The Who-Man Chronicles: Random thoughts inside a drug/alcohol rehab or The ADH (look a shiny ball)D dream book

By Patrick Miele

About the Book
Despite the words on the cover, the pages in no way are a type of a self-help rehabilitation guide, informative in any way, nor will you gain knowledge in any way. Instead, if you have ever been diagnosed with ADHD (or not and just went through undetected, as there are more out there than you think), there is absolutely no structure. Author Patrick Miele often changes direction in mid-thought, and there are no chapters more than about three pages long. If you get a "I never thought of that," "Yeah, he's right on there," “I hate it when that happens," or just a chuckle, then his intentions of The Who-Man Chronicles have been achieved.
The entire memoire was written during a two-year off-and-on stint in drug/alcohol rehabilitation inpatient treatment programs. This was supposed to be his journal/notebook during sessions but he strayed a bit. Two years later these pages were compiled. As a people "observer," Patrick is intrigued by human behavior and some of the idiosyncrasies of society and these rehabs were an observer's utopia. If you don't comprehend the concept of "random" thoughts, you will by the time you finish reading these pages.

About the Author
Patrick Miele was a high school physical education/English teacher in the town of Westford, MA, for 26 years. He coached baseball, wrestling, golf, and volleyball during that time and bartended in various place all over Massachusetts. He ran summer camps and clinics as a form of fundraising for his school. Some of his demons and a major back surgery forced him to early retirement. He was a workaholic so when he early retired lull time was his worst enemy. As a result he really hit the bottle and his physical pain caused him to give up golfing and a Manchester, NH, baseball team he played for. Drinking got heavier with all his spare time and living alone after a recent divorce, which is why he ended up in the rehabs.
Patrick currently lives in Worcester, MA. He takes an annual golf trip to the mountains of Maine, Vermont, and New Hampshire with a dozen of his friends from old baseball/softball teams. His family is from Billerica, MA; he has two sisters, Eva and Betty, and a brother, Bruce. He has a daughter, Amanda, 22 years old, who lives in Bridgewater, MA.
Patrick went to Worcester State College, received a degree in English and Physical Education, and played baseball and started his bartending journey mistake, sticking with it for almost 40 years, but now he would be like a kid working a candy counter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Mar 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781639375011

Book preview

TABLE OF CONTENTS

There is no table of contents as it is indicative of organization and structure and this is just not the Shiny ballers way. Just open up and dive in.

INTRO

Despite the words on the cover, the following pages in no way are any type of a self-help drug/alcohol rehabilitation guide, informative in any way, nor will you gain any knowledge in the reading process you are about to engage in. Instead, if you are or ever been diagnosed with ADHD (or even UNdiagnosed as there are more out there than you think), this is your Dreambook. There is absolutely no structure, I often change direction in midsentence and there is not one chapter that goes more than 3 or 4 pages. If you get a I never thought of that, Yeah, he’s right on there, I hate it when that happens, or just a chuckle, then my intentions of the Whoman Chronicles have been achieved. This entire memoir was written during a 2-year off-and-on stint in 2 drug/alcohol inpatient treatment programs which will remain nameless. Why WhoMan? Well, one of my teammates dubbed me the WhoMan (long uninteresting story) and it kind of stuck and it sounds very similar to the name of the first facility I resided in. The other is named after a prophet in The Bible. I was actually thinking of naming it An AD…look, a shiny blue ball HD Dreambook, but I lost my train of thought why I didn’t.

The program was always a full schedule, 7 days a week, so I had to find my spots for my entries for the WhoMan Chronicles which derived from what was supposed to be my rehab facility journal/notebook. I am a people observer not a people watcher. Significant difference between the two: watchers are synonymous with voyeuristic and intruding; observers take interest in human behavior and are intrigued and this place was an observer’s utopia. I had to squeeze my entries in when I had insomnia and a flashlight in my dorm room-like bed, pretending I was paying attention to counselors’ group therapy session lectures and taking notes, staying inside at a kitchen table during smoke breaks, and Oh, Yeah….The actual 30 minutes a day of assigned journal time they actually gave us (which if I relied on wouldn’t have come close to filling these pages).

So bear with me on the structure and discipline of the written words as most of it was written in freestyle fashion while putting on a facade to make it look like I was taking notes, or scribbling under a flashlight in bed at 3 A.M. If you don’t comprehend the concept of random thoughts you will by the time you finish reading the pages to follow.

FOOD QUIRKS

How do oysters fuck? That was an attention getter. I’m sorry that’s not your everyday ordinary greeting or salutation but I have trouble with filtering my thoughts and it gets you thinking right out of the gate, doesn’t it? But really, they are locked in a shell, I’ve never seen one move, yet they are all over the place so they are reproducing somehow...do they have dicks? But an even bigger mystery to me involving the oyster is, who the hell deemed these things edible!? Picture the scenario of this pioneer. He is walking along the beach and discovers a rock-like course, slimy, strange-shaped sandy shell…under the earth’s surface, mind you. Then has the notion to smash it open for some strange reason exposing a big giant phlegm ball looks like someone coughed up and at some point actually says to himself..., Oh, ya, I gotta eat this. Oysters were not meant to be edible, why do you think we drown them in sauces, butter, tabasco and shoot it like a Jägermeister? Why? Cuz you don’t want to taste it. Why? Cuz it’s not edible!! When is the last time you took a steak tip, drowned it in multiple butters and condiments and shot it back like you were playing a frat party drinking game. And for anyone who has actually chewed one of these things, it’s like taking a handful of beach sand and swishing it around in your mouth. The irony is that oysters are usually the most expensive dish on a menu yet you don’t chew, taste or savor it. Similar to the big sniff, the hack, and a ball of mucus in your throat, but you don’t have a place to spit so send it down the gullet.

I was always intrigued with the whole food/drink thing. Like it’s really one of the only things that exist that is imperative to us to keep us alive. But even more tantalizing to me is the Eating agenda. You can only eat certain foods at certain times. For instance, I got up the other morning, walked into the kitchen, my wife was sitting there enjoying her breakfast, eggs, ham, bacon, sausage, and I went into the fridge and I tore off a little piece of last night’s chicken piccata and ate it. So she looks at me in shock and says, Ugh, how can you eat chicken at 7 A.M. in the morning, that is so gross. So I look at her and she’s got half a pig’s ass on her plate next to her eggs and I’m thinking grabbing a nice healthy piece of white meat chicken is gross?? There is more grease oil and fat on that plate than monster truck night at the Garden. Have you ever seen the look you get when you are eating eggs for dinner? And who determines what is considered morning food vs. evening food? Is there some kind of food police or secret food committee that monitors this situation? They get together once a month and vote on the kinds of food you can eat at a particular time of day? Ribeye steak…not to be consumed before 1:47 P.M., next, eggs...cease and desist at 11:07 A.M. Pound the gavel. That guy is eating Cocoa Puffs and it’s 4 P.M....Alert the food police!!

THE SUN WILL COME OUT TOMORROW…NO SHIT

Recovery programs certainly have the market cornered on the quote-unquote industry. You can’t swing a dead cat in any room of a recovery house, program or clinician’s office without hitting some inspirational sentence of a philosopher, Bible passage or the ever popular Anonymous (I love that one, so bizarre you had time to write down the words of an entire sentence from this guy, but never took the time or the effort to take his two-word name). By the way, isn’t it grammatically incorrect to start a statement off with quote-unquote followed by someone else’s words? If you already un-quoted it before you say it...it’s not a quote anymore.

Anyways, these quotes usually reflect some impactful words that revolve around our 3 stages of being which are yesterday, today and tomorrow. As if you don’t have enough floating around in your heads which is already drowned with pills...you are now discombobulated with quotes coming at you literally in 3 different directions like Learn from your past, One Day at a Time, Tomorrow holds better days. Wow…they really cover their asses, don’t they? Which one is it? Which one of the 3 stages of life is the core of learning and recovery while we are here? Call me a pessimist, but I really have a hard time with investing in the our future endeavors theory as these programs place all their hopes of profit to this way of thinking as it is simply the most promotable. Yesterday is the reason why you are here, this place sucks in here now, let’s market the hope of tomorrow as it is all these people have left to cling to for a sale. And think about it, what is the difference, what is separating us from today into tomorrow? You close your eyes…you open them…it’s tomorrow. It’s literally One Long Blink. What am I living in, an I Dream of Jeannie episode? Boing!! ...Life is great!  Isn’t closing your eyes a form of denial, closing your eyes so you can’t see, hoping for optimistic outcomes? Even as a kid growing up you were always told, Close your eyes and make a wish, Close your eyes and blow out the candles. Even Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, Close your eyes and tap your gaudy-looking red shoes together. There’s no place like home. By the way, anyone who is reading this and is still drinking, this makes a great barroom trivia question for a free beer: What was Dorothy’s last name? I pride myself in being somewhat of an expert in the file under the who gives a shit category. That’s one vice even a recovery house can’t take away from me and would like to pass down my knowledge to a young impressionable Barfly of the future.

As I see it, we are all a house full of Little Orphan Annies: The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow, Bet Your bottom dollar that tomorrow…etc., etc. By the way, Dorothy’s last name is Gale (you have to read the book).

UNCONDITIONAL LOVE

My Ten Commandments vs. God’s are as follows:

1st Commandment: All Dogs Go to Heaven

2nd-10th Commandment: See Commandment #1

There is absolutely nothing you can do or say to a dog where he/she is going to stay angry, I even saw a news report of this rescue team that saved a yellow lab that was abandoned and starved in some sicko’s basement for 5 days with no food or water. This furry, four-legged angel is lickin’, lappin’ and tail waggin’ in front of the news cameras with a wholesome look of appreciation and gratefulness and I guarantee if his shitbag of an owner came back from his hiatus at that given moment, this dog would show nothing but excitement, joy and affection for his master’s return.

I admit shamefully I have on occasion stormed out of the house in the morning in a bad mood due to insomnia, hangover or waking up to a broken water pipe. Whatever reason it may have been, you somehow swear it was the dog’s fault in some roundabout way and shoo him away huffing and puffing as you run off to work. I come home 12 hours later and this same canine is jumping on me, welcoming me home, licking me and barking with joy. I’m like Sparky, don’t you remember I was the guy practicing kicking field goals on you before I left the house this morning? If I tried this on my ex-wife that morning I would have come home to my clothes out on the front lawn, my golf clubs hanging from a tree and a book of empty checks to sign posted on a newly locked front door. I even run out to the mailbox and return 30 seconds later and he attacks me with affection and glee as if I was gone for a fortnight.

A dog’s world is genuinely a 5-step perfect one: Agenda: Eat, Sleep, Wake up, Lick Balls, Repeat. 4 out of 5 of these things is a typical day in the average American male’s life and that is only because he doesn’t bend a certain way. Dogs are always there for you. When you feel lonely, scared, sad, when you were a little kid and had a nightmare just like a teddy bear was for you, only with a heartbeat and 5 senses. Sad to say but I never even cried at my own parents’ funerals but ’til this day there are still times I wake up in the middle of the night and shed tears thinking of Sparky, Rocky or Romeo (my 3 generations of dogs).

I’m not sure if dogs are angels on earth and they were what God had intended for man to be but was off on his aim, misfired and hit the dog instead, or are dogs just plain stupid? Hey, Baily, your owner crates you up all day, merely takes you outside when he returns and gives you 3 feet of slack on a leash for 2 minutes, feeds you Alpo for 49 cents a can to hold you over and then puts you on nightwatch to protect his ass all night while he snores and dribbles in his king-sized bed against any potential burglars that break into the house!!? If I was Baily, I would stand on my hind legs, open the door with my little paws, guide the burglar to the master bedroom, and fetch his Dick’s Sporting Goods pistol he keeps under his bed and give the burglar a Woof Woof! Which is doggy language for Shoot that abusive, self-absorbed, neglecting mother fucker in his silky monogrammed jammies right in his femoral artery.

WTF

Is it me or is Who’s Your Daddy? The most twisted perverted expression known to mankind?

You ever get stuck behind one of those trucks that say Construction Vehicle: Do Not Follow? Well...what if you are going in the same direction?? How do people not acknowledge this!? Do you pull over and give him 5 minutes to get a start so he is far enough away that it is no longer considered a following infraction?? Are you forced now to seek an alternate route as the construction guy happens to choose Rt. 2A to get to his destination, the same way you intended to go to work this morning??

How many people are married?...WTF is wrong with you people? Don’t you know that marriage is an insurance plan for women? They know only 2 things can possibly happen if I marry this guy 1) It works out, you live happily ever after; or 2) You get divorced and she gets everything, every nickel, dime, penny, quarter, 50-cent piece, silver dollar, Susan B. Anthony coin, the pool, the hot tub, the hamster, the REO Speedwagon Box set, the couch, the lamp, the chair shaped like a hand, the flatscreen, the knickknacks, the paddywhacks, the plastic white patio furniture, the George Foreman Grill, the Thigh Master, the little jockey guy statue holding the hula-hoop on the front lawn, the Snagglepuss Cookie Jar...even. The next time you look at your wedding home video (as if you have looked at it at all since the wedding) when it comes to the part when the priest says, Til death do you part, zoom in on your bride’s back and I guarantee you see her making crossy fingers back there. This assures her a spot in heaven because as we all know crossy fingers is an expulsion of all lies. Remember when you used to think that as a kid. (Patrick, you said you would cut the lawn and clean your room while I was gone, I just weed-whacked my way to the front door and at any minute I expect the walls in your room to start closing in like a scene from Star Wars. You are grounded, Mister! No, Ma, you can’t … I had my fingers crossed...8 seconds after that I had them broken.

Anyway, back on track, you women out there, you are crazy if you don’t jump all over this marriage thing, you got nothing to lose, man. Why do you think women are always the one pushing for a ring and all guys have commitment phobia? They risk losing everything for leaving the toilet seat up one night during that time of the month. And for you guys on the turn over my paycheck every week to the wife plan....GET OFF IT! You think she is paying bills with that money? Go home tonight and take a peek in the closet and I bet you she has every shoe, boot, pump, Ugg, flip-flop, flat, sandal, Crock, slipper in every color known to mankind. And there are no shoes in there for you because the one pair of Nikes you own from Father’s Day 2014 are on your feet. And underwear...I used Victoria’s Secret boxes for firewood to last me right through the winter, and you get a 3-pack of BVDs at Christmas you are supposed to try and ride out until next