Not So Quiet a Desperation

AROUND THE TABLES, someone mentioned the "quiet desperation" of a suffering alcoholic, and that phrase started me thinking. As the years of my pathological drinking progressed, I must say that the only time my desperation was quiet was after I passed out. Truly, during all those years, desperation was an anvil chorus inside my mind. It was no mere factory of noise, but a whole community of factories, polluting any constructive thoughts that might have moved me to recognize my problem.