06:48 Falling back into obsessive patterns. Not sure who I am or what this is about. Depressed about the marriage. Yesterday we had beautiful sunshine though. Nice after all the grey of past days. I would love to say I didn’t have any urge to drink but that’s simply not true. Several times that little demon piped up, “remember how much he loved you when you were drinking; how much you connected?” Especially on sunny weekends.
But the truth was we didn’t connect. “He” connected. Or yes, “we” connected… or rather our feisty little demons connected. It felt “orgasmic sinister,” to use the title of a book I’m currently reading by a fellow blogger. Orgasmic because yes, there seemed to be so much love, so much joy, so much liquid gold in my glass, so much sparkle in the air.
But there was so much sinister beneath. Building ourselves up on inflated plans, judging others and gossiping about them to make ourselves feel bigger or better. Sometimes by the end of the night, we would argue. I would be tired from all the inflated posturing and judging of others.
This weekend he watched a movie with the two older boys. That was the night I withdrew psychologically from blogging and I started knitting my shawl. I watched episode 13 of RHONY season 11. It was brutal, most of the girls were absolutely blasted, on vacation at a palatial vacation house in Miami. Dorinda acted awfully, showing their house bartender (house bartender!) how to make mojitos the “right” way. Sonja was the worst, gushing all over staff worker Tej (pronounced “Teyj”) who she kept calling Raj and then Taj, finally insisting that he change his name.
What was admirable was to see the way the workers handled them all. They maintained their dignity while doing the bare minimum necessary to appease the drunken women. (“You can call me that, but I’ll keep my name,” said Tej to Sonja.)
The shame is that I actually remember being treated like that before. I like to think I was always gorgeous, loveable and loved while drinking, but I remember times, most particularly from my youth, when I was fawning all over some staff at a bar or vacation hotel, basically professing my (platonic, always platonic) love and appreciation for them, and yet they were not “feeling” me. Not willing to “commune” with my drunken proffered “kinship.”
Yes this might have been judgemental on their part, but how annoying must it be, day in and night out, to deal with one drunken client to the next?
But I had also been on the receiving end in various client service jobs. Thus I felt I “knew” these staff workers and who they were, on spec. Perhaps I thought myself psychic. But I was more focussed on myself and my own story. (I might ask them theirs, almost certainly in fact, but would I remember any of it later? Not likely.)
Back to the weekend. So he drank beer and watched an old movie with the boys, and I knitted and watched a show by myself. They then rolled into an R-rated show (violence). I asked them to stop (I am strongly against violence). It was past midnight. We all went to bed.
I stood up to close the blind on the skylight above our bed. I always keep it closed at night since sometimes the moonlight falls over me and wakes me up. It was an automated habit and one I thought nothing of.
But he picked a fight over it. It shocked me and deeply disturbed me, I can’t quite explain why at this moment since I’ve run out of time. But I don’t think that would have happened if he hadn’t been drinking.
There is a rift and alcohol is trying to make me feel like a drink would mend it. But I already know that it doesn’t mend anything except illusions.