The 12 Steps of Screwdriver Salvation: When Life Has You Completely Screwed (Because I believe in Ancient Aliens and Universal Energy)
Step 1: We admitted we were so monumentally screwed up that
we couldn't unfuck ourselves with an entire hardware store's worth of tools.
Step 2: Came to believe that something - literally ANYTHING
- could be more functional than our current disaster of a life. Enter: The
Screwdriver. Our unlikely hero.
Step 3: Decided to stop being the stripped screw in the
universe's toolbox and surrender to something that actually knows how to make
progress.
Step 4: Did a brutally honest inventory of our shit. Turns
out, we've been a pretty janky, misaligned mess - kind of like that IKEA
furniture you tried to assemble after three glasses of wine.
Step 5: Admitted to our Screwdriver, ourselves, and another
human being exactly how royally we've been screwing up. No filter. No bullshit.
Step 6: Got ready to have our Screwdriver of Destiny remove
all these spectacular character defects. Because clearly, our DIY approach to
life has been a total catastrophe.
Step 7: Humbly asked our Higher Power (aka this magnificent
screwdriver) to patch up our broken-ass self. We're talking serious life
renovation.
Step 8: Made a list of everyone we've accidentally or
intentionally hammered into the ground. Time to start fixing those
relationships - one careful turn at a time.
Step 9: Made direct amends wherever possible, except when
doing so would cause more damage than a drunk electrician with a power drill.
Step 10: Continued to take personal inventory and when we
realized we were being a total tool, we admitted it immediately.
Step 11: Sought to improve our connection with the
Screwdriver of Understanding. Meditation, prayer, whatever - just stop being so
disconnected.
Step 12: Having experienced this spiritual awakening (aka
learning we're not the most important screw in the universe), we tried to carry
this message to other lost souls. Spread the gospel of getting your shit
together.
Serenity Prayer: Remix
Universe, give me the patience to accept the screws I can't turn,
The badass courage to wrench the ones I can,
And the wisdom to know when to call a professional.
Because sometimes, recovery is just admitting you're too
damn broken to fix yourself - and that's okay.
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