Warning: I feel an over-analyzing, melodramatic therapy session coming on. Don't know if you'll need a Bloody Mary to get through my post.
It's 7:15 on a Saturday morning, which is terribly early for me on a weekend. I slept on the couch last night, and since I don't have curtains in my living room, the 6:45 sun nudged me awake long before I would have liked. The thing is, though, I love being up early in the morning. I just hate the waking up part. It's quiet in and outside my house, nothing needs to get done yet, fresh cup of joe in my hand. Something's not right with my coffee pot, though. My coffee sucks every day; it gets too hot and burns, it's too strong, it's too weak...I'm so much happier with my quad grande Americano from Starbucks, but I'm trying not to spend the money.
~~~
You know how I told you that I take that quiz on the AA website from time to time, just to make sure I'm not an alcoholic? (Because, really, that's the best way to tell.) So far, I keep coming up short. So I continue drinking to my usual limits, secure that I don't actually have a problem. Last night, I made steak and salad for everyone and it was just like any other, ordinary Friday night around here. Sitting/standing (I only have two bar stools) around the kitchen, drinking, K and S and me with our red wine (last night we got into the good stuff - yum), J with his Jack and Seven, R with his beer, and T, with whatever it is he carries around in his pocket flask (I'm not kidding) to refill his travel mug with. Eating gourmet pretzels while we put dinner together, shooting the s**t and laughing. We ate and jaw-jacked for hours around the kitchen table, finishing off K's German chocolate cake for dessert later on. We called Kim to welcome her home from New York and congratulate her on her official book signing, but she was sick and couldn't come over to join us. So I put her husband on speaker phone and we all yakked with him about their trip and the book deal.
All in all, a really fun, really normal, Friday night. I probably drank an entire bottle of wine; between the three of us, we went through two bottles, and I know S only drank maybe two glasses total. But this is typical - my usual limit. I did sense that J was unhappy with me, but I wasn't all that worried about it. M came and sat at the table with us for awhile and I ended up losing a $20 bet with him over the length of his toenails (which I thought was funny/fun, and I don't really give a crap about the $20). Around 10:30 or so, everyone took off, and J decided to go to bed. He comes in to give me a kiss goodnight (I was washing wine glasses) and I asked, in a sort of weary, what-the-hell-is-your-problem-now? way, "What did I do?" His response was that he just can't deal with me when I drink this much.
Woah.
Other than occasional side comments, like agreeing with me if I say I had too much to drink, he's never said anything like that to me before. Ever. Nothing that direct, nothing that hit me like a ton of bricks, like the fourth yes answer on the AA quiz that sets off the alarm bells, as you move from safe to oh f***.
Warning #2: Here comes the over-analyzing part. You don't even have to read this. I'm sure I'm going to ramble for a ridiculously long time, but this blog is my outlet for that, right?
Does your drinking negatively impact your family?
Well, I guess it does, now. Crap, crap, crap! You know me; I instantly went into a tailspin, right there at the kitchen sink, my little mind whirring around in its (clearly) sh**faced state. Only, here's the thing. I didn't even think I was that drunk. (I'm not rationalizing, I'm wondering what happened, in particular, that made him say something last night, and not before. Because now I'm pretty sure it's been on the tip of his tongue for quite some time.) I didn't think I was being any louder or more obnoxious than I usually am, I didn't break my wine glass or spill anything; but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I have a warped perception of myself in that state (ok, I'm sure I do, we all do, you know what I mean). I'm not sure exactly what pushed him over the edge.
We are not very connected, emotionally, to each other, when our friends are around. We are very different from the other four, in terms of relating to each other in a group. (My totally-unnecessary-details brand of rambling is picking up speed) S and T typically sit next to each other, and there's a lot of touching and intimate gestures. He clearly adores her, and she's got this kind of shy princess thing going on (I mean that in a totally good way, it's cute). He pays attention to her when she talks, he helps her tell her stories, he's always kissing her hand, or her hair, or just looking at her and smiling. She flicks him a lot of s**t but he never gets mean. K and R, likewise, are equally, obviously, in love with each other, but with a completely different dynamic. K is dominant, borderline bitchy, but in a smart, sassy, very funny way. R is absolutely whipped, but willingly. He's very high-maintenance, he's a chronic workaholic and travels way too much (he's gone at least one week of every month) so she pretty much takes care of everything for him. The payoff is that she's ridiculously spoiled - travel and jewelry and nights out on the town, and he idolizes her. Perfect picture of K&R's relationship: once, M asked me if they were getting a divorce. I was stunned, and asked what on earth would make him think that? He said, "she's always mad at him and yelling at him." Of course, we all thought that was hilarious, because it's true, but it's not malicious. It's all in fun, it's the way they work. They are rarely, if ever, out of sync with each other.
And then there's J and me. We don't sit together. We don't work together. I prepare, he barbecues. I serve, he does the dishes. We don't talk to each other in a group; I try to help him tell stories, but he gets frustrated and stops talking. He doesn't get involved in my conversations at all; in fact, he rarely pays any attention to me in a group unless I happen to have everyone's attention. He makes small, cutting comments on occasion, that I know are born of underlying issues that we don't deal with. He thinks I'm way too judgemental (I am) and that bugs the crap out of him. I do remember him making a comment about me being mean about someone last night, and I shot back, "Why don't you stop judging me for being judgmental?". This brings a collective "ooooh!" from the group, anticipation of entertaining banter, but he doesn't bite. Because it's not in fun; we're not playing out a dynamic that might end passionately in the bedroom. This is us: angry and resentful and unhappy, and coming out sideways.
So in that moment, when he tells me I've had too much to drink, or that I drink too much, or that he's sick of my drinking, or whichever of the 42 different translations of his comment that I have created, I can't just stop and deal with it. I can't say,
"Wow. Ok. I didn't realize that, honey. I'm sorry. I'm glad you told me that. I'll work on it."
I can't start crying and fall into his arms, relieved that finally, someone believes what I've feared in my head for so long: I'm an alcoholic. I can't say, "See? It's true. I'm not crazy, I'm not being neurotic. Thank you for validating my fears."
I can't say "I know. I'm sorry. I need help. Please help me. Please love me and support me and help me anyway, even though you can't stand me right now."
All I can do is walk away. I watch tv for awhile, going over every word of every conversation, trying to find the moment. The moment I crossed the line. Whatever.
I can't find it, so I curl up on my comfy couch, afraid to crawl into bed with him because the cold and the distance is more than I can bear in this state of vulnerability.
And here I am, at 7-something on a Saturday morning, spared a hangover because I was drinking good wine instead of the cheap s**t, but feeling as though I've spent the night on the floor of the subway station, regardless.
I forgot to mention that I drink every night these days. Sometimes just a glass of wine, sometimes half a bottle. I always wait til after 5, I usually put out a request for company, but if I don't get it, I still pour my wine. This has nothing to do with anything, other than rationalizing a potential drinking problem.
Crap. It's 8:20. JJ has a football game at 9:45, and I have to get moving. I still have to shower and eat, and go get snacks, since I forgot it was our snack day today.
There you go. Random thoughts for the day. I'll write more later, promise. God knows, I'm not done picking this one apart. :-)
Love you
A
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