"Like Drinking Stars"

I've not been feeling like myself lately. Absolutely no urge to socialize. In fact, I'm rather irritated by the prospect.

I just finished reading The Life of Pi (which I started on Tuesday). Why did I choose it? Because back in November, Narc mentioned the book to me.

"That's YOUR book, Hyde! Read it! Promise me!" he had said. (Although he wouldn't tell me why).

Yesterday I did nothing but read that book (and briefly see B). I woke up early, but stayed in bed for most of the day with the book. And when I had finished, I felt unsettled. Why did he see me in that book? Why that book? Does he think I'm foolish? Or Romantic? Is it because I believe in miracles or because I believe in illusions? I wanted to ask him, but I couldn't. I hadn't seen him or spoken to him since he walked away from me at the opera last Saturday evening. I sent him a text:

Just finished the book... Hmm...

I don't know why I wrote. Part of me really does hate him now. Yay! Score one for Narc. He's worn me down. He's broken me, just according to plan. Yes, he's been very successful at driving me away this January. I hardly want to see him anymore (although can I really claim that to be true? In a small corner of my mind, I'm burning for him as intensely as ever. I'm just much more sad). I feel defeated. Yes, I am worn. Used up. I'm started to accept defeat, internalize defeat, and am readying myself to be alone. Maybe it won't be so bad. My therapist always tells me that she thinks it's worse to be alone in the company of others than to be alone with oneself. I don't know if I agree. Nothing resolves. Things just fade. And I don't like that.

But I'm thinking of Leonard Cohen now.

G...Em...G...Em...C...D...G..........G....C, D...Em...C, D............Em...D7...Em............C...Em...C...G-D-G................Baby I've been here before. I know this room I've walked this floor. I used to live alone before I knew you....................She tied you To a kitchen chair. She broke your throne, and she cut your hair. And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah........................And even though it all went wrong, I'll stand before the Lord of Song with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah...

I was happy to be home last night. NDN invited me over to eat chicken, but I didn't want to go. So, I didn't. I bought some fruits and vegetables last night. I spoke to my mother on the phone.

"I remember a different Hyde," she said. "I remember the girl who used to be so excited to buy fresh school supplies, who took pleasure in color coding everything... the beauty of clean white paper and brand new colored markers."

My mom has bronchitis. She caught it on the plane returning from Costa Rica last week. She sounded awful.

"She's still here," I said. "You're talking about Jekyll, then," I wanted to say.

"It just feels like I haven't seen her in a while," my mom sighed.

I wanted to cry.

I watched Dr. Phil on TV. Some guy was saying that he had "run out of steam" for his 20 year marriage with his wife and wanted to bring in another women to their relationship. "Poly-fidelity" he called it. Someone else feeling worn. Used up. Used up. Used up. But this guy was a prick. I hate people who want to "have their cake and eat it too." I always try to give it to them... to bend for that. They never appreciate it in the end. Besides, it's impossible. (I hate him. I used to have energy. I used to have the energy to love him. I used to be infinite.)

"This is no dress rehearsal!" Dr. Phil said. "This woman has given you four children and twenty years of her life! She can't go back and do this again!"

THIS IS NO DRESS REHEARSAL, I texted to myself.

Double-T sent me a text: Turns out I'm headed to Cheers tonight, too. I'll be there around 10 if you feel like swinging by.

I wrote back right away: I've got a really early morning tomorrow, so likely in for the night. Have fun though!

K. Thought I'd give it a shot being your hood, he said. Sleep well.

I started reading another book last night-- Drinking: A Love Story by Caroline Knapp. I'm only 50 pages in, and she's more of a perfectionist than I am, but she says some strange things. Well, I guess what I mean is that it's strange to read a book about drinking. I don't know anyone else who loves to drink... who loves to drink... who loves to drink the way that I do. ("Something like a big sunflower was opening at the very center of my being...all the way through to my bones, illuminating some calm and gentle piece of my soul..."). None of my friends drink. Really, it's just Narc, and he would never admit that he loves it.

"When you love somebody or something, it's amazing how willing you are to overlook the flaws... I did my best to ignore all this. I struggled to ignore it, the way a woman hears coldness in a lover's voice and struggles mightily and knowingly, to misread it."

But the passage that got to me the most was one about fradulance and self-construction...

"I once heard alcoholism described in an AA meeting, with eminent simplicity, as "fear of life," she says. "and that seemed to sum up the condition quite nicely... "

...Feelings of fraudulence are familiar to scores of people in and out of the working world-- the highly effective, well-defended exterior cloaking the small, insecure person inside-- but they're epidemic among alcoholics. You hide behind the professional person all day, then you leave the office and hide behind the drink.

Sometimes, in small flashes, I'd be aware of this. One night after work, on my way to a bar to meet a friend for drinks, a sentence popped into my head. I thought: This is the real me, this person driving in the car. I was anxious. My teeth were clenched, partly from spending a long day hunched over the computer and partly from the physical sensation of wanting a drink badly, and I was aware of an undercurrent of fear deep in my gut, a barely definable sensation that the ground beneath my feet wasn't solid or real.

I think I understood in that instant that I'd created two versions of myself: the working version, who sat at the desk and pounded away at the keyboard, and the restaurant version who sat at a table and pounded away at white wine. In between, for five or ten minutes at a stretch, the real version would emerge: the fearful version, tense and dishonest and uncertain. I rarely allowed her to emerge for long. Work-- all that productive, effective focused work-- kept her distracted and submerged during the day. And drink-- anesthetizing and constant-- kept her too numb to feel at night.

Anyway, I'm tired.

I went to bed last night at midnight, having spent the bulk of the day in bed already. At 3:45 am my cell phone rang. I reached for it in the dark. It was him. I didn't pick it up. Then my home phone rang. I was annoyed. If I didn't pick up the cell phone, I was clearly in bed and likely asleep! Does he care? He knows I teach on Fridays because I told him when he invited me over last Friday afternoon (if he bothers to remember).

I tensed up.

Should I answer?

No, Hyde! Don't answer!

But... But! But, I want to hear his voice.

Look-- you KNOW he's going to be drunk. He's just going to pressure you to come down and see him and you can't tonight. And when you say "no," he'll keep you on the phone and call you names. And you'll try to reason with him and it won't work. And hours will go by and your day will be fucked up tomorrow. You'll never get back to sleep!

But I--

Why do you WANT to hear him anyway?

(Because his voice is beautiful).

Think about his infatuation with PopStarChick right now. You don't NEED that. Isn't it hurting you?

Yes, it's hurting. It hurts, but I...

But?

But, I--

On the last ring I answered.

"Hello?" My voice was thick with sleep, and he knew it.

"Oh, hey! Did I wake you?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, sorry then. Go back to sleep."

He sounded sober.

"Okay. Bye."

Of course, I couldn't go back to sleep right away. I checked the message that he had left on my cell phone.

Hey, it's me. Just checkin' to see if you were up and out. We all just snuck out of our bar here, downtown. A friend of ours from Hamlet had his... Well our director, actually from Hamlet, had his big play tonight and everyone went to go see that. So... um... We're all done; I'm walking home. I was just checking in to see if you finished The Life of Pi, what'd you think? Alright. Well, maybe I'll try your landline. Alright. Bye.

I was glad that he called. (Not pleased with myself that I was glad, but glad nonetheless). Surprisingly, though, I had no urge to see him. I didn't regret having to get up in the morning. In fact, I was rather grateful for it.

My alarm went off just a few hours later.

I had a bitter taste in my mouth this morning. I tried to brush it away, but it remained. I have a bitter taste in my mouth when I think of him. It's like something's rotting there. (Is it my heart?) He has broken something between us and I can taste it dying. Broken in January. Quietly broken (no vomit or tears), but Broken.

Today was a killer day for me. My first Friday with six hours of lecturing. I thought I was going to collapse after the first half. I sucked down a liter and a half of SmartWater. I packed my lunch and brought it with me to school. I get 45 minutes between two three-hour sessions. When I returned to my office for the break, my officemate was there. Usually we don't see each other. What was she doing there? She doesn't teach on Fridays! I was angry. In all fairness, how was she to know that I teach on Fridays, but still... With only 45 minutes of rest, I wanted to eat my lunch in privacy. And I wanted some time on the computer, which I didn't get. I felt very invaded. Bitter again. Again, bitter.

I'm feeling failure. I'm feeling withdrawal. I'm feeling like I want to retreat into a cave and hibernate. (Or drink the stars? No... Don't! Just stick it out.) Hibernation might not be such a bad impulse. A little death may lead to new life.

But I don't feel like socializing. How the fuck am I supposed to survive my date with Double-T tomorrow night in this frame of mind? That poor guy. He doesn't stand a chance.

-h-

PS: I love Richard Parker. If you've read The Life of Pi, you know who I mean. And the ending left me devastated. I too, can't cope without a proper (and drawn out) goodbye.