We walked just as the rain stopped yesterday morning. Then, just as we were arriving back to our cars, it started raining. As we reached our cars the rain was getting heavier, and by the time I got home it was pouring down. But by 14:00, we were getting bright sunshine and so Her Highness and I went for our afternoon walk in lovely warm weather.
I stopped for mail on the way to our walk and got a present. My new VISA card had arrived, and it’s activated. I spent an hour updating all the websites where I have automatic payments. Finally, my financial life is back in order.
The time spent at home involved reading and napping. I rarely nap, but yesterday I was bagged and not only did I nap; I went to bed to do it. I had a brutal time speaking with Kelly on Tuesday evening. I kept tensing up in my neck and face and I couldn’t get words out. That’s why I was keen to let myself sleep yesterday afternoon. I wanted to build up my ‘reserves.’
Last night I watched Fackham Hall. I’d been looking forward to it since I watched a trailer for it a month ago. It’s a UK production with lots of actors I often see in film and television, and the production values were dazzling. It was billed as a send up of Downton Abby. I could hardly wait.
It was dreadful. I watched it through to the end because the young and terribly handsome male lead held my interest, and because I paid to watch it. It was embarrassing to see so much money spent on drivel. Nothing made me laugh. I was very disappointed.
I’ve often mentioned that Fred is a talker. He is very vocal and there are many different sounds in his vocabulary. Every morning, he wants to talk. He meows, and if I answer he meows back. And we can go on for several minutes. Recently he began meowing in his sleep. He makes a new sound, just once, every fifteen minutes or so.
He’s veery thin and I am worried about him. He eats often because I am feeding him more, and in every other way, he seems fine. As I petted him last night, and felt the love in me for him so, so strongly, I realized that being scammed is nothing compared to losing a pet. I think I am moving on.
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I wondered why I didn’t like alcohol all my life. I tried it but I never liked it. Now I think I know why, and there are two reasons. A couple of years ago I read a story about sensory distribution of the tongue on a medical blog I often visited. I learned there that we all have different patterns of sensory receptors for each of the tastes. And the distribution is not even. One taste can dominate the surface of our tongues. That may why I am extremely fond of sweet, and averse to savory.
The other answer to why I don’t like alcohol came from talking with Dr. Shoja. I had a fellow move quickly and suddenly into my life about 15 years ago. He was young, fit, and very handsome. I met him because he took my friend Paula out on a date.
Paula met this fellow through a friend, Mike, who was also a friend of mine. She asked me to call Mike to ask him about Rob because she knew nothing about him and she thought Mike would be more frank with me. I called Mike and I asked him about Rob, and before I could ask the question, he began apologizing for giving Rob Paula’s contact information.
Mike said Rob was a notorious womanizer. That’s all Mike talked about because he felt that he should have known better than to give Paula’s number to Rob. He was trying to be helpful and I understood that. Paula wanted a partner. We both knew that. But the date didn’t go well, and so Rob came to my door direct from Paula’s. (Paula was my neighbour.) That’s when he told me what he wanted: a friendship with benefits.
Although Rob wanted to touch me, and I wanted to be touched and touch him, I was wary. He identified as straight as far as I could tell, and women loved him, I saw that wherever we went. But I could not relax about sexual contact with a straight man, so one night when he arrived with a bottle of tequila, several limes, and a 1.5 ounce shot glass, I drank seven shots of tequila, one right after the other and waited.
I felt nothing, absolutely nothing. He was the man of my dreams, but I felt blocked, and the alcohol didn’t work. It didn’t loosen me up. I betrayed no signs of being drunk.
I told all this to Dr. S. and we talked, but I also told her my best guess about why I didn’t get drunk. First, I told her that if I drank two inches of wine from the glass, when I was at a dinner party with friends, I would get happy/sloppy. I knew I could be drunk, but not with Rob and I told that to Dr. S. My best guess was that I didn’t want to lose control, and Dr. S. agreed.
I thought about all this because it occurred to me a few days back, that I was very happy that fate made me want an alcohol-fee life. I smoked dope instead. I became addicted until my breakdown. Then my days of smoking dope were over. I take marijuana capsules periodically. Like when I get scammed for four grand. And this change is due to my breakdown.
I was 68 years old when I had my breakdown. The physical one. But when Dr. S. said that my breakdown happened because I was a “neglected child,” those words shattered me. I remember writing on this blog long ago that “She was re-writing my life story.” Those words will never stop being a source of sorrow.
It amazes me that I have often said that the best thing I learned while at university was a self-help game. I won’t go into details of how it worked, I’ve written about it before. But it taught me how to understand myself by having a conversation with myself when I was seeking clarity on why I was doing something or feeling something that concerned me.
And now, for almost twenty years, I’m still doing the same thing, but now Dr. S. is the other half of the conversation.
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