I've noted a curious side effect of my situation: I no longer have empathy. For anyone. About anything. I've developed a sociopathic ability to not give a shit. The news is full of people suffering through wars and disasters - so what? They could have it worse. I know. People getting beheaded by terrorists in a foreign country? At least their problems are over.
Ah, HD. How you make monsters of us all.
Today's bout of self-pity and self-recrimination (not to mention a wicked hangover that just won't quit) has been provided by a disturbing conversation I had with MW last night. Well, conversation isn't the right word. I don't think I've had an actual conversation with MW for about a year now. Mostly she rants with occasional pauses for me to add "Um... well... um" until she starts up again. I learned along time ago to avoid definitive yes or no statements. Always equivocate. "Maybe" has become my favorite word. Agreeing with her is treacherous because you can't be sure to what you're agreeing. Many times I've gone along with one of MW's rants in hopes I was on the side of the angels only to wind up with an ass full of pitchfork. But then you never, ever want to disagree either. And God help you if your opposing argument is well-founded and stronger than hers. That's a mistake you won't make more than once. Grunt or make a non-committal shrug and your contribution to the conversation will have been expertly made.
Anyway, one of her favorite tirades is to complain bitterly about traffic congestion and how all the people moving here are impolite and, even worse, Asian. Especially Indians. Oh, how she hates Indians! All they want to do is come here to make money and they don't care about community or the Texan way of life. And they'll likely vote Democrat, too. Ruin the whole county. Nevermind that she herself was born in Bombay.
You can see where this kind of thing calls for a lot of "Um... well... um"ing.
On the car ride home yesterday she expanded the scope of her ire to include young people. She hates young people because they are rude and they're all drunk or on drugs. Then she asks me if I ever knew anyone who was drunk or on drugs.
Um... well... um
Then she brings up my ex-girlfriend, "Wasn't your first girlfriend a drunk?"
For the record, yes, my first girlfriend was a drunk and a train wreck and when that relationship went bad - it went very bad indeed. But it was almost thirty years ago. I suffer enough in the present. I didn't see a need to heap old agony on top of new.
So, against my own hard-set rules, I answered declaratively; "Not that I remember." That passes for declarative around casa Muncie.
And so the conversation went bad, very bad indeed. MW accused me of calling her a liar then proceeded to revisit every conversation she'd ever had with anybody regarding my ex.
Certainly more pain than I was expecting.
I've learned a lot about drinking this past year. I can regulate my intake to maintain lucidity while achieving a pleasant level of numbness. Last night, however, fuck it. I drank to get oblivious. I drank to get sick.
Mission accomplished.
Sick as a dog today, so did I overreact? Yes, it was a petty argument. In fact, it wasn't an argument at all. I just agreed with everything she said, I apologized, I swore I didn't mean to call her a liar, and she calmed down soon enough. Problem is she brought up my ex. I hate thinking about my ex. Thirty years and it's still raw there. Couple that with the ever-present fear that I'll do or say something to upset MW.
I recently read a blog entry about a family coping with Huntington's Disease called Eggshells where two sisters had been tested - one pos., the other neg., and the neg. one likened all conversations with her sissy to walking on eggshells. Seems a little tame to me. More like walking on blasting caps.
Another difference is I'm still trying to keep MW from recognizing the fact that she has the disease. Even last night, after the blow-up, when things had calmed down, MW came to me with a confused and worried look on her face, wondering if she'd acted irrationally. Had she yelled? Had she been too mean?
I assured her, no, she'd only raised her voice a little. And naturally she got upset. Who wouldn't, being called a liar? But she wasn't mean. I apologized again for my choice of words and we moved on to better things. Specifically worrying about if she would be able to sleep.
So tonight when watching the news, I'm sure I'll be feeling envy for that lucky bloke in Iraq whose problems are over.
2014.09.24
A few reasons why I'll be drunk:
It has been three days since MW has slept through the night. She's been waking up at odd hours and then making me fetch her food, water, sometime asks me to leave the bed then calls me back after a few minutes.
I rotate my nightly drink between gin and vodka. With gin, I usually find myself celebrating Mr. Wambaugh's famous "drinkers' hour" by waking up sick and sitting in the bathroom waiting for the world to stop spinning. Vodka gives me bad dreams.
I'm pretty exhausted. All the time.
Two night ago, MW fell out of a chair. I was in the kitchen cooking/cleaning when I heard a loud crash in the living room. When I got there, MW was standing over an upturned chair looking baffled. She wasn't hurt, but it took a long time convincing her that falling from a chair is normal behavior. I swore that I commonly tumble out of my office chair. Sometimes you just don't sit on it right and the wheels slip out. Happens to everybody. Happens all the time.
Take another drink and wait to see what happiness tomorrow brings.
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