Every now and then I get into a bit of a spiral. I get depressed, most times for no one reason in particular, so I drink more, which starts a nasty Catch 22. I drink to relieve the depression but it only makes things worse.
The past week or two has been like that.
When Ric's mom was down, things were fine, we went out to eat several times and played board game and card games. Went to New Smyrna Beach and was my first time visiting the seashore since 2003's brief jump into the ocean at Daytona during the madness of that late July.
Now it was this late July, and much of the same madness that reared up it's ugly head then came back into play.
When Candy left, so did my short adventure in rekindling a sense of family and friendship. I think I had transposed a bit of my own desire for resurrecting a past long lost in just a halcyon haze of a few days visit from a mom, but yes, not my mom.
When Candy was here, I maintained temperance in the homestead and only drank socially while out in restaurants and only in moderate (2 or 3 drinks) amounts.
I made up for it when she left and Ric went back to work. Last Wednesday, a work-night, I bought more than just a moderate amount (a whole 12-pack, in fact) and, of course, in a nod to the occurances over the past few years, I missed work the next day.
Friday I bought even more and scoffed it down so quickly, I passed out before finishing...leaving my empty cans around the kitchen and 6 "standing Indians" still in the fridge (I promised to keep my beer outta sight in my room only). Ric came home and was pissed. He threw the empties and the full cans out with the trash.
I woke Saturday not remembering anything in detail except that I had left my au gratin potatoes and steak dinner for 6 (but really just for me) leftover remains, prep dishes and opened containers out on the counter. I quickly cleaned these up, but noticed no sign of beer cans anywhere. I figured Ric had thrown them away.
He gave me the silent treatment all weekend, which was fine with me as I was still consumed by my desire to keep the "party" rolling so I bought yet another 12 pack and drank it out of my cooler in my bathroom all day Saturday.
Sunday I dried out but was back drinking a 6 pack and bottle of wine on Tuesday night. And, not feeling well even from this relatively "moderate" amount, called out sick yesterday.
Ric left me a nasty note on the whiteboard saying that this week his probation officer hinted that it had been a while since he did a home visit and since I was not adhering to his "house rule" about no drinking in the house, I could leave if I wanted to. Ric loves to pull out the "get the Hell outta MY house, then" card, as I'm sure I've mentioned before.
All this coupled with the old burn-out feelings about my job and yes, I know I'm in one of my Koyaanisqatsi Whirlwinds.
I just thought of this term during the writing of this post, but it does epitomize the feeling of these periodic downward spirals I catch myself in.
How will I escape the peril I'm in? Like a cheesy soap opera, you will have to tune in next time to see.
Cause frankly, even I don't know.
All I know, and have known especially since the start of this adventure we call Koyaanisqatsi is...
Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore!
The past week or two has been like that.
When Ric's mom was down, things were fine, we went out to eat several times and played board game and card games. Went to New Smyrna Beach and was my first time visiting the seashore since 2003's brief jump into the ocean at Daytona during the madness of that late July.
Now it was this late July, and much of the same madness that reared up it's ugly head then came back into play.
When Candy left, so did my short adventure in rekindling a sense of family and friendship. I think I had transposed a bit of my own desire for resurrecting a past long lost in just a halcyon haze of a few days visit from a mom, but yes, not my mom.
When Candy was here, I maintained temperance in the homestead and only drank socially while out in restaurants and only in moderate (2 or 3 drinks) amounts.
I made up for it when she left and Ric went back to work. Last Wednesday, a work-night, I bought more than just a moderate amount (a whole 12-pack, in fact) and, of course, in a nod to the occurances over the past few years, I missed work the next day.
Friday I bought even more and scoffed it down so quickly, I passed out before finishing...leaving my empty cans around the kitchen and 6 "standing Indians" still in the fridge (I promised to keep my beer outta sight in my room only). Ric came home and was pissed. He threw the empties and the full cans out with the trash.
I woke Saturday not remembering anything in detail except that I had left my au gratin potatoes and steak dinner for 6 (but really just for me) leftover remains, prep dishes and opened containers out on the counter. I quickly cleaned these up, but noticed no sign of beer cans anywhere. I figured Ric had thrown them away.
He gave me the silent treatment all weekend, which was fine with me as I was still consumed by my desire to keep the "party" rolling so I bought yet another 12 pack and drank it out of my cooler in my bathroom all day Saturday.
Sunday I dried out but was back drinking a 6 pack and bottle of wine on Tuesday night. And, not feeling well even from this relatively "moderate" amount, called out sick yesterday.
Ric left me a nasty note on the whiteboard saying that this week his probation officer hinted that it had been a while since he did a home visit and since I was not adhering to his "house rule" about no drinking in the house, I could leave if I wanted to. Ric loves to pull out the "get the Hell outta MY house, then" card, as I'm sure I've mentioned before.
All this coupled with the old burn-out feelings about my job and yes, I know I'm in one of my Koyaanisqatsi Whirlwinds.
I just thought of this term during the writing of this post, but it does epitomize the feeling of these periodic downward spirals I catch myself in.
How will I escape the peril I'm in? Like a cheesy soap opera, you will have to tune in next time to see.
Cause frankly, even I don't know.
All I know, and have known especially since the start of this adventure we call Koyaanisqatsi is...
Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore!