Now That I’m Sober, I Can’t Stop Sweating the Small Stuff
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Now That I’m Sober, I Can’t Stop Sweating the Small Stuff

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Now That I’m Sober, I Can’t Stop Sweating the Small StuffLast week, I found myself at a car dealership, sitting in the driver’s seat of a Ford Escape I was about to test drive. Next to me was the car salesman. In the back was my friend Amelia, ready to provide spiritual guidance and support.

Fraught with anxiety, I besieged the salesman with questions.

“How do you move the seat forward?”

“How do the windshield wipers work?”

“The mirrors. How do you adjust them?”

“All these gadgets! How do you turn the radio on?”

“How will I be able to listen to my cassette of Evita on the CD player? My Corolla has a cassette player. And Amazon just shipped the cassette the other day.”

Amelia answered the last question.

“Sev, I might have the CD lying around the house.”

“Is it the Broadway version with Patti Lupone? I loved Madonna in the movie, but Patti is a true artist.”

I started up the Escape and put it in reverse.

“Watch out!” said the salesman, Joe.

I was so stressed about the cassette that I almost backed into a brand new Honda Civic.

“I saw the Honda,” I lied.

And do you know what he said?

“You remind me of Richard Lewis.”

When I was younger, people told me that I looked like Amy Fisher, the chick who shot the wife of her lover Joey Buttafuoco. Now I’m being compared to a brilliant 68-year old comedian with a big nose. I have a big nose. Oh, my God.

Yes, I would rather be compared to the Long Island Lolita than a brilliant, sober comedian.

After I drove home in my new Ford Escape, I googled Richard Lewis to get the scoop. I discovered that he is the author of The Other Great Depression: How I’m Overcoming, on a Daily Basis, at Least a Million Addictions and Dysfunctions and Finding a Spiritual (Sometimes) Life.

The title of his book describes the way I experience daily obstacles to a tee! And Lewis has double-digit sobriety. I was impressed. But now I realized why the car salesman said that about me. He wasn’t saying that I looked like Richard Lewishe was saying that I behaved like him.

It’s true! When it comes to just basic day-to-day life things, I am a nightmare. It’s 10 pm. Do you know where Sevasti is? At home stressing.

I have to feed the birds. Should I put bird food on the patio or just in the bird feeder hanging from the tree? I saw a rat the other day. I think it’s eating the bird food…Shit, I forgot to pay my DirecTV bill. Oh, well, it’s not like I watch anything I really like except for Ray Donovan…I hope my blood test results are okay. Well, the appointment is not till next Monday, don’t stress. What if I have cancer? Wouldn’t that be the ultimate joke? I am finally getting my shit together and now something horrible will happen to me. Shit… Should I feed the birds? It’s dark out there. What if the Mojave Hermit is lurking outside? The weirdo who hangs out with tarantulas and lives in deserted shacks in the Mojave Desert. Sev, it will take five seconds to feed the birds and water the plants. You have pit bulls, what are you worried about? Just do it, Sev! Go feed the birds.

I get so anxious that my heart beats rapidly and I pace around like a big-shot attorney in court.

You know that term, don’t sweat the small stuff? Well, guess what? Ever since I got sober, I DO sweat the small stuffwhich may have something to do with the fact that I no longer numb myself with alcohol. Yes, I go to meetings. Yes, I take my SSRI’s on a daily basis. But I sweat the small stuff so much that I space out on large important stuff, like making sure I stick with my medical appointments. It took me five weeks to get blood work done.

And there was the not-so-small matter of my car tires.

Five days before I bought the Escape, I drove home at 11 pm in the Corolla from the grocery store. I blasted my sacred Evita cassette. I was in the far right lane driving over the speed limit when I heard a slightly odd rumble beneath my tires.

Boy, they really need to re-pave this freeway!

So what did I do? I turned the volume up on my music. As I listened to Che (played by Mandy Patinkin) sing, “And the Money Kept Rolling in (and out),” I croaked along happily. Then I heard a weird loud flapping noise. I swear to God I thought the reverberation was part of the soundtrack.

Something hard hit the vehicle. The Corolla veered rapidly to the right, almost into the shoulder. I didn’t brake. I held onto the steering wheel and maneuvered the old clunker back into the lane.

Stupid me. Why didn’t I check those tires?

I was almost at my exit and decided to just pray to Archangel Michael and keep on driving. Plus, I had no cell phone signal and, of course, I had spaced out on getting AAA. By the time I got home, the tire had lost most of its tread and you could see the steel belts.

A few days later, I drove the Corolla down to the tire store. I heard another rumbling sound. Perhaps it was the donut that had replaced the bad tire. Upon inspection, the tire salesman told me that another tire was about to blow out.

I got two tires and a recommendation to replace the other two as they were practically bald. That plus a leaky radiator, a really bad oil leak, no AC and a weird dream almost put me over the edge.

What was the dream?

I was driving in the Corolla, panting for air, as it was 110 degrees, and there was the Mojave Hermit standing in the middle of the road. He was holding a tarantula and I braked just in time. I think he wanted me to hit him because he was tired of living in dilapidated shacks in the desert. That way, he could get free room and board at a hospital.

I took that dream as a sign. The Mojave Hermit is me! This dream shows that I am an eccentric and, even though I almost have four years of recovery, I still have a lot to learn about life. Instead of committing myself to the local psych ward, I bought a new carand made an appointment with a new therapist.

Perhaps life skills are not something you learn overnight. This stuff takes time. And plenty of practice.

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About Author

Sevasti Iyama is a recovering alcoholic, writer and photographer from the Bronx and LA. She has written a novel, From Bel Air to Welfare, and is currently penning her second one, The Holy Face Medal and Other Stories.