Alcohol, my permanent accessory
Alcohol, a party-time necessity
Alchool, alternative to feeling like yourself
O Alcohol, I still drink to your health
I love you more than I did the week before
I discovered alcohol
Forget the caffe latte,
screw the raspberry iced tea
A Malibu and Coke for you, a G&T for me
Alcohol, Your songs resolve like
my life never will
When someone else is picking up the bill
I love you more than I did the week before
I discovered alcohol
O Alcohol, would you please forgive me?
For while I cannot love myself
I'll use something else
I thought that Alcohol was just for those with
nothing else to do
I thought that drinking just to get drunk
was a waste of precious booze
But now I know that there's a time
and there's a place where I can choose
To walk the fine line between
self-control and self-abuse
I love you more than I did the week before
I discovered alcohol
Would you please ignore that you
found me on the floor
Trying on your camisole?
O Alcohol, would you please forgive me?
For while I cannot love myself
I'll use something else
Would you please forgive me?
Would you please forgive me?
Alcohol, a party-time necessity
Alchool, alternative to feeling like yourself
O Alcohol, I still drink to your health
I love you more than I did the week before
I discovered alcohol
Forget the caffe latte,
screw the raspberry iced tea
A Malibu and Coke for you, a G&T for me
Alcohol, Your songs resolve like
my life never will
When someone else is picking up the bill
I love you more than I did the week before
I discovered alcohol
O Alcohol, would you please forgive me?
For while I cannot love myself
I'll use something else
I thought that Alcohol was just for those with
nothing else to do
I thought that drinking just to get drunk
was a waste of precious booze
But now I know that there's a time
and there's a place where I can choose
To walk the fine line between
self-control and self-abuse
I love you more than I did the week before
I discovered alcohol
Would you please ignore that you
found me on the floor
Trying on your camisole?
O Alcohol, would you please forgive me?
For while I cannot love myself
I'll use something else
Would you please forgive me?
Would you please forgive me?
By Steven Page, Stephen Duffy
THIS POST IS NOT MEANT TO BE DEPRESSING OR SAD. Right now, I'm singing the praises of the numbing I can experience legally after I get off work in the evening. I don't think I've crossed the line to alcoholic, although I'm flirting pretty hard-core right now. For reasons I suspect, I've started scrubbing the shit out of everything and throwing out/giving away things I can't use (that don't belong to the husband) and enjoying the benefits of sipping/guzzling. About a year ago is when I was given the news that my father had a round-about expiration date, and this is how I got when he died. I keep thinking, "What the fuck? He made my life hell. He was a douchebag who told terrible lies to anyone who would listen. I can't possibly be MOURNING." But, yeah, I guess I am. This must be how I mourn someone who didn't deserve my tears.
There's only one thing Oprah Winfrey said that's stuck with me: Forgiveness is realizing the past can't be changed. (Something to that effect, anyhow.) If this is a true definition, that's why I can't forgive. I'm so fucking ANGRY. I will never, ever have a hope of my father realizing or understanding how I felt about all the emotional abuse he put us through. Through the mother's medical problems, she also can't remember a large chunk of time during my adolescence into young adulthood, back when she slept with anything that moved and refused to grow a pair and just leave the awful man she didn't love because she didn't have to support herself. Thusly, even if I were to give it the old college try, she can also fall back on the reason (maybe excuse) that she can't remember what I'm talking about. How the fuck did she get that easy out??? Even if there was something she did remember, she can fake out, because there's not a single goddamn thing I can call her on from that era when much of the damage between us was done. There's no amount of therapy that can remedy that.
I have this craving to move far away and start fresh, even though it would be alot of work. But how attractive is this: I'm not scared of hard work. I can scrub the fuck out of a toilet. I'm not scared too badly of being poor. I've been there before when I lived in a hovel that my neighbor bought from me just so he could tear it down and have a big purty yard. I could start again. Yeah. But the husband doesn't really want that, and I don't want to uproot my little kid and be far away from my big kid. So I'll just dream. And I'll probably drink some, too.
I sure don't see anything depressing about this post. Sounds to me like your having a real Hullabaloo over there. I'll allow it. I bet your husband will too as long as you don't throw anything of his away.
ReplyDeleteYou DO... know that what looks like trash to you may not be trash to him. So keep that in mind.
There are a few bare naked ladies I would like to give thanks to as well but they don't play in a band.
Doesn't sound depressing to me either: It sounds real. We do what we need to do at the time, Bess. Of course, you're now hearin' from the Old Widow with the geriatric cat (the ultimate cliche) who was no where as "positively productive" as you with my anger so....
ReplyDeleteAt the ripe old age of 23 I destroyed my living room. That's an established fact, not any embellishment. I thought I had irrevocably screwed up my life, had utterly no redeeming qualities, I was obviously in-my-right-mind-FURIOUS and it was all basically "over." I did that stone cold sober.
Where DOES all that anger go, anyway? And more importantly, who SAYS you "need to forgive?" Or what that actually MEANS to any one of us-as if it has ANY relevance in any event? Why does this Urban Myth (IMO) that "Anger MUST result in Forgiveness" persist? Sez WHO? How come we're not "allowed" to be f'kin' furious? How come there's suppose to be a "script" for "anger"? How come "therapy" is touted as the modern "Path to Enlightenment?" (Along with a whole bunch of co-pays and a couple of scripts, those written on a pad, those inferred if not stated.)
I'm thinkin' there's a whole bunch bein' mourned here and it isn't just him. Oh, and don't forget: You have a YEAR to "mourn." After that, "time's up." (FWIW, that hasn't been my experience but what does some old lady know anyway.) We do what we need to do at the time. After awhile, it does get different. Can't tell ya when or how that'll happen or what it'll look like for you but I know it does. I know enough old people to tell ya that's a fact, unless you're one of those Cluster Bs-that-reproduced: They stay stuck in pre-K or Head Start. Frankly, it's beyond the scope of my "employment" or life to give these parents-that-weren't a "Get Out of Jail Free" Card; they stole that long ago. I'm just not gonna hang around while they play it.
When you're done at your place, wanna come over to mine?! ;)
TW
"When you're done at your place, wanna come over to mine?! ;)"
ReplyDeleteThat's supposed to be my line TW. Except she's married.
Oh you mean the part about the cleaning.
Never mind.
Bessie, doesn't sound depressing to me; I think people know when they've crossed a line into problem drinking, and the difference between that and some needed numbing out, which we all do in one way or another. (unless we're all new-agey hocus-pocusy). Your anger, mourning, pissed offness at your NF and your EM are all normal. For what it's worth, "forgiveness" is one of my least favorite words. I much prefer "reckoning." To make your reckoning. Which is an ongoing process.
ReplyDeleteReckoning sounds delicious. I think I'll make some reckoning for supper. :)
ReplyDelete