Bah, humbug.

Welp, we got through a holiday party boozeless, and it was really nice.

It reminded me of why I married him, and why I am not giving up. But he is not making it easy.

I need to tell him this is not a consequence free choice, it's not life as it is with or without the bottle. I need him sans bottle. Or it'll be sans him.

Stupid alcohol. Why do so many of us have brains that try to drown us in it?

5 days, and then drink

I'll talk to him tomorrow. He went to a friend's house & came home drunk. Not fall down drunk, but wobbly and loud.

He actually followed the furnace salespeople out the door to keep chatting. Kinda funny...

Maybe we should skip Friday's party. I don't want to go if he's going to drink, and I don't trust his words about drinking, his goal seems to be to avoid conversation.

One day at a time. This was not a good one, but there have been worse.

Booze

Life for me is always good, I am a delusional optimist.

But sometimes even I have to admit that some shit is too deep to get out of on your own.

That shit is booze. My spouse drinks too much, and it hurts. It hurts me. It hurts the kids. It hurts his family. Working around his drinking takes so much out of me.

This can't keep on like this. He'll end up smashing the car, or just get sicker and drunker and more awful to live with.

So what am I doing? Talking. To him. To his brother. To my parents. Writing. He has letter #1, the next 2 are drafted. I can't make up his mind, but I can let him know that his drinking is a problem that is hurting many people, and making his kid's anxiety worse.

I have asked to go with him to talk to his doctor. I'm giving him letter 2 today, which just puts this in writing.

I haven't threatened to kick him out. I've thought about it and talked to people about it, but I'm not able to tell him yet. That's going to be hard. I love the dude, boozy though he is, and don't want to lose him to a fucking bottle. But I might.

Talking to people has been awesome. Everyone knows several people who had drinking problems, and sadly, some who died of them. This is such a common and horrible problem, why do we make it worse by attaching shame to it? Fuck shame. That bullshit is used to control us. I mean, yeah, some things are shameful...but not being ill, or having consentual sex, or struggling to stop an addiction, whether it's smoking or alcohol or other drugs.

I don't know how this will go. I told him last night I was sorry I hadn't said anything sooner about his drinking, I was waiting until I was perfect. I meant until I'd dealt with my own red wine binge drinking issue, which, no shit, ended when I quit red wine. Humans are masters of self-delusion. Anyways, I am fine, and I am talking, and he is getting better at listening. Keeping it to how it affects me and the kids and what I want him to not do is direct, pretty easy to get out, and up to 3 days ago useless...but I am not giving up.

Letter #2. May #3 end up shredded.

Cleaning can result in bong water messes

I do have a weekend cleaning routine, although it fails to ever result in a clean house.

I also have a parenting style best described as denial light. My kids probably do things I wouldn't be thrilled about, but they seem so happy it can't be worth worrying about, right?

Wrong-o. Whilst putting away my 16 year old son's clothing, I realized he'd left a sweatshirt on the floor behind his clothes. It was wet. Odd, I thought, as I pulled it out. Then leapt back as a giant bong tipped over, splashing bong water all over me and the floor.

Turns out the bong belongs to his brother. Who is 13.

Denial. Not the right tool for parents of toking teens.

On the plus side, giant bong would make a good band name, but nuclear fungus is still my favourite.

Nuclear family

I am now a proud member of a 2 parent 2 kids at home nuclear family. Teen daughter decided, after 15 years with younger brothers, to head to the Canadian university that is second-farthest from home; UBC.

Pluses I anticipated: less laundry, one bedroom that remains tidy.

Pluses not materializing: cleaner bathrooms. Turns out it's bad aim from the boys that makes my weekend cleaning routine revolting.


The minus is missing my lovely, intelligent and funny daughter, and of course I was expecting that. But I also ignored it, as I didn't want to spend my summer being sad she was leaving.

I was feeling sorry for myself as I headed out to the Vancouver airport, then I saw an older guy tell his son they were at their stop. He wheeled his middle-aged son off the Skytrain, and I realized how enormously lucky I am to be able to drop my child off at university. Privilege can be invisible if you don't look for it, or recognize it as privilege when you see others who are less fortunate.

Now I am feeling lucky, and broke, and ready for a school year with only 2 kids at home. I'm going to blog more, now that this network actually works with an iPad! Maybe I'll even blog about the raging sexism in the atheist blogosphere, which is the part of the internet I spend much of my online time visiting. Although apparently saying guys, don't do that is likely to result in substantial abuse. Ah well, that assumes anyone reads this!

Happy end of summer, imaginary readers.

A review of the iMac. Sort of.

Yesterday I spend just over $2,000 of the credit card company's money on a shiny new 27" iMac.

I did this after work, or what passes for work the week before Christmas. Yes, I am "working" now.

I take the bus to work this time of year - too snowy and cold to cycle with any degree of enjoyment for me, although I see the odd cyclist. And by odd, I mean they are odd. Ottawa winters are not for cycling.

So I took the bus downtown from work to the Apple store, which was full of red shirted genies (that's the plural of genius, right?), one of whom sold me an iMac. I was smart - I asked how much it weighed. He told me 47 pounds. I figured that's not too heavy to lug home on the bus.

It is.

Here's what I can state with confidence about the 27" iMac.

1. The box is quite sturdy.

2. If you lean a bit away from the side carrying it, it won't hit the ground if you are at least 5'6" tall.

3. The handle is strong enough to hold the weight, even if you take it on and off 3 buses and walk 6 blocks with it.

4. It is heavy. 47 pounds, apparently.

5. It is not portable, even with the aforementioned handle.

6. Picking it up in both arms, ignoring the handle, does not improve its portability. It remains an object intended to be stationary. Not stationery - it is not a paper product, although the box is made out of cardboard.

If you're thinking of buying a 27" iMac, I strongly recommend you avoid public transit while it is in its pre-desk phase. Unlike me, you are probably not too cheap to spend $2k on a computer but not $25 on a cab ride. Or $0.50 on a phone call to your Lexus-driving spouse.

Merry Christmas. Enjoy the return of the light, which is the true reason for the season. And don't hit baby Jesus with sticks - Kenny Loggins wouldn't approve. Read this if you don't know why.

Yak Herding

Life can occasionally get bat shit insane. Right now mine is feeling on the verge of bat shit insanity. Let's call it bat shit odd.

Child 2 has some sort of leg pain, which could be complex regional pain syndrome, or not. Basically there's no physical reason for the pain, but he's debilitated by it regardless. This does not make me feel like a good parent.

Child 1 is having panic attacks. Second one this week was at 8am this morning, she called from school. I remained calm and told her to breath slowly. Not sure how she is. Her boyfriend has a tendency to text her at night that he's going to kill himself. If he doesn't stop, he won't need to kill himself. His phone will be so far up his ass he'll have other concerns. Nice kid. But my daughter is not his suicide prevention line.

Spouse is looking a wee mite like he's getting into another manic episode, and is on the "Western medicine only treats symptoms" meme. Pinning him down to find out what's going on in that giant head of his is like, to steal a phrase, nailing jello to a wall. Not happening. Needs to happen.

What is my plan of attack?

1. Spend time with suffering kiddies in highly relaxed way, in hopes it will ease anxiety and alleviate symptoms (pain, panic)
2. Tell spouse he'd better get his ass to his doc or psychiatrist, as he can't stay with us if he descends into madness
3. Failing 1 and 2, move to Ulan Batar and herd yaks.

I'm concerned about option 3, as I don't like smelly animals and I do love me some indoor plumbing. Yet it holds a strange appeal right now.

Maybe I need an option 4. Steal daughter's prescription for benzodiazapans. Drug spouse once I decide if my suspicions of impending mania are correct. Cause denial is going to fail epically, and I'm guessing my yak herding skills would make me unemployed in Mongolia.