I fail at life today. didn’t get dressed until 8 pm. and then only to go buy penne for the dinner i’m making, when i discovered the box of pasta only had one cup of penne in it and the recipe calls for three. I’m not the only one who cooks here. I am, though, the only one who maintains a grocery list. le sigh.
i fail at life today. I am about to leave for vacation in a few weeks and have my assistant lined up to cover for me and it’s still not enough. design client wants more from me. it’s her phd. her deadline has been moved. she needs me. she needs me during my vacation. no i can’t change my vacation. someone else asks the same thing though realizes it can’t be done. they ask, i kindly say no.
i fail at life today. I had the most delicious homemade raisin bread for breakfast (i rock) and therefore skipped my usual protein-filled egg and asparagus. I failed at lunch, too, by having (fucking gasp) frozen pizza that was soggy and weird.
I fail at life today. It has been miserably rainy and cold for about 10 days, and I just don’t feel like doing anything. I tried slips of paper and got through only three of them before i was watching Restaurant Impossible and eating crackers.
I fail at life today. I have a full inbox. A full voice mail box. I am sober. that might be my only notable achievement today.
While standing in the lineup to pay for my one box of penne, i could see the alcohol bottles behind the cash register. they were talking to me, the bottles. they were saying “It’s too bad you have that whole sober thing. Why can’t you be normal and just have a few glasses and then start counting again … or just say that your total is 740 (minus 2). continuous days don’t really matter you know. Fuck it. Who says? Why did you create your stupid website anyway. Now you’re trapped and you have to stay sober. Or else.”
I walk home in the drizzle. I tell wolfie that i can’t “do as i say and not as i do,” and so i have to say to myself what i’d say to someone else. my wolfie is the same as everyone else’s. i’m not special. So i say: dear wolfie. the days do matter. the fact that the bottles still speak to me, that I would even entertain booze for a second is proof that i cannot drink. don’t you see wolfie, normal drinkers never have conversations like this. the bottles don’t speak to normal drinkers, wolfie, not ever. Normal drinkers don’t think “maybe i can drink now and be sober later.” only wolfies say that, wolfie. only you say that. and that you say this shit, is just proof that i can’t drink. don’t you see it? that you even try to convince me IS THE PROOF that i can’t drink. giving up booze has been the best thing i’ve done ever (since getting married, which was – for a girl like me – truly a landslide victory).
i say: wolfie, i’ll tell you what i tell everyone else. I’m not drinking today and i’ll go to bed grumpy if necessary, and i’ll feel better tomorrow. and I’ll eat more raisin bread if necessary. and pineapple upside down cake while SITTING in the tub. and wolfie, you can suck it.
and by the time i get home with the box of penne, he is gone. he hates being confronted with “i hear you – but the answer is no.”