I cut out of work early on Thursday and I skipped work on Friday. By the end of the weekend I still hadn't managed to clean my apartment, pay bills, or do laundry, and I felt physically like shit. I was also dwelling on thoughts of drinking far more than I have been. Not good.
The crazed writing I've been doing feels a bit like drinking--an addictive activity that makes the rest of my life crumble like the edge of California into the sea. Which isn't to make anyone feel guilty for enjoying it, because it's not actually drinking and the words themselves make me happy. I mean, I don't even know if the writing jag is a cause or symptom of something else.
Just recently I finished a month's worth of megavitamins that I'd been trying and didn't get another bottle. I guess I wanted to compare the way I felt while taking them to how I felt while not taking them. I don't feel so hot. But maybe it's not the vitamins. I'm feeling very confused.
I just had appointments with both of my doctors recently--therapist, psychiatrist--and they both seemed pleased by the current state of the me, but now, a week or so later, I feel like my life is coming apart at the seams.
The work stuff is the most horrible. I am simply not doing the work they're paying me for and every day pushes me deeper into dread. I don't know how to deal. I don't know how to focus. I don't know what to *do*. I keep having wrong fantasies of not going in anymore. Of quitting, of living for six months or so off cashed-in stock, then trying to scrounge up another job.
I've been depressed this past weekend, this past week, and I need to get my shit together. I've been thinking about how in an AA meeting a few weeks ago, someone was saying how you can stop drinking, but if you still have the same crappy, out-of-control life you had while drinking, you haven't done enough. You have to work the steps, etc. Which I get. But until I started to go to meetings, my understanding of AA was based on stuff from novels and so on. And I'd fixated on this recurring motif in the Matthew Scudder novels, which I paraphrase roughly: "So you say you lost your job, ran over your cat, and punched your neighbor--did you drink today?" Scudder: "No." Sponsor: "Then it was a good day."
I like the simplicity of that, underneath everything else. There's a part of me that thinks: I could lose my job, be broke, be unable to pay my bills, but I'd still be alive. I want to balance the zen of that against the realistic need to sustain myself. You get so caught up in existing--going to work, grinding away, focusing on money and time and getting by, that you lose perspective. I'm on this earth for less than a century and then I'll be gone. It's not like I move my piece to the end of the game board and "win" because I have a retirement package and a handful of declining years to enjoy it. What the fuck kind of life is that? This is the part of me that's raging right now: I hate being in an office doing pointless shit. It's everything else in my life that I want to enjoy. But the time spent doing pointless shit pays for everything else. If I'm not in an office doing pointless shit for X hours a week, I can't afford a gym membership or antidepressants or an apartment or a car.
That was just one big gush of unfun. On the upside:
* I've gone over two months without drinking.
* I shot baskets on Sunday.
* I haven't lost my job yet.
* I have friends.
Yehp. I think it's time for coffee.