While we were in Vegas, my coworkers and I got frozen slushy-type drinks. You could order them with or without alcohol. I ordered mine virgin (I even have the receipt to prove it!), since I’m good and pure and always try to do the right thing. Well, mostly the last one. Without “always.” But I am trying.
On Tuesday I had this lovely conversation with my boss (who went to Vegas with us):
Hal: “I have to ask–you had alcohol in your frozen drink, didn’t you?”
Me: “Um…no. Why?”
Hal: “I just assumed you did.”
What the hell? I made a concerted effort to do the right thing (because believe me, I did consider having the bartender toss in a little something extra) and he just figures I gave right in?
I asked Hal on Thursday why he assumed I drank. He said, “Well, you talk about it all the time.”
I do talk about it a lot. I think about it a lot. Like I said to Hal, “You know how often you think about sex? That’s about how often I think about being high or drunk.” Okay, maybe not quite that much, but you get the idea. Here’s the thing, though: if I’m talking about it, odds are I’m not doing it. It’s not a fool-proof formula but it’s pretty close to the truth.
When I’m in relapse mode, I shut down. I stop talking to people. I make a definitive effort to prove to everyone that I’m doing well and everything in my life is fantastic. If you ever catch me doing that on my blog, please call me on it, because there’s a high possibility I’m doing very, very poorly. (Exception: Mundane Mondays, which are designed to help me focus on the positive things in my life. Please don’t see that as relapse mode.)
Hopefully someday that will change and when I say things are fantastic and everything is great it’ll be the truth, but for now, I hope you can bear with me. I’m going to talk about drinking. I’m going to talk about getting high. I have a rich fantasy life, and it’s not about hot cabana boys–it’s about chemically altered forms of consciousness. Oh, and lots of naps. That’s how I cope.
Tonight I’m sad. I’ll tell you very honestly that I’d like to take a pill and feel mellow and happy, or have a drink and slide through the night. It’s a big step for me to admit even that much weakness. After all, I wouldn’t want you to know I’m, say, human or anything. That’d just be embarrassing.
Feelings kinda suck.
Oh, one last thing–If you follow me on Twitter, please be aware that I’m taking a hiatus. It might be a weekend, or it might be until I’m feeling a little more emotionally stable. If you want to know the specific reasons, email me. I’m not going into them here because I’ve gotten enough crap about the whole situation.
*Oh, WordPress Proofreader. Just when I’m ready to call things off between us, you sense my desolation and tell me how fantastic I am. “No writing errors were found,” indeed. You are the wind beneath my wings.
**I take it back. Yes, I meant “sense” instead of “since.” Jackhole.
***Stop criticizing my choice of insults. You’re not doing yourself any favors, although I must admit I’m amused by your suggestion that I meant “backhoe.”