I quit drinking because I have a terrible condition where I love to get shit-faced with my friends. I’m not an alcoholic, I just have way too many friends. I don’t know, maybe I am an alcoholic. I do know that I am better off not drinking, my life is more abundant. It’s hard to say though, how I’ll feel down the road.
I’ve been reading the kids Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde before bed. I went in with a basic understanding, the story is about a person becoming evil after taking an elixir, but after reading the doctor’s compulsion to continue to torture himself, till death, it clicked, oh, this is about addiction. A lot of people can relate to Jekyll, knowing they can drink themselves into a psychopath that loves to wreak havoc and disappears after all the damage is done.
This week, I binged the current season of Real Housewives of New York. Watching the women get trashed episode after episode was weakening my conviction. I thought, maybe I’m not that bad, these ladies seem to be doing great, clearly embracing their multi-dimensional drunken personalities.
There’s a new housewife this season, Leah, who admits she recently ended a 9 year stretch of sobriety. I scratched my head, asking, “You’re going to unleash Hyde with a camera crew in tow?”
Oh, and has she. She describes one night as “blowing off steam” by doing cartwheels around the dinner table. The footage might bring to light what she imagined as cartwheels was actually screaming in everyone’s face and then dry humping the table, chairs, and grass. It was hilarious, but a necessary reminder that nothing changes, and eventually, I’d be worse off than her, my idea of doing cartwheels would be cussing out someone I love followed up by a whole hearted attempt at fucking an aspen tree.
Speaking of belligerent behavior, my son had a meltdown when we pulled up to a hiking trail over the weekend. It was so out of nowhere, and I looked at my sister and said, “Good lord, I don’t know what’s gotten into him. Maybe he has to poop.”
Sure enough, after we all walked to the river, he had to poop. It seemed urgent, so we set off into the woods, and right then, the desolate area we were hanging out in, was encircled by hikers, bikers and dog walkers, so we had to leave.
On the walk back to the car, now with his outburst attributed to bowel stress, we collected blue jay feathers I envisioned as a lovely wind chime in our backyard, that in actuality, would end up littering the junkyard chic thing we’ve got going on.
We piled in the car, and upon hearing he was going to my parents’ house instead of my sister’s, his Mr. Hyde showed up again. He took his fistful of feathers and stuck them in his mouth, and bit down hard, ripping them in half, spitting out the remaining feathers like Sylvester the Cat after biting Tweety Bird’s butt.
My mom just said, “Oh, wow!” and I was thinking, “Great, we're about to see the next Wuhan.”
That Night, after reading to the kids, I went into the living room and found my mom trying to turn the TV off. I wasn’t able to offer much help, but she went through five remotes, and found the perfect combination of buttons. She was distracted because she was telling me all about Jessica Simpson’s autobiography. I followed her into the bathroom to take a shot of NyQuil. I’d like to say that after a 30 minute summary of Jessica Simpson, I wouldn’t need the sleep-aid, but I was on the edge of my seat hearing her story of sexual abuse, alcoholism and divorce.
That night I dreamt I woke up after blacking out drunk, stressed and guilt ridden for being a cruel and heartless inebriate. In the end of the dream I fixated on a toy that started looking at me, and making slight movements. I watched this inanimate object come to life, scared as shit I was going crazy.
I had a lot to be grateful for when I woke up with my kids piled on top of me, I was sane and had no regrets from the night before. I headed to the kitchen, joining my mom for coffee. I was going to tell her about the new Real Housewife, Leah, but realized it’d be like a dose of NyQuil at 7am. Listening to a story about someone unraveling is far less exciting than a story of rebuilding.
Leah’s my favorite RHONY cast member this season, and maybe it’s because we have stuff in common; great style, a daughter named Kiki and a willingness to change for the better. I sipped my coffee and moved on, Leah takes a poo after morning coffee like the rest of the world. Then my son pranced into the kitchen, happy as a jay bird, and I considered saving a little coffee for him to have later. To help keep the bad guy away.
