11-13-2011, 08:23 AM | #981 |
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November 13
Wrong as wrong as wrong can be To be wrong in my family and in my past meant to be tortured and I prefer death to torture, so being wrong meant death or longing for death. I tried never to be wrong as a way to stave of the desire to leap from tall buildings; I did not turn into superman, wonder woman or mighty mouse through my efforts. I did turn into someone else; I became a cartoon of a real person, two dimensional and overflowing with irrational color. Now I see how wrong, wrong can be. Wrong is not an allowable excuse to be tormented. It can be the turning point for knowledge if I choose or the stairway to something deep dark and ugly; my choice, always my choice. Quilt your stories and sleep under their protection * ASSURANCES OF GULLIVER Poor Lilliputians and my egg shaped conundrum. At least they have the strength of their convictions When I have only pondering to share the space between my ears. What sense could the world make if there is no right way And each person is free to open the egg from either end Or leave the thing intact, having instead maybe a bagel. I have been looking for the combination to unlock the universe When possibly it’s an egg shaped thing with no doors or locks And all that’s left is to break in or out.
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11-14-2011, 05:04 AM | #982 |
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November 14
Clean Underwear The ease of the trip is often determined by the quality of the packing. When I am entirely ready travel is easier. I wash the laundry early to give myself a head start. Lay everything out and walk through each day’s needs; roll up my outfits and tuck each into my bag. I try to take less than half of my ‘what if’ worry items and cut short my ‘disaster plan’ thinking. If I pack positive thoughts and clean panties I am fine and if I forget them I can always pick some up along the way. Retreat is not the same as change * THE STORYTELLER Funny stories I long to share with new friends Have to be put aside while the core of this entity is built. Mutual memory is the siding on a house framed in integrity. Treading together through the past We strengthen each others perception Which is the only support That can be offered without time travel. We take hands, link arms and wander Happily towards the future Having the keys to history jangling in our fists We can return whenever prudent or necessary. We forge a fresh path and hope for a pleasant journey Between us we figure to have slain all the dragons.
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11-14-2011, 08:43 PM | #983 |
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Greetings, Sober People!
Meetings 2 nights in a row lifts my spirits immensely and how can I forget something as simple as that? But I do. Been working 10 and 11 hour days lately and neglecting my recovery. What joy to sit with friends tonight at the 6:00 and discuss the most important thing in our lives. Tonight I have a thankful heart! |
11-15-2011, 05:27 AM | #984 |
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November 15
When I’m Gone When I’m gone I hope they’ll say I tried real hard and did my best But more likely will be the lament; she didn’t live up to her potential. When I’m gone I pray the song will be one of tinkling bells and uplifted voices But more likely is a disparate confusion of musical chairs. When I’m gone I wish that my banner will be raised by knowing arms But more likely will be a shuffle of my undecipherable notes, then the circular file. When I’m gone I would like my dreams to fly to the ears and eyes of friends and take refuge But more likely these dreams will chase me down the long corridor and be nothing but my shadow in the long dark night. Ask your own questions * NAVY DUCK When the postcard is hung upside down The plane flies away on its back. I know one of those irregular days With the disposition of a bee stung mule Is on its way to visit me. I have found diplomacy goes a long way And when it runs out, humor is the best fall back. Nothing mean or sophomoric but the ability to laugh Is a fortune in the face of a bankrupt day. When the sun sets on these spare and harrowing days I mortgage strength from tomorrow And right the picture---then fly right.
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11-16-2011, 05:26 AM | #985 |
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November 16
Surfs Up The first time I arrive at the beach the tide is a shock to me. I had no way to anticipate it. As the days pass I calm, realizing there is a rhythm and that the sea won’t escape the shore. Over time I begin to anticipate the movement and then rely on it. I learn to live with the in and out nature of the water lapping the lip of sand; what it brings and what it takes away. I am human. I adapt. I survive. How do I make the jump to blessing the moon? How do I touch the divine? Forgive your common errors, make note of the uncommon * ENDLESS PASTA Having limits, in a seemingly limitless universe, makes me feel horribly inadequate. I am a sad little creature in the face of overwhelming tasks. Pressure and unwarranted ego compress my ability and eager disposition. I am forced to see there are choices outside my qualifications and willingness. Going on in the face of crushing requirements extrudes my life force into a plateful of capellini Lying exposed with no gravy to keep me warm it is hard to realize in this world of wonder and delight a plate of naked spaghetti can’t do it all.
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11-17-2011, 05:24 AM | #986 |
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November 17
Induction I have a massive energy transformer that lives inside me. It is explosive in nature and risky to toy with. But if used properly I can power my whole world with the current which flows through it to me from my Higher Power. If I use it improperly I can melt down my core and burn down my life. The connections are of the utmost importance, insulation is a priority as well. I know that I am conduit and so much more. I must do my part as the carrier and the arbiter of change. The absence of joy is a sin * FLAW IN SNOW Waiting for snow- Waiting for cold fingers, slick roads Warm beds, reading by firelight. Waiting for proof of lack of control. Waiting itself proves lack of control. I can dance the snow dance And refuse to buy new shovels. Hang out laundry, Put out all manner of storm tempters. Still I cannot force the hand of nature I must sit with my crystalline optimism And endure these cloudless skies. There will be snow It will fall somewhere But I mustn’t grow over anxious Cause it may never snow in Miami.
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11-18-2011, 05:13 AM | #987 | |
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Quote:
That's so great Brock! So glad you are back on the beam, it gets so uncomfortable when the distractions no matter how legitimate take me off of it! Have a wonderful weekend! Sherrie
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11-18-2011, 05:13 AM | #988 |
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November 18
Who is the Parent? There are more liars in my head than anywhere else and they will say the most errant nonsense, making it sound totally convincing. First of all they use other people’s inventories to leverage me into believing that I am just what is needed to lift each person’s universe from despair; then they insist that my life will be incomplete until I have saved nations and secured borders, all the while failing to mention the deadly nature of these attempts. None of this is a problem unless I listen. Liars’ lying causes me no trouble until I accept and act on this bunk. This is where a thorough inventory saves the day. When I am clear about the truth of who and what I am I can’t be easily led astray. I know I am G-d’s child and the resemblance can be strong, but today that burden is not mine to carry, so I can stay busy being me. Cheap advice comes from thinking; dear advice comes from experience * LIBERTY, HOPE? If you had to choose would it be liberty or hope? Liberty is highly recommended but without hope How would you know you were at liberty? Transversely if you had no liberty How could you have hope? Removal of liberty removes the possibility of hope. So why ask for a choice to be made. Well that’s the joy of liberty, I am free to ask anything, And you are free to imagine anything and hope for more.
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11-19-2011, 06:46 AM | #989 |
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November 19
Human Sacrifice How much does it have to cost me in order for you to feel better? Why is it that my suffering improves your mood? Does it confirm for you that you are not alone when you are feeling scared? Or does it give you the sense that at least you’re not as pitiful as me? Is it pleading that strikes a cord, is it the animal pain which stirs your compassion? What about this scenario completes the cycle for you to be able to move back to your comfort zone? And what happens if I don’t fall to pieces? If I hold my emotions to my chest, take them to my sponsor; in some way keep them from your hungry eyes? Will you move on and leave me behind? Will you climb over the hurdle which currently stands between us? Or will you store away this bitter thing like a rotten nut hidden by a Secret Squirrel? List your objections and examine them for holes * SPRUCE The gum that grows in trees and trickles down bark, Is harvested and chewed, spit out and sticks to shoes, Is the very stuff that mimics my life. I race with vitality, burst my confines Am ruminated and masticated by various onlookers And then adhere myself to anyone I feel will carry me To a more advantageous venue. I needn’t apologize for my fluid nature or viscosity I am just as I should be, always where and what I am And at the same time on my way to somewhere and something else.
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11-20-2011, 08:21 AM | #990 |
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November 20
The Story as a Stowaway I want to tell you a story, but I want to tell it to you quickly, so I can give it to you and then you can carry it on your way. For what good is my story to you if you must leave it where it lay? Your need to be elsewhere presses on us both and I wish to give you what you can take rather than to try to stall you here for an epic you might never lift and certainly not dream of dragging along. I want you to be on your way and take a part of me with you. I wish to sew myself in your mind; tether my tale to your soul. I believe in forward motion and the need to carry on. Where you’re going I can’t go on my own but I know that if I am funny, quick and lite, part of me goes even to the end of your world and my hope is to help you make it bright. Apprentice yourself to collaboration * MIRACULOUS Sometimes the blind lead the deaf. The subtle signs are the bumping into trouble And the inability to listen to reason. It is an expedition into disaster. Unfettered by common sense or boundaries Tumbles and falls propel this pairing To unknown destinations. The attraction is baffling but undeniable. These pairs can be seen through the ages. In spite of this confounding coupling Sometimes the blind find their way And the deaf hear the call. Even when they don’t life seems to roll along But try to keep your eyes and ears open anyway.
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11-21-2011, 05:15 AM | #991 |
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November 21
Blanda I know how good a quarterback you are on Monday, safely at home. What were you like on the field, gameday? You act as if seeing your mistakes in retrospect is the same as not having made them, but the game is lost and a rematch is not a do-over. The score is final, whether you accept the stats or not. Defeat does not deter my love of the game and doesn’t diminish my affection for you, but history has been made and I don’t wish to repeat it. Step aside and let fury pass * PERSONAL DICTIONARY Everyone keeps a dictionary in his or her head. All the words lay on platters Each with its own flavor and meaning There are favorite menus and phrases Which form warmly in the mouth And hang sweetly for the ear. Other vocabulary is exotic, pungent Occasionally with strong after taste Or off key ringing Abundance brings a wealth of conversation And keeps the cold of boredom at bay. Free for the taking words grow out of life lived. When we have lived separately Even if only in our separate heads Meanings vary and reference must be checked. Blue sky is blue sky But do you speak of azure, cerulean or peacock? Life is so much show and tell. Drink the sunshine with your eyes And flow it out to me with your words.
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11-22-2011, 05:30 AM | #992 |
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November 22
Generational River The history in my genes have cut a channel in the rock of existence; I pour through it everyday. I too change the face of life one grain at a time, though I rarely recognize my affect I am so busy running. Damns, ponding, acts of G-d leave their marks for future readings, but I keep moving. The water is never the same twice; it changes even more than the mineral face and yet its liquid life looks more than unchanged from a distance and is a world filled with variety up close. Circle the globe, the sun, the sands of time, the river of life flows from here to there and back again. Bake pies to warm the crisp apples * CARGO LOST, CARGO FOUND I fill the pallet of a New Years sobriety And when it has been accomplished Make a manifest and strap this pallet With the others on the flatbed of my life. The cargo is secure and weighty And there is ample pressure Where the rubber meets the road. I maneuver my rig carefully. I feel assured as I stream With the traffic on the byways. The power and magnitude of my transport Prompts in me over confidence. I fail to realize variation In weather or road conditions Can jeopardize my journey. Eighteen wheels make for poor cantilever When traction is lost and top heavy wins out. In losing the battle of gravity, Inertia and control, I realize the past Is not a weight I need to haul. All that is necessary is the inventory. I slip the pages into my pocket And walk the rest of the way. I am my only freight.
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11-23-2011, 07:33 AM | #993 |
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November 23
Triumph G-d and I are experience junkies; part of why I am here is so G-d can take me for a ride, but also for the treat of G-d tucking into the sidecar and letting me take us out for a spin. I am G-d’s audience and G-d is mine; though we are not peers we are comrades. Life is a serious business I am sure and profit and loss are always there to be considered, though I can barely describe to you how much being in love with my creator is a joy, but even better is being the apple of my creator’s eye. Put resistance on the rack and stretch it * MOSAIC I couldn’t prevent this plate from shattering so I saved all the pieces, loosing none. I laid them edge-to-edge and made a design then secured it with thin-set. Pieces of pattern framed with grout are seen as they never could be when this dish was whole. I am part of this construction more than just handing china onto the table. Integrity has been lost but replaced with fractured openness The plate has lost personal unity to become an ingrained part of my personal archeology.
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11-24-2011, 07:36 AM | #994 |
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November 24
Jet Lagging Baby’s feet kick in the isle and we are all cocooned in our seats. The movies play and earphones dangle in our ears. We are jetting across the country in our own little worlds. Landing can not happen soon enough for me, not that I want to foreshorten the flight. I just know I have a stack of lives waiting for me and I would like to get back to living them. I have been a week away, a vacation for sure and true but I have my keep to earn, my obligations are many. I hope to have done myself proud when I am through, but until then there is much to do. Zip up to protect yourself from exposure * ORIGINS Pain filled interactions with people Better suited to be left alone Changed me in the way of acceptance. Retched relationships with people Made it difficult for me to have a loving Relationship with the world. I had imprinted as a fledgling On sarcasm and ridicule. Bitter milk starved my expectations Of kind response. I could not greet the world eagerly. Having never embraced the world I failed to hang on as it turned I slid on my face and hands. Mud covered I try to keep an open mind And attempt a connection With this spinning orb.
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11-25-2011, 07:26 AM | #995 |
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November 25
One and One The person who has nothing is vague. The person who has too much alludes. And these people may falsely mistake one another for kindred when what you draw your conclusions from are the poems, sweet words, which flow out of these divergent folk. A paper house is built, but the living is impossible. Tying strings to dreams doesn’t permit you to fly away to fairy-lands it just leaves you prone to lightening strikes and long wet wicks. What could be the truth unfolded; spread broadly for all to see? Where could the roads so very far apart lead to a home, a hearth, a life? Or is this just a field of fantasy flowers blooming in our minds? Mist is vapor pretending at a marriage to a world it will soon evaporate and leave. You and I are passing ships on a short sad night. Tip the scales toward optimism * THE WAY I DO IT Cooking by smell. Parking by ear. Recovering by touch. The later has to be done this way I cannot see into the black-box technology Which keeps me sober. Feel through resentments, pain, sadness, joy. Find myself under a pile of rags With a match in my hand. The many times the steps have saved me From becoming a human torch Are balanced by the weight of the rope. Woven from these same rags. That together we use to drag One another to safety. The savory scent of a meal Or the glee of front row parking Can’t compare with the tender sense Of a sober heart.
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11-26-2011, 08:35 AM | #996 |
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November 26
No Mickey Mouse The Wonderful World of Disney belonged to normal children; kids with Sunday nights and not the tear filled screaming which punctuated my weekends. I had no time for the creative melodrama built to add interest into the dull little lives of safe little ones. There is no Disney for me; no clean pasteled figures frolicking. I know only the freshened wit of the wizened rabbit and the frenetic slamming of that distorted duck; these are there for me. Teaching me the dark humor of the life I lead; preparing me to laugh at M*A*S*H, yet still never cluing me to the fact that Carroll O’Connor was only teasing, so still I cried to hear his rants, but the dry irony of Hawkeye, war and blood, those I got. I was carefully led there by the Merry Melodies. Check your mental attic for spiders * CLIMBING ON THE ARC If time swings and the seasons swirl And I pulse out my existence Why does the birds wing flap And rain fall down? If the song comes from my Mothers lips And my Father tells his tales And I dance my heritage with each step I take Why does the flower open to the bee And the swan trumpet her way home? If everything pulls from the ground And reaches for the light Then how can I duck my head, hide my heart And pass this all off as a coincidence. Am I less than the rain or greater than the swan? Why can’t I just climb on the arc And let the continuum spin its web around me Well, you see I can but will I?
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11-27-2011, 08:18 AM | #997 |
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November 27
FIVE FINGERS THAT GOBBLE It only takes five crayons to turn a tracing of my hand into a turkey and it only takes a few things to change my drunken life into my sober life. Looking back I am amazed how little it has actually taken to transform my life. My drunkenness looks about as much like my sobriety as my hand looks like a turkey but the transformation has taken place. The red, the yellow, the brown, the meetings, the steps, the sponsor, these basics are the bulk. Sometimes it’s the small extras that help push this work of art into the realm of believability. Accents of green, up and down the fingers, or a few bonus phone calls to women outside my network. Anything can be the thing that kicks it over into a plausible and convincing reality. I can never be more than I am, a drunk is always a drunk and a hand is still just a hand, but within each of these things are unimagined possibilities waiting to be explored. Michelangelo believed that sculptures lurked in chunks of stone. I have come to see that a sober woman prowled inside this drunk and every Thanksgiving my hand yearns to put on feathers once again. Read your own palm * ELECTRIC CONNECTIONS I step into a room and take its currency. Is the flow good, steady, the pulse even and strong? Where are the power brokers And are they sharing the time Or using their magnetic personalities To draw the current off others. I check the complement of resisters. Examine their stripes and access the possibilities. I pump energy when I can and take when it is available. I keep in mind we are all transformers And change is possible for everyone As long as we make the connections.
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11-28-2011, 05:09 AM | #998 |
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November 28
How I’ve come upon the World. My first exposure to Bogart was as the man who was after Bugs Bunny, and Lauren Bacall was only referred to as Baby. I only ever heard Kaw Liga because Stephen King referenced it too often and I had to go have a listen. I come through the back door on so much of the world and it has served me rather well. Yes, I often feel ignorant, but at least the knowledge never sees me coming and I get the drop on it. There is a quality to not having been spoon-fed, that keeps me sharp and allows for depth. The universe sends me clues and I go investigate. It cuts down on the agendaed learning of the social norms and cuts me a wide swath beyond the common path. There are times when conformity is key; then again it’s a sweet thing to have a choice. Level inequity * TAPERS I wax poetic and burn the candle at both ends. I borrow from the beginning, I steal from the end And come up short; feeling deeply cheated. I pass myself off as the time-keeper but am the time-pleaser Arch-traitor selling short the days and hours For approval not fulfillment. I put away my true identity, mammal, human, the love of. I have exchanged it for the mask and cape of the Do-do-doer. A tragic figure of myth and legend who breaks the spirit Of everyone who attempts the portrayal. In spite of this the roads teem with actors Becoming caricatures of a life less lived. The world is more than a stage And I must free powers greater than to be more than an audience.
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11-29-2011, 05:41 AM | #999 |
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November 29
John Grisham My time hovering low over the ocean has filled me until I am ready to drop. The weight of what is inside me bears down; I know with the slightest cooperation I will become a rainmaker. I am mostly fine with this; I know from whence the rain was derived and I can let it fall in peace. What I don’t know how to handle is the acknowledgement. The difference between what I know and what you might think is vast and if I try to dissuade you I sound disingenuous or fraudulent. I have to get my head around the part I play and accept the roses when they come. I don’t understand how this looks from offstage or what it means to those who watch. I hope they will enjoy the work but never mistake me for the playwright. Greet the day with open eyes * BLEATING FORMALITY Stupidity stalks me when I’m tired Hi-jacking my mouth and my mind I can put this off to pilot error or interruption Of service on my neurologic pipeline But truly I have been captured By senseless irrational mutinous. I would love to say it was pig headedness But alas I am not self-determined, I am a sheep I open my lips and out pours the same Plaintive cry as the surrounding herd. In addition, once begun the wail is unending. It’s as if the bellows works on its own Carrying a tune which blends With the entire wool coated world. I shift and run with my position According to the movements at large. I am following the reactionary breed Dropping the specifics of my personality As one of the crowd, my brain switched off And a quick veneer grows over my eyes I can’t see, think or speak for myself And yet it doesn’t occur to me to hit the hay. When as a petulant three year old I fall asleep in my tract, I awake as myself, With many bleating apologies to be made.
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Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
11-30-2011, 05:32 AM | #1000 |
Practically Lives Here
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Daddy's good girl Join Date: Nov 2009
Location: Jersey
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Rep Power: 21474867 |
November 30
Precious Cargo Do I carry myself as well as I could? Do I understand the value of what is contained within me? This journey matters, it requires my attention and comprehension, if only I am able. When I fall short the road changes. The distance I go has much to do with how well and whether I acknowledge the nature of the cargo with which I am imbedded. If you have to put your foot down; open your fist * WHAT IS MINE The cloud of snow slept in the tree overnight And poured from the branches with the morning breezes. Showers of crystal, drop from a clear daylight sky As a telltale of intentions delayed. What was meant for moon time Has been kept till sunshine A treat for bright eyes and young hearts. How can I weep over altered destinations? Arrivals and departures are truly the province Of poetry and postcards Not a thing for worry or fretting. Putty is for forming into an image of my desire not the worlds. Time is a liquid substance I cannot decant at will. Shoulds and aughts are parlor games for the bored and senseless. If I waste my life playing a game I can’t win I will fail to see what I can’t lose.
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Clicking on these dragon eggs will take you to my new erotic novella: Dragon Bait .........Hope you enjoy it! ________________________________________________ Please take a look at my work Click on flashing smilie to see my website To look at my Daddy/girl erotica book Click on pompom girl to see Elbows on the Table, Palms Flat |
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12 step recovery, acoa, al-anon, alcoholic, alcoholics anonmyous, coda, on-line meeting |
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