I’m a festival, I’m a parade

Post title taken from a song by the National, the lyrics of which sum up the hubris of alcoholism for me in a poignantly self-effacing way. Recovery is about humility, according to the conventional wisdom and the wisdom and continued remark of Bill W. over the years. But this is a lifelong undertaking, if the achievement of humility can even come by one’s effort, and not by the grace of circumstance and willingness to allow both erosion and growth.

I’m put together beautifully
Big wet bottle in my fist, big wet rose in my teeth
I’m perfect piece of ass
Like every Californian
So tall I take over the street, with highbeams shining on my back
A wingspan unbelievable
I’m a festival, I’m a parade

And all the wine is all for me
And all the wine is all for me
And all the wine is all for me

I’m a birthday candle in a circle of black girls
God is on my side
Cuz I’m the child bride
I’m so sorry but the motorcade will have to go around me this time
Cuz God is on my side
And I’m the child bride

And all the wine is all for me
And all the wine is all for me
And all the wine is all for me

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