I haven't had a drink in a couple of weeks. I have one more day of medication. Then I have to get my tooth pulled... and then I can't drink AGAIN... this is for the better. I'm trying to live free from the cliche of letting old habits die hard - and just letting the old habits die instead. I am sick of feeling cheap and unworthy in certain hands, and I think sobriety at the moment is in my best interest.
When will hands be hands, and reach for pockets to protect them - and not the hands of others? The current theme around me seems to be infidelity - and I am noticing it is everywhere. It makes me sick and angry and I lose my mind thinking about it.
Work is the worst for gathering stories - men who buy their wife flowers after visiting Misty in Potts Point, or The Boardroom of South Melbourne. There is so much cheating - and everybody is doing it. And the worst ones, the most lecherous ones ask questions about how they can further it.
"Can you recommend a place where I can get my **** sucked?"
"Hel-lo Sar-ah... How you do-ing? What-chu wear-ing?"
It's hard not to feel embittered, or at the very least, INNOCENT. It's hard not to bear a grudge - against all men for being dishonest, cheating pigs - and against all women - for being uptight, bitchy shallow wenches.
There are a few occasions when you turn loose on yourself and remember that some people aren't quite so damaged. I had this experience...
While I remember, just as I am feeling resolute - lucid - this happened a while back (I could be casual and pretend to approximate a time, but it was the 9th of November - I remember everything until something pushes the fact from my head...)
I was feeling upset, low, frustrated with myself and circumstance, and I happened upon a bottle of gin with my bandmate Chris (not my housemate Chris). He'd traipsed over to my place from his little place in St Kilda and we had the intention of practicing some songs, but the lure of the liquor store won, and we matched shotglasses until the gin had emptied.
So we stumbled from my house across to Brunswick Street. I was restless. I had no phone credit, so I couldn't cause any trouble - I would have to stumble upon it. We got to Brunswick Street and found some terrible corner pub. Chris heads to the bar and orders four drinks - two each - "oh, no, we're straight mate... just playing catch up..."
We slam them back and continue to chat. Whatever reason and dignity I can meagerly claim has (of course) by this point dripped from me.
Restless again, we get up. Chris needs food. A bit of pizza. A steal a bite. He warns me that it's a lamb pizza, and I'm so far gone I don't even spit it out. Thirteen years of vegetarianism.
I pull him to the 7-Eleven. "I need phone credit - I'll be a minute..."
I don't remember anything from this point - but Chris tells me that I chatted to the man at the counter for 10 minutes, before I stumbled back onto the street. I didn't get any credit!
Chris was frustrated with my erratic behaviour, so he took the opportunity to hail a cab and flee Fitzroy for St Kilda. I'm left on Brunswick to (presumably) amble home.
And the fuzziness. I somehow wound up chatting to an English guy in Bar Open. Then somehow we're on Nicholson Street walking back to my place.
And then I wake up in the morning (fully clothed, mind you - nothing dodgy), and he kisses me on the forehead.
"I hope you're OK today. I have to go to work, but I wanted to make sure you were OK."
He'd looked after me, and hadn't taken advantage of me. I felt so seedy, but really respected that.
Chris called.
"You ate LAMB, woman. That's the drunkest I've ever seen you..."
The story has very little point, except to allay my own bitterness.
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numb
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sleepy
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