Well. I'm still on the Zoloft, and it's working to my satisfaction. Although there's the usual day-by-day schedule to deal with, I'm generally a lot less on-edge about things. I've been thinking about life lately… more positive thoughts. Reading a lot more books, too. Not just fluffy crime-fiction (I heart crime-fiction!), but some classics. You can blame a binge on Nietzsche and Thoreau, but I've been thinking a lot about my life — who I was, who I am, who I will be. Actually, that seems to be the general running theme of all my posts, haha. I was thinking about the 21yo life I wanted when I was 15yo, compared to the 21yo life I'm actually living. Does that make sense? In the last two weeks, the people and situations I've found myself in have hammered in how choices, people, experience, and time can change your life path. It's been surreal. Anyway, I'll get to that later.
Something that could knock me off my Zoloft-laced cloud could be the fact that my once nervous/hungry-only shakes have become a lot more obvious and full-time. The moment my hands are idle, my hands start shaking uncontrollably. And they're always clammy now, but that's more awkward than debilitating. The shakes aren't debilitating at all, but it's really fucking annoying and I wonder if it's maybe neurological and just accented by the Zoloft. Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I'll get it checked out next time I need to fill my prescription.
Our housewarming was on Friday week ago, and oh! what a housewarming it was. Truthfully, it was a quiet affair with close friends, but it didn't really start out so quietly. Misha and I had resolved to spend all day Friday cleaning, with a sojourn to the shops for party supplies. Unfortunately, it pissed down rain all day, so Misha and I cleaned in spurts between watching VH1's 100 Best Rock Clips Of All Time, Crime Channel, and Maury Povich.
I love Maury.
Matt came home early in the afternoon to drop Charli off at the ex-MIL's, so Misha and I started to prepare for the party itself. Preparation was screaming in terror at every car that stopped in front of our house (we are in a cul-de-sac), then muttering obscenities whilst downing shots of vodka to steady the nerves.
The party was cool, I made a cool spinach dip that I forced everybody to try (which Burger snuck into and ruined), we had a raging fire in my bedroom, and while nearly everybody at the end of the night got thoroughly trashed on a concoction of normal human booze and European firewater, only one person puked. The only regretful incident was the introduction of whole breadrolls which were pegged directly at my head, for some reason.
I also got a driver very drunk when he realised via text message that he was no longer required to drive anywhere. When he asked for a scotch on the rocks, I was happy to fix it up for him… except there was no ice. So I, in my great wisdom after a few solid hours of drinking, decided to replace ice space with Jack Daniels. I'm a moron.
In other news, Chuck and I attended the funeral and wake of Greg's paternal grandmother, Enid. The funeral was very dignified, and the church was full, with guests flying in from as far out as Western Australia and the USA. It was a genuine shame that the second-ever time Greg's family had to meet us under such tragic circumstances, but there's not much you can do about that.
The wake was a little bit surreal. Luckily, I haven't had to attend too many funerals in my time yet, but it was a lot more social than I thought it was going to be. Charlotte was incredibly well-behaved during the funeral, so a lot of guests glided over in calculated intervals to introduce themselves and fawn over Chuck. The situation called for Greg to re-acquaint himself with most of the guests, so Charli and I milled around without much direction for a lot of the time, and had a few memorable conversations with several friends and family members.
A little old lady in her 90's, Dottie, decided to spend most of the day shuffling around us. For the first half of the wake, she sort of hovered without saying anything, just a tight smile and a mumbled comment about how beautiful my little boy was. My daughter was wearing pink and purple with butterfly and flower motifs, so I suspected that Dottie — while a complete delight — wasn't quite as on the ball as her dashing funeral attire suggested.
At last, she stopped to have a proper conversation with me, and it became apparent after a short time that Dottie was a victim of severe dementia. I'd dealt with quite a few dementia patients through work but didn't really realise until my polite in-laws voice to my polite-but-slightly-work voice. She wasted no time in her investigation to see whether or not I was okay, and the interrogation seemed to last a lot longer because she asked each question no less than five times over, resetting her memory bank every time she glanced away. Her questions, in no particular order:
"How much do you weigh? 7 stone?"
"Is this your first child? He's beautiful. How old is he?"
"Are you with Gregory? When are you going to start a family?"
"How many children do you think you can bear?"
"How many children do you want?" This was to be appended occasionally with "…with Gregory?", as if I were some harlot whose ovaries and sex-drive needed some gentle moral steering.
To be truthful with you, when it wasn't incredibly hilarious, I wanted to grip her skull to face me (and shake her slightly) so I only had to deal with each question once, but she was so freakin' sweet that I couldn't bear to even be terse with her — even if she would've forgotten ten seconds later.
Either way, I'm going to remember her very fondly, although our exchange was relatively brief. She got me thinking about my own mortality; the blatant ignorance in which I treat my own body, and how hard that can come and bite me in the arse when I will (hopefully) be reaping the benefits of decades of hard work. I know we all do things to our body that knock a few years off, but I fear I'm damaging an already-fragile system. Whatever, however, I'm pretty sure I'd rather die than lose my memory. It makes me so sad to imagine an existence where I couldn't piece together a coherent conversation, where everything I'd ever worked hard for disappeared at every turn. Even more terrifying would be to realise the onset of dementia; the thought of all the beautiful people, places and things in my life slipping out of my reach.
There was another gent I met there was Greg's uncle, Ian. A wonderfully affable man of roughly 55yrs old, we sat together at the funeral and he was tentative with conversation until he ducked out for a smoke with me at the wake. He flew from Western Australia, and felt a deep regret at not seeing Enid before her death… he was genuinely disgusted (albeit momentarily) at how high he held the value of money (and saving it) and the devastating repercussions (obviously fond of Enid or other relatives long gone from that generation) of being so materialistic. He spoke fondly of his three adult sons, and we discussed the woes and wonders of marriage. We discussed my relationship with Greg, and where it was headed, too. My answers must've been right (I even copped the usually mother-in-law-ish "Do you love him?"), because I was met with a massive man-hug with a chest-clearing pat on the back. I actually avoided him for a few minutes because the hugs and pats were so huge (he seemed to tower over me, but hey — who doesn't?!)!
Oh! Dottie, while her memory might be shot to shit, displayed and enthralled all around us with her sniper-level eyesight. I took great pains to hide my tattoo from Greg's parents with a cardigan only to have her zip all the way across the room to yank down the cardigan from the nape of my neck. Right in front of Greg's dad. Oh well… now he knows!
So. Two totally different social engagements in two weeks. The latter was definitely sobering, and has me feeling extremely thankful for the wonderful people in my life, and the life I'm living… even if it isn't glamorous or exciting. Whatever my future would've been if I made different choices five years ago, I know I wouldn't feel half as fulfilled, loved, in love, useful, or happy.
