The Second Alarm I Still Set I still set two alarms every night, one for me and one for a man who has not slept in this house in three years. The second one goes off four minutes after mine, an old habit from when I would wake him for the early shift before I stumbled off to whatever version of ruin I was chasing that season. He is gone now, not to tragedy, just to a life he built somewhere else after mine finally cost him too much. I could delete that alarm in about six seconds. I have not done it in three years, and some nights I lie there in the dark and let it ring anyway, because for four minutes it feels like the house still has two people in it instead of one. Loneliness surprised me in recovery the way it never did in addiction, and that still confuses people when I try to explain it. Active addiction filled every room with noise, arguments, users, enablers, a whole cast of people orbiting the chaos I created. Getting sober cleared the room out, which was necessary and go...