Staring at the Clock on the Wall

What began as an impromptu overnight trip south quickly went awry. He was irritated about work and criticized me for smelling faintly of cigarette smoke.. I was flushed and wild-eyed from an afternoon of wine tasting and too many Americanos. Traffic was awful. The restaurant had accidentally cancelled our reservation. The hotel clerk called me "Mrs" when we checked into our room.

All of a sudden it was late; we were two hours from home; I was in way over my head. 

I believe that you learn a lot about people from the way they handle unexpected annoyances. He doesn't handle them well. 

We managed to have a good time despite all of the hiccups. I'm always amazed when this happens. I'm not very good at hiding my displeasure. 

That night I lay awake long after he'd fallen asleep. I wanted to turn on the light. I wanted to write. I longed for my laptop, which I'd left behind in my living room. Instead, I lay there and I thought it all out, I wrote in my head. I tapped out fragmented thoughts and half-decisions on my phone. Only one thing seemed concrete.

This isn't how it was supposed to be.

The next day we were supposed to stay and explore, shop, eat, go wine tasting.  I asked him to take me home. We left early and made good time. Traffic was headed the other direction, mostly.

I spent the day with friends. I semi-crashed BestFriend's backyard brunch with her crazy family. Then I drove downtown for a late lunch and shopping with TheTransplant. 

He came over tonight, after all Easter festivities are long finished. Even though I work at 4 o'clock. He said he was determined to "make it up to me", even though I'm not upset. There is nothing to make up.

But, yet again, he sleeps while I write.

That's a line from a Jewel song, you know. Like right now, he sleeps while I write. I sort of detest Jewel's whole whiny-90's thing, but that line has always stuck in my head for some reason.

Ah Ha

I think it has become clear that reverb-ing is not my best thing. But for me participating in the challenge was about jump-starting my writing again. I never realize how much I need my blog until I've neglected it horribly. By the time I realized it this time I was stuck. I tried to write, but I just found myself staring at that damned blinking cursor. There are ten or so saved drafts on my blog dashboard- all of the unfinished reverbs. Some of them are simply the prompt. Others are unfinished drafts: half thoughts, fragmented stories.  This hidden wasteland is probably just as telling of my year as any whole published post. Rereading the reverb posts makes me sort of ashamed. I wonder when I lost my voice. When did my words switch from chatty to stilted? Has my life always been so empty?

Anyway, in realizing that my blog has become cluttered with these half-formed posts, one jumped out at me. It struck me in a way that it hadn't before. Perhaps I will drag them out and finish them at some point this year. Perhaps I wasn't able to write them yet because I didn't need them yet. Who knows?


Reverb11
Prompt for December 24: Ah Ha: What deep thought struck you this year? How did it change you? 

I rolled over sloooowly. It hurt to move and for a moment I was disoriented, unaware of my surroundings. I reluctantly opened my eyes and the room came into focus. 
Brown bed sheets, white wall. Loose change, Bic lighter, digital alarm clock, lotion, and a man's watch on the nightstand. Earrings, necklace, bra, underwear, cocktail dress, I was fully dressed in my party clothes from the previous night. Spartan furniture, large TV. Silver heels (mine), discarded jeans on the floor- belt still threaded through the loops (not mine). More walls, they're extreme whiteness marred only by scantily clad girls, "The Official Rules of Beruit", and Bob Marley. 
I was alone. At Lames's. In his bedroom, to be exact. The night before we'd gone to his company Christmas party. The party was a two drink affair, but it was not a two drink night.
This realization was a relief, if for no other reason but that it meant nothing inappropriate had happened. I was safe. 


A week or so later, over cocktails and appetizers, I related to BestFriend a story of my night of over-indulgence after the Christmas party. It led to how laughably cliche Lames's room was; how every single guy I knew when I was 19, 20, 21 had virtually the exact same room.

"So, anyway, I realized..." I started to say.
"You need to stop hanging out with 21 year old boys?" she finished for me, eyebrow arched. That was not what I was going to say, but I was so startled by her words that the rest of my thought was lost forever.

I was already embarrassed about over-indulging that night. I hadn't drank so heavily (or been so hungover) in an incredibly long time, maybe years. But aside from the heavy alcohol consumption, it had been a tame night. No crazy antics, no inappropriate naked business, no law breaking. I was a polite guest. I didn't make a spectacle of myself.
Her judgement hurt. 
I think it hurt most that she was right. 

Not about my friendship with Lames, of course, but about the scope of my life. There's nothing wrong with drinking or sometimes drinking a little too much. But being 25 and making a habit of drinking to excess with a handful of barely-legals would be pathetic. It is passed time for me to get it together for good. I need to stop trying to be 21 again. I can't go back. I can't fix it. No matter how much I want to, or how much I joke about it, I can't be young forever. 

I had already realized that I need to let go of my father-issues, but I hadn't realized that I needed to let go of this too. I didn't realize that sometimes I'm still just trying to be popular, drinking to be popular. 
I'd forgotten how I self-destruct.I'd forgotten that I'm my own worst enemy.

So I'm going to grow up and I'm going to shut up.