Okay. So I finished Academ’s Fury today after saying I was about half done. I’m really the worst about immediate gratification, no? SO many new questions. Hory clap.
So my Dad has been on my mind, and now I have no book to distract me. I’m sitting here with my mug of Crown Royal. The last time I did this was a little over a week ago. My Dad died on the 2nd last year, but I made my peace (somewhat) with him on the 1st. So this year, I had the same feeling on the first and drank myself into oblivion. Drinking is one of the things I’m actually good at, and thankfully I don’t do it too terribly often.
Tonight, like last week, I’m drinking a full mug of Crown Royal Maple (no chocolate this time, boo) which works out to exactly 12 oz. That falls between 8-12 shots for those of you playing at home. My superpower gives me the ability to feel better after drinking. I sleep more soundly and I rarely if ever get a hangover. I have a beautiful Scottish friend that refers to hangovers as “feeling delicate”.
Minor factible: I sleep very tensely and tend to hug pillows so hard that my arms are sore when I wake up. Drinking eliminates this problem.
I’m a happy drunk, and have been referred to as “cheerleader drunk”. Let that sink in for a minute. I actually am quite pleasant and fun, everyone is my best friend, I tell the best jokes and flirt awesomely. I’m more excited about everything, I laugh louder and generally love life more. I really should drink more.
Mildly related: I’m halfway through my mug right now. I can’t feel my face and I’m watching Nobbel87 solo the chess event in Karazhan. I could never get past this on my own, so I’m jealous and enthralled.
A year after my Dad’s death, I’ve had a lot more time to think of him and essentially gather more and more guilt. Guilt about our estrangement, guilt about my decisions, guilt about how I reacted to my mother in her own time of pain. I know as a rational person that just because others will stoop to a level doesn’t mean that I have to, too. Regrets change nothing, and I truly believe that nothing I will do now will change things going forward. These truths as I see them mean nothing in terms of guilt. I wear them heavily like an albatross.
He has come to me in dreams and as my guide during a past life regression. Believe what you want, it’s okay. If anything, my past life regression gave me a semblance of peace and for $25, it’s way cheaper than a mental health therapy session.
He comes to me in dreams, more now than during our 6 year estrangement. In fact, I can’t remember even dreaming about him, let alone having a dream where I felt he was visiting me. Last year around Christmastime, I dreamt that I asked my Dad if he needed me to take any letters to the post office for him. He had a stack of sealed and stamped cards and letters and was nervously shuffling them and said I should just wait a day to go to the post office. I didn’t understand why he didn’t just give me the letters. I woke up crying, just missing him. It wasn’t until I explained my dream to my husband that he reminded me that going to the post office was on my errand list for the day. I didn’t go that day.
I’m not just stitious, I’m superstitious.
He’s only come to me in my dreams twice since; once to tell me how hard a time my mother was having and another to express his disappointment in what was going on in my life at the time. THANKS, DAD.
My dreams as of late are pretty lazy. One dream I was in a bad neighborhood going to a bank. I wondered if I had anything to withdraw because it had been so long since I had even made a deposit that I wasn’t sure if anything was left. The bank’s name? Cheer Bank. Jeeez. Like I said, my dreams aren’t even trying anymore.
The most recent dream regarding my Dad and my family: I am visiting home and one of my Mother’s houses (she owns a lot of property) has a sort of…a gift shop on the second floor. A woman is selling all of my Father’s things, and Buddhas that are in rocks. I’m trying to buy everything up. Trying to keep a piece of him somehow. Then, An old friend from high school is renting a house that my Mother owns and he’s showing me the rooms. It’s an old house–it’s literally a house divided in such a way that it makes the home stupid and unusable. But it’s always been a house divided this way so no one thinks to knock down the walls.
Did I mention that my dreams are not even trying anymore?
Lisa: (slowly, in Chief Wiggum’s dream) Chief… Wiggum… Don’t… Eat … The clues…
(Chief Wiggum finds a flaming card, while Lisa holds up another flaming card.)
Lisa: (slowly) This suit burns better… Look!
Chief Wiggum: What?
Lisa: (slowly, holding the card closer) Better… Look! Burns’ suit…
Chief Wiggum: I’m not following you.
Lisa: (slowly) Burns’ suit! Burns’ suit!
Chief Wiggum: Huh?
Lisa: (normal voice) Look at Burns’ suit! Geesh!
(Eddie wakes Chief Wiggum up from his dream.)
Eddie: Hey, Chief. I have an idea. Why don’t we check out that suit Burns was wearing when he was shot?
Chief Wiggum: Did you have the same dream with backwards-talking dream with the flaming cards?
Eddie: (hastily) I’ll drive.
Anywho, tl; dr: wracked with guilt and alcohol. The last time I drank this much (oh lookie, my mug is empty), I could barely make it to bed, cried a lot, and slept sideways. I’m about there I think. Here’s where it started, by the way.