Oy, I haven't been on 12-step space for over a year.  Glad to see it's still here.  Sorry I'vwe been gone so long without a word. 

As you can see, I've been spanked for my bad behavior.  Bbelieve it or not, that was at a spiritual gathering, though not of the 12 step variety.

 So, here I am.  I love you.  I love me. 

If I stay clean another month, I'll have five years woot woot

 {{{hugs}}}

pootsie 

Wow, I've been away for two whole months.  I've missed you all.

Update:  Life is good. I'm clean, I love my job, things are good with my fgamily (see picture), I'm getting over bronchitis, I got to see my favorite band play live TWICE (woohoo), I'm grateful for lots of stuff, I have lots to be grateful for, my kitty and puppy love me, I have friends ... oh, and I don't have a girlfriend. 

Anyone interested in being my girfriend? 

*crickets* 

OK, I'll leave that alone for now.  After all, they say to be careful what you wish for.  Golly, that reminds me of a story ...

I was at the MRSCNA bi-annual convention in Ripley WV at the beginning of November.  It's my favorite convention in the whole world, and I urge you all to get there next May.  It's where my recovery really happens.

So, anyway, I was there with my friends, recovery, living and ENJOYING life without the use of drugs, and joining in a drum jam with my clean friends.  We were all drumming and hooting and having a good time.  It was almost like adrug-free rave, drums and laughing and some dude juggling and another spinning poi (google it) and dancing and all that. 

FYI, drumming is my quickest route to contact with the goddess of my understanding, and, gosh, did I get some contact this time.

It's important to note that the Ripley conventions in spring and fall conincide with the migrations of Canada Geese.  They are all flying throug West Virginai at that time, north or south.  I guess that's to make sure that there is the maximum amount of goose-poop on the grounds during the convention.

During a break in our drumming, the largest flock of geese I have ever seen airborne flies over our group.  I mean, hundreds of geese in the air above us, flapping and flying and honking and hooting.  And pooping.

Joking around, my friend Chuck looks up and yells, "Don't poop on me!" Covering his head with his arms and ducking down.

And me, joker that I am, look up and yell a challenge to the geese.  I spread my arms and look up and the giant flock, jumping up and down and screaming a dare to them:

"Come on, poop on me!"

*BAM*

They pooped on me.

Yes, my higher power speaks through excrement.  Gotta love her!

My friends almost killed themselves laughing.  I was laughing, too.  I mean, I had goose-shit all over my arm, but I was too amused to be upset.  Shit happens, after all.  Especially when you ask for it, I guess. 

So all day long I was running around telling people the story and saying "Remember kids, be careful what you wish for."

And then later that night, it struck me.  I had been wishing for some fucked up things, and I should be careful with that. I should be careful what I wish for.   Funny, how I can say something over and over and not realize how much it applies to my own life.

So, forget I asked about girlfriends. 

Who wants to be my friend? 

 BEEP

 BEEP  

"Hi, Christopher.  this is Xxxxxx calling from the Ohio Attorney General's office.  I just wanted to let you know that your background is cleared and you are all set to start on the 16th of October.  Xxxxx would like you to report at 8:30, and you can ask for her when you come in that morning.  Also, you'll probably want to come to HR during that day.  You should be receiving new-hire paperwork in the next couple days, but you'll want to come to HR later on in the day to complete that.  If you have any questions, please give me a call at xxx-xxxx, or you can also call Xxxxx.  Thanks a lot.  Bye."

When I was using, graduating from college and law school, getting a degree, getting a new job  as I moved up the career ladder, I couldn't bring myself to be proud of me.  Like so many of you, I hated myself.  Nothing I did was worthy of praise, nothing worthy of love.

In truth, the day I found out that I passed the bar exam - the day that should have been my proudest moment - was one of the worst days of my life.

I am so glad that today, I am learning to be proud of me. After four months of unemployment and some anxiety worrying about my background check, I am now ready to start a really good job, in a really good place, with good people and a bright, bright future.  And I'm willing to give myself a little credit for it.

Thank you for that.

I am an addict, and just for today you can call me Assistant Ohio Attorney General Christopher P. Conomy. 

WOOHOO!

HIT

PLAY

AND

LOVE

YOURSELF

YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL

YOU ARE PERFECT

JUST THE WAY YOU ARE 

Since I am the center of your world, you obviously know by now that I will be starting a new job soon.  I'll be working for the state.  The man?  That's me!

Before I start the new job, I have to pass a background check, including a tax review.  After a few years in Narcotics Anonymous, I view my criminal history as pretty slim.  A couple misdemeanors, some possession, all of it more than 10 years old.

Ahhh, but the taxes. 

        They wanted to look at my taxes... 

               I knew this was coming...

                    A phone call.  

"Mr. Conomy, we have some more questions about your tax returns.  We have returns from 2001, 2003, 2004, and 2005,but we seem to be missing your tax return for 2002."

2002 taxes were due on April 15, 2003. 

That was the day I was being evaluated for treatment.   

My clean date is April 9, 2003 (thank you all).  That Monday I agreed to participate in the Ohio Lawyers Assistance Program, and they directed me to seek treatment.  I was in for evaluation on April 15, 2003, and really that whole time I was a little unconcerned with taxes.  I was just trying to make it through a day.

With other things on my mind that week, I didn't file my taxes.  Honestly, I had planned to.  In my arrogance, I was even ready to start preaching to other addicts about it.  But then I truly fell apart. I don't know about you, but I fell apart most in the days AFTER I got clean, when the truth got clear enough to really hit me.  I was not in any shape to be putting together paperwork on April 15, 2003.

And I have been aware of that fact ever since.  Never forgot it.  I knew this phone call was coming. 

Well, I guess today was my chance to make amends to the Ohio Deptarment of Taxation.  I went through my old documents, got together what I beleive to be my old income statements, and filled out the form.  Heck, I even get a refund.

The nice lady at the department (truly, she was very nice) told me that I can just send in my form and things will be cleared up.  As soon as she gets it, she'll mail out my clearance letter so I can start work. 

After I got off the phone, I felt like I was going to puke. 

It seems I had myself VERY wound up about maybe not getting my job.  Even with no record to speak of (in NA terms, anyway) and the fact that I knew ahead of time that any tax discrepancy could be rectified and would not stop me from working, I still had my stomach in knots and my head in a vice. I'm still feeling leary about it.  I won't celebrate until I'm actually sitting in the office doing work.  But it is going to happen.

Funny, how we think that we can "get it together" as soon as we get clean.  More than 3.5 years later I'm just starting to get a handle on this "personal resposibility" gig.  Woof.

Thank you thank you thank you. 

Well, devil-boy hasn't gotten me into the ditch yet, but he sure has had me peering over the edge, dipping in a toe to test the muck.  Mmmm, muck!  But I'm clean today.  I am being right.  Human but right. 

Do I get a medal now?  I am rewarded instead with patience.

Good News 

There's a lot going on with pootsie right now.  The good news is that I got a job -- can I get a woohoo?  I'll be working for the Ohio Attorney General as soon as I clear my background check. I should be starting in a couple weeks, just as my savings are completely gone. 

It will be good to return to working.  Idle hands are the devil's workshop.  And it seems that an idle mind is his architectural firm.

I'm not (really) worried about the background check.  But of course, as I was walking in to get my fingerprints scanned today, all of the fears reared up and grabbed my throat.  What if a petty possession charge 10 or 15 years ago is enough to disqualify me?  I have it on good authority that it is not.  But fear does not listen to reason, does it? 

Thank goodness I remember to breathe once in a while. So that's the good news -- a job.

Bad News 

Bad news -- my grandmother is very, very ill.  She's 98 and a half, bless her withered old heart.  She has lost all of her marbles save one, rolling around in her head striking random thoughts.  Sometimes she drifts off into another place and time, and I can hear her mumbling about events years past as though they were happening right now.  She sometimes doesn't even know if her teeth are in.  That is scary.

She was reasonably well for a very old woman a couple weeks ago, but she fell ill to pneumonia two weeks ago and has been terribly weak since then.  She hasn't been able to walk since then, and she keeps forgetting that she is in a wheelchair.  And she has decided to stop eating. 

If she is weak enough, you can get some food into her.  But as soon as her blood sugar gets up just a bit, she fights it.  I think she is letting go.  We signed her up to have hospice care come to attend to her at the assisted living center.

I feel bad for wanting this, but I just want her to pass easily, and soon.  Truly, her life is misery right now. 

In younger years she was a very ungrateful, self-centered person. I'm convinced she's an alcoholic, but my mom insists that "everybody drank that way back then."  Yeah, right.  Whatever the reason, my grandmother is currently incapable of knowing joy.  And she is miserable, uncomfortable, unhappy, and unhealthy. 

I'm conscious that I might inherit some money when she passes, and that makes me twinge with guilt when I hope she passes soon, but in my heart I know that I'm only manufacturing guilt.  The money would come sooner or later.  It is her suffering I'm impatient to see end.

And yet, I'm doing my part to help her stay strong and healthy -- as healthy as she could be.  I'm not out using when I should be there.  That's good.

I feel sadness, grief at her current state and her imminent demise.  My mom and family, well-trained co-dependents that they are, do everything they can to stop tears as soon as they appear.  My family in the rooms of NA just let me cry and cry.  Thank you all for allowing me my pain and showing me how to feel it. 

Patience patience patience

I'm a bonsai fanatic.  I grow trees into living sculpture.  Bonsai is not a fast-paced hobby.  Trees are unconcerned with the human scale of time.  A day is an eyeblink, a season a moment, a year is a short time of activity and a nap.

I'm not a tree -- I'm a human, and an addict.  I want it now.  It?  Everything.  I want to start working now, want money now, want my grandmother's suffering to end now, want to get laid now and fed now and praised now and get a girlfriend now and take a nap now and go dancing now and play my drums now and have my cake and eat it now and everything now now now. 

Working with trees is one thing that has given me a different perspective on patience.  I have learned a lot from those trees. I am working on patience.  It does not come quickly.  But I don't have to pray for it.  I can be a very patient man.  I need only to exercise that capacity that dwells within me. 

They told me the path of recovery gets narrower and steeper.

They told me the program would ruin my using.

They told me using wasn't my only problem.  

They did NOT tell me that the program would ruin the other problems.  Damn them.  They are taking away every false joy my sickness cherished.  They said more would be revealed and then they laughed.  Those bastards laughed because they knew the shit that would be revealed.

A few times in the past months I have been well enough of a person to avoid sick behavior.  But I have been sick enough to wish I was just a little bit sicker.  I wish I was sick enough to jump off that steep narrow path sometimes, because a good roll in the filthy ditch alongside it is just what I want.

How sick do you have to be to wish you were sicker?  Pretty damn sick.  I'm that sick.

So fuck you and fuck your sponsor and fuck your Steps.  Fuck your spiritual bullshit.  I came here for a drug problem, not a spiritual problem.  Fuck you for showing me the true nature of my problem, destroying my ignorance, tearing down my denial.  Shove those precious Steps up your ass, one at a time, all twelve of them, sideways.

You've ruined it for me, you fuckers.  You've ruined all the false joy I pretended to find in bad behavior.  You've ruined the fun of ruining myself.  I miss rolling in that dirty ditch beside the path of spirituality.  But today I know I don't want to roll in the filth I used to love.  I know how hard it is to wash that stuff off after you get in it, if you ever even get back up. 

Sometimes I let go and let my Goddess handle things, and sometimes she just plain takes over whether I like it or not.  Damn it, I'm getting better even when I don't want to. 

And for that, fuck you. 

And thank you. 

I stood inside a tree a couple days ago.

Not too far from where I live is a giant old sycamore tree.  At the very least, it is 500 years old.  It was standing by the side of the stream before pale faces ever appeared on this continent.

She is hollow inside, a hollow large enough for two people to stand in comfortably. or sit on the soft damp loam inside.  I have visited her many times.

Imagine, being completely encased within another living being.  It's like the womb.  Sure, an orca or tiger might let you inside, but the tree let me out again in one piece.

I sat inside her for a while.  I meditated for a moment, listening to the stream burbling just beside her.  I could hear the swarm of bees going about their business in the hive above me.  

My higher power is not one to talk to humans.  Truly, I believe it to be the height of self-centeredness to believe that I am so important that the divine has made up a special plan just for me, that the creator of the universe is concerned with how I feel and what I do, or that there is a special message for my ears only coming from the voice of eternity.

But she does have a voice.  I can listen to it when I am open to hear her.  Sitting inside that hollow sycamore, feeling the life enclosing me and hearing the world around me flowing with life, I could hear her.  Inside this tree, I am reminded of my place.  I am a blip compared to this ancient being.  I am not the center of this world, just a being blessed enough to spend a moment being a very, very small part of the wonder, a cell in the body of the divine.

I'm in touch today.  It feels good. 

I went to one of my regular NA meetings and shared with everyone that I had been clean for π years and 96 days.

Everyone invited me to keep coming back.

I've been clean for just a little more than π years now. 

(As of this moment I have 1239 days clean and π years would be something on the order of 1146.68132 days.)

And what step am I on?  Well, I'm a little ways into Step Three. 

I'm almost done with question 5 of 42 in the NA Step Working Guides, or a bit under 1/7 of the way, which is therefore slightly less than  0.142857143. So, at this point, I'm around Step 3.14159265 or so.

Clean π years and on Step π. 

(Click play for appropriate musical accompaniment as you read on.)

Clean π years and on Step π?  Let's do some more math.  My ratio of Steps to Years is not a fancy number like π.

If this were a race, I'd be losing the Special Olympics.  

I suppose I should probably get a little work done on these steppy thingamabobs. Yet surprisingly enough, my sponsor thinks I'm OK to sponsor a newcomer. Humph.  Perhaps he thinks it might kick my ass into gear.  I think he's right.  Even my new sponsee thinks so.  I had better get to know the territory if I'm going to guide anyone through it.  

I'm clean today.  Is that enough? 

I actually was about to share my 5th Step with my former sponsor in April, when he informed me that I was doing a poor job of being sponsored.  I had moved away and tried to be sponsored long-distance, but didn't communicate with him very well.  I went to visit on my third anniversary I got a big dose of humility.  He basically said he didn't know who I was anymore, and that just doesn't work.

So I got a new sponsor who might see me every once in a while at meetings. 

This is sponsor number 4 in π years. 

The sponsor-switching is not a matter of me trying to avoid things (at least for the most part).  Sponsor #1 decided that he wasn't an addict anymore.  I realized I had outgrown sponsor #2 when I was embarrassed to be seen in public with him. And #3 I moved away from and expected ... I don't know what I expected, but apparently it involved very little work on my part.

New sponsor = start over on steps.   At least this time.  So in fact, I've gone pretty far with the Steps if you assume, for this mathematical equation, that pootsie started working Steps in May

Regardless of my poor Step/Year ratio of 1, however, I've expereienced profound changes in my life, and a good deal of that is attributable to the program I may or may not be working.  Something good rubbed off, at least.  Enough that my sponsor thinks I've got something worth sharing, and a newcomer looked at his former sponsor, then looked at me, and decided, "I'd rather have what that guy has."

I may not have much of it, but what I've got is good to me, too.

Please, leave a comment and let me know what you think of my current status.  Thanx.

It is always a pleasure to witness another addict's recovery. 

You know them here as 

Dvs Alias

and

Jeff H. 

I have personally witnessed the growth in each of these guys, and it's a beautiful thing.   I have personally witnessed their new keytags glowing in the dark, just as I've witnessed the inner light that came back on inside these dudes.  I love you, brothers!

Let's give these boys a round of applause!!!!! 

I went to another NA campout this past weekend: the MOASCNA annual Pigout.

Being currently jobless, I've had time to hit a few campouts this summer.  I always find these things to be a real boost to my recovery, even though sometimes I get all wishy-washy beforehand and oh-I-don't-know and all that.

This one was incredible.  It was at a private campground somewhere in Nowhere Ohio.  It didn't even have an address.  But there was a whole lot of recovery there.

I dragged a couple newcomers with me, and I'm glad I did.  I kinda like that "give it away" thing, and one of them told me he was pretty sure he'd end up using if he had stayed home, so I'm double-glad. The pig-roast was fantastic for everyone but the vegetarians and the pig.

But the falls! There's a small spring nearby, which is just a tiny trickle really.  But a few thousand years of trickle has cut a very pretty path through the rock ridge there.  That's it in the picture above.  What a great place to get in touch with my HP.

There wasn't anything schedule to happen during the day on Saturday, though I was hoping for workshops or whatnot.  A guy with 23 hours clean said, "Why don't we just have a meeting by the falls?"  Another reason to listen to the newcomer!  And what a meeting it was.  

I went to the falls and meditated early in the morning on Saturday and Sunday.  Just me and my goddess sitting on the rock, with about 600 centipedes.  The centipedes really like the mossy rocks, it seems.

I got a lot out of meditating there.  By no means am I currently a morning meditation sort of guy, but it is something I'd like to become.  This was kind of a big deal for me.  I'm so impressed with meditation right now, I think they should put it in the steps somewhere. ... Oh, there it is, I guess they thought of that already.   

If you just haven't bothered to go to one of these, you really ought to take the time.  No, don't give me those lame ass excuses.  You found the money to buy your shit when you were too poor to pay the bills, and found the time to shot/smoke/drop/drink it, so don't tell me any of that crap right now.  Just go!  You'll be glad you did.

I feel really really good right at this moment.

Usually any recovery-related journal entry is the result of pain, the best motivator a recovering addict ever met.  (Or a boot in the ass from a sponsor, which has it's own pain/motivation.) 

Right now, I want to share that I'm in a good place.

Part of it has to do with the external world.  At the moment I am not financially crushed, I have an interview for a good job coming up Monday (prayers, please!), I just got a weird compliment from a pretty girl, I'm going on an NA campout this weekend, I'm healthy, my kitty loves me and my doggy loves my and my family loves me ...  so much to be grateful for.

Another part of it is that I've managed to treat myself well over the past few days.  I haven't beat myself up in my head in a while.  I'm eating well and exercised enough lately to qualify for saying I'm now exercising regularly.  In fact, I just got back from an early morning run.  I used to hate people who did that, and today I know it was only because I was jealous. I'm working on being proud of me. 

I'm actually doing something about stepwork these days, too!  I am a super step slacker.  3.3 years clean, and maybe a smidge of work done on step 4.  I've had some sponsor switcheroos, and I've tried to pick up where I've left off, but my sponsor sent me back to Go.  I'm re-working #3 now, and I have 2 assignements: create a 1 and 5 year goals list, and write my own 3d step prayer.  So at least something is happening. 

Oh, and I'm not using! Just for today, I'm living and enjoying life without the use of drugs.

So at this particular moment, I'm feeling damn good.  Life is good, I'm OK, the future is reasonably bright, and I'm willing to be grateful and to accept the blessings my goddess has heaped on me.

Alas, as with the bad, this too shall pass. That might sound a bit pessimistic, but it is real.  Pink clouds don't last forever, and sometimes there's a big space between them in my world.  So I need to enjoy the ride.  After being in touch with my feelings for a couple years now, I've learned not to dread the passing of a good mood, and something about letting the bad ones go, too.

So, just for today, I am the happy, well-adjusted, loveable bubbly fun-to-be-with pootsie that I know I can be.

You've caught me on the upswing here, enjoy it while you can!

Ever feel you just had a breakthrough?

I was at a meeting tonite (Monday Miracles group of NA) and one of the topics for group discussion was self-acceptance.  And I had one of those moments.

I don't know about you, but sometimes I make new discoveries when I hear myself say something that I didn't know until I said it.  (That's one reason I feel it is important to let the newcomer share -- sometimes when I share the person who benefits most is me.)  Anyway, that happened tonite.  I said something, and then realized, "hey, that's a really good idea!"

The good idea for me tonite is to set boundaries with my own behavior. 

As a passive-aggressive type, I have issues with setting boundaries for how others treat me.  I have a pattern of putting up with the unacceptable until it becomes unbearable, and then I lash out, and then I discover the boundary was crossed long ago but I didn't know it or observe it.  So part of my recovery includes setting boundaries in a more healthy way.

Well, when it comes to self-acceptance, it turns out I need to set boundaries on what is acceptable behavior from myself. 

With my low self-esteem, I generally treat myself far worse than I would allow anyone else to do.  I might tell you that I won't accept put-downs and name-calling from you, but I'll serve it up to myself night and day.  And take it.

I guess part of it has to do with being abused when I was young.  Abuse  was so normal, I didn't know how to live without that feeling.  Long ago, I took over the job. I became my own worst abuser.   

So I realized, as it was coming out of my mouth tonite, that I need to set that boundary with me. I need to tell myself that I will no longer accept abuse from me.

"Self, I will not let you call me a loser anymore. I will not allow you to tell me that I am worthless.  I refuse to allow you to ridicule me any further, or put me down, or call me names.  Because I love me, and I will not allow anyone I love to be treated so badly, even by themselves."

I almost started crying as I wrote that last paragraph.  I guess I've hit something big. 

Note: this was written before E Doxie began blocking some of the ads mentioned here. 

“Holy shit, man.
These google ads
are fucked up!"
-- pootsie, 12 Step Space member

When we first joined 12 Step Space, many of us noticed the google ads on the side of every page.  Google automatically generates these advertisements based on the content of the page we are viewing. These ads produce revenue to support this website every time we click on one, so we are eager to click on them to support 12 Step Space.

But we also notice right away that some of the ads promote seriously fucked up products and services.  For instance, one product advertised is purported to be a homeopathic "herbal" cure for addiction.  Another ad is for an alcohol treatment program that actually advocates that the alcoholic should still drink whenever she or he feels like it.  And countless ads promote so-called recovery programs that not only contradict the proven success of the 12 Steps, but sometimes even go far out of their way to criticize their misguided concept of what the 12 Steps actually mean.

This leaves us in a quandary.  We want to support 12 Step Space, but we are afraid that most of the products and services that show up in the google ads might actually be dangerous to our recovery. 

When these conflicting feelings arise, we should talk to our sponsor and support groups to share how we feel, and seek guidance from their experience.  With their help, we come to see that we don’t need to believe everything that we click on.

JUST FOR TODAY, I will click on the google ads to support this website, but I’ll be damned if I fall for the crap they’re selling.

For all my preaching in the last post, I'm still having trouble navigating the physical world. 

I'm currently unemployed, so I have no schedule, and with my remarkable lack of discipline that means my days are all off kilter.I'm trying to set my clock to normal muggle hours, but my clock has never jived with the rest of the world.

Muggles -- that's the term I use for normies, earth-people, non-addicts.  Please join me, muggles is fun to say!

Not having a job at this point is driving me nuts.  Almost as nuts as I'd be if I had a job! I am completely blessed thatI am financially afloat as of today (and I might make it a little while longer) but I'm starting to feel useless.

I've been hitting lots of meetings lately, though!  Wish us luck, eh?

Physical!

The disease of addiction is mental, spiritual, and physical. 

Sometimes, I think that people ignore that last one as soon as they get over the shakes.

When I first entered the rooms (I'm an NA man myself), an oldtimer in AA suggested to me that I should take a moment now and then throughout my day to focus on taking a deep breath.  Such a simple thing, but so useful in my recovery.

Focused breathing is physical, but also affects the mental and spiritual aspects of my being.  A moment of breath re-energizes my body, stills my mind, and opens my spirit to the presence of my goddess.  No wonder focused breathing is a main component of meditation practices across religious and spiritual boundaries.

These days I'm also trying to treat my body well.  I trying to eat better and get exercise and avoid unhealthy things. I bought a pair of running shoes, and I've actually used them already.  I ride my bike to meetings two or three times a week.  I'm giving up fast food (mostly) and eating more veggies (yum!) and eating less meat.  I'm breathing now and again.

I'm working on me -- all of me.  After all, I've found that for me, the mental and spiritual and physical are interconnected.  Even more, they are the same thing. Even my higher power in inseparable from the physical world.  So I cannot work on one aspect without working on the other two.

Which leads to my question to you: Why do so many people "in recovery" smoke? 

Why kill yourself with one poison after spending so much effort overcoming all the others? 

In the NA Basic text (5th ed., p. 23) it asks "Do I believe it would be insane to walk up to someone and say, 'May I please have a heart attack or a fatal accident?'" Now that we are in recovery, we can see that our use of alcohol and coke and acid was insane. 

Can you not see that your use of cigarettes is THE SAME INSANITY? 

Please, stop now, because I love you.  I will keep on your ass until you do, because "we are each other's eyes and ears" and I see you smokers killing yourselves because you use cigarettes to fix your emotions just like you tried with drugs.  

I know, I did the same thing.  When I gave up smoking drugs, I smoked cigarettes like a madman.  But I gave them up.  You can too.  Please join me. 

My first foray into to land of the blogs.  I never tend to journal, which I'm told I should do.  But I spend oodles of time farking around at the computer.  Maybe I can turn this into a useful activity?

... nah.

So anyway, before anyone asks (and they always do) the nickname "pootsie" came from my Grandmother on my Father's side.  

She always called me her little pootsie.  When she wanted th dog to go outside and do its business, she would hold open the door and shout "Cookie (dog's name) go toto!  Cookie go toto!"

Well, one day in 6th grade my friends and I were exchanging funny stories of family silliness, so I told them about "pootsie" and "go toto!"  BAD MOVE!

They got together with the art teacher, Mr. Mac (a wonderful teacher if you didn't piss him off to the point of throwing stools at you) and they made HUNDREDS of signs that said "pootsie go toto."  They put the fuckers evereywhere -- the school's front door, hallways, every classroom, gym, locker room.  They even got one inside my book locker, which was locked at the time so I guess the janitor was in on it too.

At first no one knew what it was about.  They figured it out as soon as they saw me running around ripping down the signs and screaming.  So they ALL started calling me pootsie.  

Then my family picked up on it.  It was just my Grandmother who started it, but as soon as the rest of the family discovered that it was another way to inflict trauma on my fragile young ego, they all got in on it.  So it stuck.

When I first got into Narcotics Anonymous, some people suggested that I should leave my "using name" behind, since we don't carry the street with us in recovery.  My response: "What fucking street do you think I came from with a name like pootsie?"