December 12th, 1981

Allan and I put up a Christmas tree today— an event I’ve dreaded for days. I despise cooperative ventures of any sort with him. We are total opposites in so many ways— and I am as spoiled as he’s stubborn. It began with a trip to the 88 cent store— where he felt that one little strand of 20 lights should be sufficient. I wound up buying three more strands of 50 each in addition to his little strand plus one that I had— The tree looks nice— but only because I took it on myself to go out and drop 50 dollars on lights. Next I just knew it would be a battle Royal over the size of the tree. He’s so fucking cheap. I just want to slap him. I was amazed and relieved to find him agreeing to a decent sized tree— although it cost $30 and I could see him just hating to part with the money. (I also bought 2-packages of balls and the tree stand.) (Not to mention the fact that we’re using my Christmas decorations.) So— it turned out that we managed to get a decent tree up with a minimum argument— the tree cost me $75 or more— Allan spent about $18. So typical. The tree was beautiful. Then Miss. Tight Wad began to put tinsel on the tree. Tinsel! I hate tinsel! He ruined this gorgeous tree with tinsel— tinsel and silver ribbon that he insisted on draping around the tree. I sank into a sullen black fury. Silence. Irritation. I hate you, Allan. I lay on the sofa and fumed. Mad. Pissed. Pouting. Furious.

went to Sheridan Square. Who knows how these goddamn meetings work. It makes no sense. How could sitting on a straight back folding chair— drinking black coffee and listening to something tell about their lives and alcohol. And to listen to people bitch and harp and spill their guts about all the issues in their lives. How can that situation mend my own scattered mentality. But it does. Over and over again, it does. It restores my perspective and my sanity and joy. I walk into a meeting as s pouting sullen nine year old primadonna and leave more like a rational 30 year old man.

Who the fuck cares if this tree has goddamn tinsel on it or not. If the goddamn tinsel makes Allan happy— then great. If the size, number of lights and tinseled quality of my Christmas tree is the only problem I face today— then it’s not been a very rough day.

The Scarlett O’Hara Personality—

Spoiled— Indulged— Self-Centered— Pampered— Possessive— Petulant— Given to tantrums.

The point is— I like being a little self centered pouty brat. I don’t want to change. I like being immature and spoiled.

I have a feeling that this is the other side of the character defect I’ve identified as self-loathing.

I am the center of the universe— I am the star— I am the leading lady.

Humility.

We see humility as a necessity.. to gain a vision of humility as the avenue to true freedom of the human spirit, to be willing to work for humility as something to be desired for itself, takes most of us a long, long time. A whole lifetime geared to self-centeredness cannot be set in reverse all at once. -As Bill Sees It, p. 305