Day -93 | Hammered Only on the Weekend | Starving to Lose | I Can Tell the HR Director Is Going to Be a Problem
This is my first day back to a paying job for nearly a year.
A lot has happened since then.
My dad’s cancer went into remission and started growing again.
[I will never bear the brunt of a speeding train without thinking of my father, a train nut since a tiny boy.]
I lost the period of a very fertile eighteen-year-old at 52 and it came back.
I ate like a pig and packed on thirty pounds onto the already excessive thirty pounds hanging on my frame. 30 + 30 + 8 [ate] = 68. I am so fat I can’t cross my legs and strain to tie my shoes.
To my mother’s chagrin, I have embraced my gray.
I completed a book-length collection of essays and it’s in the hands of a renowned editor and award-winning novelist who I cannot afford to pay.
We lived with Ted and Sue, two warm and generous people whose demeanors interfered with my ability to write and maintain my sanity, and further fueled my thirst for drinking.
[10 months = one 1.75L bottles of Ketel One every 2 weeks for a total consumption of 20 bottles]
Husband and I bought a house twenty miles west of Boston, which is the compelling reason I need to return to paying work. I cannot drink every night, rise at 6:00, commute nearly two hours to Cambridge, the “Center of the Universe,” and effectively employ my faculties.
Ah, the real live catalyst to quit the booze.
I had this all on my mind when I later fell asleep.
I dreamt terrible dreams.
I sat next to Dave Gahan on an airplane. His buddy-rocker poked fun at my ugliness and Dave sneered at me. Then his buddy-rocker was gone and Dave uttered to me “he is evil” and slipped his hand down the back of my pants to fondle my anus. I didn’t care that it was “sexy heroin Dave,” my god from the nineties, and told him to cut it out—I’ve had surgery there, damn it.
I then dreamed of contracting tuberculous, and soldiers being fucked-up and raping women, and shooting children and old men in My Lai—the gaping jaws of the dead, the gaping jaws of the alive. The bones and tissue blown to bits and hanging from trees.
I have lost.
I have gained.
I am at the threshold of losing more.
Kicking the Ketel is gonna break my balls.