Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Get used to it

(Town-House Cusick)

A day spent in bed, drifting in and out of sleep, feigning life.  The more you sleep, the more you can sleep.  The internet says it's because of depression and low socioeconomic status.  By that standard my normal inability to sleep could be explained away by elation and wealth.

I had to be told that I couldn't drive last night.  Something I'm not used to.  Having lived in a land of taxis for so long.  I'm all for telling people they shouldn't drive when they've been drinking.  Though I typically resist being told such a thing, when drinking.  I had plans later that evening, but they were not to be.  I began playfully resisting, asserting that I was not as drunk as my friends were suggesting, and at the time I believed that to be true.  They cited that I was slurring a little bit, but that's mainly because I had eaten a Xanax, not because of the drinking, or not as much anyways.  Truly, I had only had 4 beers over the course of several hours.  I had eaten some mushroom stems, which might have made me seem more "off" than I actually was, but might have possibly helped with night vision, etc.  

But belligerent behavior is not to be tempted.  It ended poorly, with me walking home and leaving my car at my friends house.  My woozy belligerence was met with sober truculence and it ended with difficulty, and harsh words, spoken by those with whom I am unaccustomed in that way.  Never a pleasant thing to experience, and an even less pleasant thing to be the cause of.  Being wrong robs one of the pleasures of self-rigtheousness.  It is a theft that sometimes takes hours to complete, but sure enough, there it is.  One feeling is gone, replaced by another.

I have been too lazy to recover the car today.  Perhaps tonight, or tomorrow.  Who knows.  I'm afraid that I might fall asleep on the long walk over there.  There is a comfortable looking river on the way, running perpendicular to my destination.  Perhaps I should first go to the grocery store and buy a raft, one with a mast and sail.  If such a thing even exists.  I doubt it.  

As I was drifting in and out of sleep today I could hear Rachel arguing with the banking customer service representatives.  Saying the same thing over and over.  Every new person she spoke with would cite that there was missing documentation.  Then she would trot out the prepared speech she had, telling them that she is having to do so each and every time she speaks with them, and why can't they seem to accept that their own loan application lists the needed documents, all of which have been filed already, and that without the money from them there will not be any need for the loan because we will not be able to buy the house.  Each time she emphasizes how important and timely this loan is, as we have several thousand dollars already on the line,  $7000 of which we will lose if this loan doesn't come through soon.

Then we got the news that it looks like she finally got somebody on the line with the power to help. The wire should hit the escrow account tomorrow or the next day. We should have the keys by Thursday or Friday. The movers come on Saturday.  I am supposed to be very happy, and part of me is.  But these are very big obligations.  My needs seem so simple in comparison.

But as so many of my friends have already told me, get used to it.   I don't matter any more.