It's been a crazy week.... and I'm writing now from the new desk that Bill built in his office. Having almost the entire month of March off, being between jobs, he took that time to gut his office and build a new desk along the back wall. The desk is very nice but it's abnormally tall and in order to sit comfortably at the laptop, I have to prop two pillows under my behind and I'm left feeling like Gilda Radner in that Saturday Night Live skit where her feet don't reach the ground. What was the name of that character? I feel like I'm four and a half years old right now and I should have pigtails and an ice cream cone. But I can type exceptionally well for a four and a half year old.
Moving on.....
I don't talk much about my job (probably because most of the posting I do is from my desk there and I don't want to push my luck) but I manage a small massage department at an old historic inn and practice massage there five days a week. It's not an ideal situation for me... a bit too beauracratic and too far from home..... but it's served me well for almost three years now and I hope I have served them well, too.
This week we had our "manager's outing". It usually consists of a day on the mountain, a hike to some lookout, dinner and drinks and a night at our sister inn waaaaay up north. This year, however, it was closer to home and we skied, hiked, and ate on our own turf and then had the option of getting a room at the inn where we work....one of the "luxury rooms. Mmmmmmmmm.
I'm so glad that we checked in early, that I took a bath in the huge jet tub and then laid on a blanket in front of the fireplace and read my book. I'm so glad we enjoyed that four poster canopy bed before dinner because I drank too fucking much at the dinner party. Yes, I think I may have been one of those. I made a committment to myself to only drink two glasses of wine but somewhere between those first two glasses and throwing up before twitching myself to sleep, I somehow managed to take down an additional two glasses of red wine, two dirty martinis and a shot of something or other at the bar before we left. I then woke up at five oclock in the morning and lay there wondering how the hell it happend and fretting about the events of the night. Was I at least subtly wasted? Did I stumble or slur? Was I totally obnoxious with that water-gun? What was that I was saying about the witch trials in Salem, Massachusetts? Please tell me I didn't go so far as to tell my boss how much I sometimes hate my fucking job? Fuck fuck fuck fuck. If I hadn't felt so badly about Bill having to nurse me the night before, having to hold my hair back and walk me to bed, I might have woken him up just for reassurance.
I'm not one of these people who can enjoy a night of wild drinking and rowdiness. It happens so rarely anymore, and I'm so much more of a control freak than I used to be, that now it just sends me right over the edge. I wake up not only hung over but extremely anxious. The whole thing just sucks!
I spent every single night of my late teens and early twenties drinking to excess. Throw all of the other excesses into the mix and it made for a very colorful youth. But I've worked soooo hard on learning to manage all of the addictive tendencies and, for the most part, I do pretty well. These days, the only active addictions I have to wrestle on a daily basis are coffee and chocolate. So on nights like this, when that little button in my DNA that is supposed to switch to OFF or STOP CONSUMING.... when that little button defaults, I get pretty down on myself. I wake up before the sun and then spend all of dawn panicking about the events of the night before, cringing over and over again as it all comes back in waves.
Turns out, it wasn't as bad as I thought. Well, it probably was but no one noticed because everyone else was just as rosey cheeked as I. But regardless, note made:
Don't party with fellow employees anymore.
Not a good thing.
Not a good thing.
Too dangerous, too risky.
AND
it's a waste of a perfectly good honeymoon room.
No comments:
Post a Comment