empty shell that stared back at me every morning. Today I have friends in recovery I can call when I need help with a problem. The dope man and the liquor man didn't show up at my father's funeral but 23 people in recovery did. All of the things you think you have missed or regret are there waiting for you in sobriety. Why don't you give it a shot, instead of drinking another one?

Ahh! Alone At Last....The Truth About Sex And Marriage!

Valentine's Day is Tomorrow. I thought I would take this sacred day of romance and break it down into the reality of what the sex life of a married couple is reduced to over the years of bliss spent together. This chapter is directed toward those married couples who have been together for 10 years or more. Those of you who are reading this, and thinking about tying the knot don't get discouraged. The outcomes of your intimate marital encounters remain the same. It's the before, during, after, when and where that changes.

When a man and a woman switch from dating to becoming a couple the world is their oyster. The chemical pheromones that attract them to each other is fierce, almost magnetic. The way he brushes back his hair with his hand makes her hot. That little laugh and come hither glance sends him into a frenzy. The moment is "always right" and the answer is always yes. Creativity, endurance and effort are achieved effortlessly and the excitement never ceases to end.

After these early intimate encounters comes the cuddling and sharing of a Ben and Jerry's pint in bed, playing footsie and then round two or maybe three. Everything is like a scene out of "The Notebook" or "9 1/2 Weeks." It might even have a little of the flare that "Wild Things" had. But just as these classic movies have become distant memories, that don't lose their excitement when reminisced about, they do lose some of their zing as time ticks by.

Fast forward to 10+ years with that same couple. That irresistible thing he does with his hair makes her secretly want to shave his head. That cute laugh she does is irritating to him. That come hither look isn't seen as often. One round is normal, 2 rounds a rarity, 3 rounds an impossibility. The fire that once roared between you is still beautiful but it has smoldered with an occasional flare up. It is not the flaming passion that was consistent and intriguing just a few years earlier. Life has set in.

 There are jobs to be worked, bills to be paid, houses to be cleaned and THEN......comes the kids. Suddenly the focus of your every waking moment switches from the "act" to what you've created from it. The baby years, toddler years, the terrible two's and grade school years consume time and energy. There are practices to get to, games to attend, activities to be endured and with that the flame is reduced to a spark. By the time the little cuties make it through high school angst and have decided that we popped out of our parents at age 30, the spark is reduced to a pilot light. Not due to lack of desire, but lack of motivation.

I know there are exceptions to these rules but these are my experiences. I can also say that where the physical attraction was the strongest in the early years, the later years are filled with deeper friendship and true partnership. I am writing this next to my wife as we chuckle at our reality. This blog is not a complaint it is an observational piece. It's like watching NAT GEO and seeing a couple of older lions sprawled out in the plains of the Serengeti.

The "I want you right here, right now!" is replaced with "We have 20 minutes before the kids get home." Passion is replaced with release. Heat is replaced by need. Spontaneity is replaced by "Hey, you wanna...you know?" I will illustrate with an example that may create a disturbing mental picture for some, a laugh for others, or "Yep! that's it" by others. The following is a true story. Rated M for Married.

When I was a younger "manscaping" was nonexistent for the male species and a novelty in the female species. Today it is common place for both sexes. I personally don't care if my basement carpet looks like Tito Jackson's afro from the 70's. My wife however likes a neater cleaner, modern Tito cut.
The kids were gone this morning and we both felt the pilot light kicking up the oven temperature. We smiled and giggled and devised our intimate rendezvous.

The spontaneous "Take me on the table" demand is now, "Where do you wanna do it? Here? How about the bathroom counter top or upstairs?" We decided on the bathroom and held hands making our way with excited anticipation. We kissed, our temperatures were rising. My wife gave that rarely seen naughty look and suggested she would trim my hedges before we got down to it. She made it all sound so inviting I was up for anything. I was on fire now and ready to go. As she took the trimmer from my shaving drawer and slid the tiny garbage pail into leaf collecting position - Boom! The magic stopped. "Why are these cans in here instead of the recycling?" Between you and son I am tired of taking soda cans out of here."

She slammed down the clippers and retrieved the cans, taking them to the recycle bin in the kitchen. I boyishly muttered "We always put them in recycling at the end of the week." I now picked up the clipper and decided to finish the topiary work myself. I didn't realize that this was a delicate procedure. I thought it was like how they shave a Marine's head on all those old war films. After one swipe of the trimmer I ripped out a few hairs and decided my Afro was back in style.

After a few moments my wife returned. Style and creativity went out the window. We did our thing quicker than you can change a furnace filter then quickly put our lounging clothes back on. We hugged and exchanged "I love you." The Ben and Jerry's was replaced by a couple bowls of Raisin Bran and an argument between watching Brad Pitt in "Fight Club" or "House Hunters International." We ate our cereal on separate couches. I took a short nap and all was well. It was another day of romance in the 10 plus year love making club. We are due for another hook up in a week or so - right on schedule.