It has become impossible to maintain status while sober.
There is a toll, however, and I'm paying it in full.
Yesterday MW had a rough go of it. There's been an on-going issue with our phone service - basically MW got spooked because one of her former work acquaintances called too many times so she changed our number, paid to have all calls marked "private", and removed us from the internet "phone book".
She then decided to change everything back. Unfortunately, that turned out to be a whole deal, so she spent much of the day yelling at people on the telephone.
Also, she got a call from a potential employer who asked if he could interview her at a Starbucks. An insurance agent, he said his office hadn't been set up yet.
This really spooked MW. No way would she ever meet a stranger at Starbucks; also, once rejected, she was sure the guy would track her down. Even though the home address she posts on the job sites is a PO Box, it still had the zip code, so he knows what city she lives in.
Terrifying!
Finally, MW spilled popcorn all over the living room and yogurt all over the kitchen.
These problems and more were waiting for me when I got home.
***
Sober - no fucking way. Drunk - yes way.
Drunk, I'm able to listen for hours to the paranoid rantings, and keep my wings level in the face of those gale force winds. Never easy, because if you try to lessen the intensity of MW's fears, she'll turn on you quick - citing that you don't care or you don't take her seriously - so you have to agree with much of it, while gently riding her back to solid ground.
A time consuming process.
The phone. No real solution there. We're without home service, but we both have cells, so fuck it. Yes, MW commonly loses her phone and, yes, she never keeps it charged, so there will be problems, but this is one of those things I'm just letting go. Fuck it.
Which brings us to the messes. Popcorn everywhere; yogurt everywhere. And the kitchen looks like a bad comedy - food and dirty dishes in leaning tower of Pisa piles.
My job to clean, ah, but only under MW's watchful eyes. It must be cleaned, but nobody is allowed to touch cleaning supplies or walk on the floor?
How is this accomplished? Magic. Drunk magic.
***
Did I mention MW is having beaucoup trouble sleeping these days? Those in the know know melatonin levels in Huntington's Disease victims are wack. No surprise, then, that MW doesn't really get going until midnight - that's when she decides we have to move furniture around or do more job hunting on the internet.
Not only drunk; but tired as well. I'm staggering around, slurring and missing words. On a level.
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