The Reduced-Size Vacation

December 21, 2016 at 11:11 am (Cussed Dumbers, Drunk and disorderly)

Fried...

Fried…

It’s been awhile since I had three days off in a row. I think it was starting to show.

Because of finances, I jump on any shift I can get, as long as it starts after 9 AM. (I’m getting old, getting up earlier, but don’t call before noon east coast time. Standards!) I feel guilty when I have time off. I should be doing something. I rebelled from that feeling all my life, and now I’m surprised that I’m having issues?

2016 has been one hell of a dark year. Dead celebrities left and right, scary politics in our future. What future? I’m getting old! I try not to run to drugs, but they’ve always been there for me. My biggest demon lately has been alcohol.

Not my drinking. Other people’s.

Brother-In-Law’s little brother died of alcohol poisoning day before yesterday. They found him unresponsive; his liver had shut down but he’d refused to go to the doctor. He was pronounced later in the day. Bro-In-Law is doing okay for losing a little brother. The biggest worry is that his family will try to move out here from Colorado.

My little sister has been hitting the bottle again. After a couple close calls at work she’s been keeping her imbibing to the off-hours, but still I worry. I guess I deserve to see some of this after all I put them through. Sister and Bro-In-Law watched me almost drink myself to death twenty years ago. It’s tougher to watch than it is to do. Maybe this is why I’ve only seen Leaving Las Vegas once. Drinking was fun, thirty years ago. Now all I see is a bottle full of misery.

I’ve been wound awful tight. I wonder if a good ol’fashioned drunk might not help bleach things out? One of my biggest problems of late has been depression. I’ve encountered periods of depression throughout my life. From age eleven until about fourteen, every morning was a dark cloud. I could hear the heartbeat in my head, and visualized military forces marching to take me away to the concentration camps. I discovered alcohol at a very early age, but never put together that it was a drug interaction and not the feeling of grown-up manliness from drinking stubbies of Oly with the men that made me feel full. I do know that I was the one finishing other people’s drinks at the end of parties, a 16-year-old that kept a pint of Jim Beam next to his .22 magnum revolver in the zippered compartment of the door of the pickup truck. I was a country boy, goddammit.

Nowadays I crave relief more than escape. I’ve been trying to make sense of the here, the norm, as opposed to creating a new universe inside my head. Sister has been experiencing similar sensations. “It’s like I don’t feel comfortable in my own head.” Sister, don’t I know it…

Fortunately, thanks to Giggles’ tardiness, I had enough overtime last week to pay for the hours I didn’t pick up this week. Allowing myself less angst over that. Got my weed card financed and sent off. It’s in the mail! Arts Tax finally covered, although there’ll be another one coming up soon. I’m sure some nasty surprise is waiting around the corner, but I can’t lose sleep over what might happen.

I should probably just go forth and seize the day, huh?

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2 Comments

  1. Richard said,

    Any day you don’t step in front of a train
    Is a day you won back from the Dragon
    Of depression. Swimming in muddy bleakness is no way to live. But we have.
    And we come through it. Hopefully. With
    The help of friends, lovers, books,chemicals and/or botanicals.

    • beastard said,

      Thank you, brother Richard. Having your friendship in my life is more important to me than you will probably ever know.

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