2010-01-02T16:33:00.035-05:00

Updated Aug 29, 2011

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2010-01-02T16:04:00.013-05:00

I was an alcoholic for almost twenty years. The following is a short representation of those years.

November 27th, 1999

The Mouse

And the mouse fell into the small kettle of cool water. Other mice of high and low rank observed the hapless wet mouse. (Let not the reader assume the writer means hopeless.) "The wet mouse was in full and complete control of its' own destiny", the mice of high and low rank murmured amongst themselves. The wet mouse swam round and round the small kettle of cool water, looking for an opening, a way to escape. The wet mouse became very tired, and more and more frightened. "Can't they see i'm tired and frightened and crying and that i want to be released from the trap that is called ' a small kettle of cool water'", the mouse plaintively thought; because, of course, a wet mouse cannot possibly verbalize its' distress.

The mice of high and low rank could not see that the wet mouse was tired or frightened or was crying; because the wet mouse exercized regularly, did not reveal the fear that never went away, and tears are impossible to see on a mouse that is wet. Also, a few tears in a small kettle of cool water make no discernable difference in the cool water level of the kettle; so the tears were not detectable in that way either. The wet mouse kept swimming round and round and round. It was eventually ignored, then forgotten; because who but a sadist would want to watch a wet mouse who is obviously in a fatal trap?

The wet mouses' exercize in futility finally paid off. Unwittingly, the wet mouse created a pool of whirl within the confines of the kettle of cool water. Swimming round and round made the water cooperate and follow the wet mouse. Pretty soon, the wet mouse realized it could rest for short periods; because the water was now moving without the aid of the wet mouse, seemimgly of its' own volition. "Wow", thought the wet mouse, cheering up. "This isn't a trap at all; its' a ride; and instead of having to swim, i can now sort of crawl around the inside edge of the kettle; because not only does the water carry me around, it forces me up against the inside wall of the kettle."
The wet mouse, not having studied the science of physics, did not know or care that some called the phenomenon it created, 'centrifugal force.' It only knew that was once a frightening fight for survival, was now a giddy glide and slide of sheer delight. "I could do this forever", thought the wet mouse, grinning inwardly. "A spiral of dizzy ecstasy, that's what it is."

Time passed; it never fails. What was once extremely pleasurable, became less so. The wet mouse began to think soberly about its' predicament. "The original situation has not changed",cogitated the wet mouse. "I'm still trapped; and now i'm ravenously hungry. Perhaps one of those huge hairless bipeds will drop in a morsel of food to 'test the water', so to speak. No chance. I need, indeed, to extricate myself from this mess. If i could only get my little front feet over the edge of the kettle, i know i could shimmy the rest of the way out." Round and round, the wet mouse swam, rythmically lunging upward at intervals when it became so inclined. The test in survival and endurance, which had become a game, had cycled back to a desperate race to cheat death. Fear again gripped the wet mouse like a hungry cat. "This would have been child's play for my beaver cousins', thought the wet mouse, trying to retain a sense of humor.

Anger began displacing the fear. The wet mouse swam and crawled faster, which made the water level at the edge of the kettle inch up ever so slightly. The wet mouse, with a strength attained only through desperation, lunged a last time, its' chin passing over the kettle's lip. It then convulsed its' head, gaining another fraction of water supported height. Its' forepaws were now on top of the kettle's edge. Another convulsion, a blur of rapidly moving hind legs, and in a fraction of a second, due to impeccable timing and the stout heart of a mighty mouse, freedom was granted.

Looking disdainfully at the thoroughly exhausted and emotionally numb wet mouse, was one of the mice of high rank, with several of the low rank mice watching in fascination, several mice paces distant. "I've never seen anyone escape from that position in life", said the high rank mouse in the sign language understood only by other mice. (This sign language is extremely complicated, employing subtle body movements and positions that mean nothing to other species.) The low rank mice missed a portion of the intricacies of that brief 'statement' because they were behind the mouth and could not see its' fangs and twitching whiskers. "You must have had help from below, because, without external influence, that kettle is intended to kill."

The wet mouse,

beginning to dry,

could only stare,

could only cry.

"Are you looking for sympathy, wet mouse? Do you want someone to hold your little paw and say 'there, there, everything's going to be all right? Well, its' not going to happen, wet mouse. The world has changed during the time you've been having fun and doing your own thing. It's a mouse eat mouse world, so the quicker you straighten up and fly right, the quicker you'll get your feet on solid ground. What do you mean 'trauma and shock', wet mouse? What do you mean 'time to heal'? This is a new age. Emotion and compassion are passe'. Get over it wet mouse." The mouse of high rank and its' entourage left quickly without looking back. The wet mouse stared after them for a long time, the numbness turning crystalline inside its' head. Without hesitation or adieu, the mouse, now only damp, turned back toward the water, unaware and oblivious to the fact that a raging fire was now transferring its' energy to the kettle of water; water which once was cool, now a liquid inferno,

forgiving no one.