22:03 In my last post I used a metaphor of wine cravings at times being like a howling hound which I gently patted to sleep. The metaphor just came out onto the page and then I sort of began to fall in love with it. I could visualize the dog very clearly. He looked like a combination of our previous family dogs, all “rescue” dogs which were left with us by people who couldn’t care for them anymore. Each of those three dogs has since died, consecutively, of old age; may they rest in peace.
So I’d imagined my wine hound to be some kind of velvety dark labrador-cross, like our old family dogs were. Interestingly though, unlike our rescue dogs, this dog was tall, lean, muscular and strong. Which I think, in “houndsight,” (sorry, couldn’t resist) makes a lot of sense now that I realize the psychological implications. Alcohol is one powerfully seductive son-of-a-bitch.
I am having a really hard time this weekend. Not sure what my problem is. I’m just tired for no real reason. It’s been growing for a while now. I reached exhaustion point after last weekend and it’s just dragged on since then. I’ve looked up symptoms of depression and I have all of them right now. I feel deeply ashamed of that. And I know this is not a shining picture of sobriety. Which makes me feel even more shame.
Plus I feel confused. About everything really. I do not make a good role model. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time. I’ve mostly lost touch with my Tree. That makes me really sad. It’s funny too, the harder you try to get in touch with a Tree, the less you can. It’s a seed that blooms in your heart, from accepting yourself and caring for yourself; it’s not something you can just bang on and then a door opens, like a locked church. The seed in my heart is stunted and retracted, shrivelled and dying. Something went wrong.
Anyway, ever since writing that post yesterday, I feel like that metaphorical wine hound has been weighing me down with his heavy sleeping head on my lap. I got up to gently, quietly move away, but he woke up and began morosely following me around, barking periodically and finally even howling, an echoing sound which began to match the lonely, hopeless feeling growing in my heart.
So I had to say goodbye to him this afternoon. I shouted at him, in my mind, to get out. It was a French dog so I shouted “Dégage!” Which is what the locals shout, without a morsel of compassion, to nuisance animals around here. Dégage-toi! And I pointed towards the hills.
He’s off to a neighbourhood party now. He can live there if he wants since he’s not welcome here anymore. And I’m staying home tonight.
As I tapped this post into my phone, my husband left in the same direction as the dog.
I didn’t plan that ending. It was a surprise. (I’m a very slow tapper.) Hopefully he’ll be back soon. My husband, that is. He left with our two eldest sons, “just to check it out.”
22:45 They’re back already — husband and sons. Guess the dog went in a different direction after all. Sky is not always falling! And the world need not always be lived in metaphors. I just have to remember that.
In the meantime, Goodbye, dog.
p.s. Sober and Well is back with two posts! Do check out her blog. Brief, personal, and bad-ass positive. No wine-hounds skulking around her door. They KNOW they won’t get any scraps over there. ;))