Thankful for rain
In my quest for relative peace and prosperity, I choose to spend Thanksgiving in my favorite way this year. I stayed in my beloved New York, with French flicks in my Netflix cue, some wine, and myself. I should make note, since my father made a particularly annoying reference (again) that I drink daily, that I drink on occasion. I had a glass of bourbon this week and the wine. If I drank as much as I think about it, I would have died long ago from my liver slithering its way out of my naval and general Lupus revolts of the extraordinary kind. Clearly, some things still piss me off. But, back to the lighter moment at hand. I attempted to avoid the Lifetime movies that entail my life. Notice I said attempted.
On Thanksgiving Eve I opened a bottle of wine and drank. I sat on my stoop, in superb ghetto form, and drank. And . . . as happens someone had a honing device for me. I got a text message, and since I was liquored up I wrote back. I told him I had moved on. I told him that I loved him then, would have married him, but that nothing is the same. I would no longer. He told me I'm cold, overly cynical, made him believe that no man could make me happy so he got scarred. I made it hard for him, in his words, and it is my fault he's married to someone else. Then . . . then . . . he told me he still loves me.
My response: I threw up.
I kid you not.
The next morning I laughed about it, but I reiterated the same thread to the four people I chatted with about it. When you throw up when someone says "I love you," there is a clear statement for the course and nature of that relationship. Years later, I have moved on, and still . . . oh well. At least it rained on Thanksgiving.
As for Thanksgiving, I was fearful of drinking. Seriously, I was afraid someone would contact me again. I didn't think my block could handle two upchucks. Even if I was discrete . . . I trotted over to the liquor store on Thanksgiving for more wine, and to pick up some for my roommates, and the guys in there decided to tell me that they realize they've only seen me four times but I am the most memorable customer they have. Touching, odd, but true. My wine is still sitting in the kitchen, and at some point I'll drink it. Perhaps, I'll have a friend over for dinner again, show off my cooking, and drink wine. That's what I did with the last two bottles, on two occasions.
In the end, I'm thankful as hell (as if you didn't know) that I'm back in New York. I'm at home, I'm at peace, and I'm happy. Though, I am especially thankful for the rain on Thursday as it washed away the I-love-you-vomit.
On Thanksgiving Eve I opened a bottle of wine and drank. I sat on my stoop, in superb ghetto form, and drank. And . . . as happens someone had a honing device for me. I got a text message, and since I was liquored up I wrote back. I told him I had moved on. I told him that I loved him then, would have married him, but that nothing is the same. I would no longer. He told me I'm cold, overly cynical, made him believe that no man could make me happy so he got scarred. I made it hard for him, in his words, and it is my fault he's married to someone else. Then . . . then . . . he told me he still loves me.
My response: I threw up.
I kid you not.
The next morning I laughed about it, but I reiterated the same thread to the four people I chatted with about it. When you throw up when someone says "I love you," there is a clear statement for the course and nature of that relationship. Years later, I have moved on, and still . . . oh well. At least it rained on Thanksgiving.
As for Thanksgiving, I was fearful of drinking. Seriously, I was afraid someone would contact me again. I didn't think my block could handle two upchucks. Even if I was discrete . . . I trotted over to the liquor store on Thanksgiving for more wine, and to pick up some for my roommates, and the guys in there decided to tell me that they realize they've only seen me four times but I am the most memorable customer they have. Touching, odd, but true. My wine is still sitting in the kitchen, and at some point I'll drink it. Perhaps, I'll have a friend over for dinner again, show off my cooking, and drink wine. That's what I did with the last two bottles, on two occasions.
In the end, I'm thankful as hell (as if you didn't know) that I'm back in New York. I'm at home, I'm at peace, and I'm happy. Though, I am especially thankful for the rain on Thursday as it washed away the I-love-you-vomit.
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