I got pretty drunk at home saturday night. They were asking for it when they wanted me to carry a few boxes of books to the garage afterwards. In the kitchen, Armand (one of my cats) darted under my feet and I tripped, sending the 30 or so pound box right down on the table, knocking over the jar candle along with its handmade ceramic lampshade. Nothing caught fire, but the shade was shattered in front of the sink and wax spilled all over the new tablecloth they just put out a few hours earlier. Ruined. She tried to do the iron-and-wax-paper candle wax removal trick, but only stained the ironing board cover. Also ruined. After much yelling, she went up to shower, and I did something I haven't done since 1998. I sat down and cried.
Alcohol has two prominent effects on me. It takes away my coordination, and peels away my inhibitions. I was in a very quiet and sullen mood saturday and I resisted drinking, but they insisted thinking it would loosen me up. In better head space, no inhibitions is a good thing, but when I just wanna fucking be alone, all it does is eliminate my ability to inhibit emotional expression. It's not some manly thing. There will be a time for that, but now is not that time. I regained my composure in time for her to come back downstairs. Didn't want her to see me like that. She was upset enough already.
When I last cried in 98, it was terrifying. It lasted for hours and hours with gut-wrenching intensity. Caroline was so scared she didn't know what to do. Luckily, I was able to choke most of saturday's onset back to a mild weep, as opposed to whole-body heaving sobs. Honestly, I'm afraid of having another 1998. It was truly frightening then, and I don't ever want repeat it.
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We went and saw Phantom again. Emmy Rossum keeps getting hotter each time I see her. :-) One more (slight) annoyance, though. During the "big song" they sing after he leads her through the mirror, Webber felt it necessary to add these irritating little synthesized clapclaps to the percussion for the movie score. Almost kills the scene. Cheesy cheesy cheesy.
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Braved the oft-feared self portrait sketch last night. Surprisingly, it's recognizeable as me. Not surprisingly, it's ugly as sin. Feature proportions are pretty good, but I made my face waaaay too fat and over shaded my lips, making it look like I have lipstick on. Also over shaded those two weird ridges that run from your upper lip to the bottom of your nose, giving me a Hitler moustache. Still no clue how to draw hair, but did an ok job. All in all, not bad. Better than I expected, but far short of where I'd like to be. Practice practice practice.
Alcohol has two prominent effects on me. It takes away my coordination, and peels away my inhibitions. I was in a very quiet and sullen mood saturday and I resisted drinking, but they insisted thinking it would loosen me up. In better head space, no inhibitions is a good thing, but when I just wanna fucking be alone, all it does is eliminate my ability to inhibit emotional expression. It's not some manly thing. There will be a time for that, but now is not that time. I regained my composure in time for her to come back downstairs. Didn't want her to see me like that. She was upset enough already.
When I last cried in 98, it was terrifying. It lasted for hours and hours with gut-wrenching intensity. Caroline was so scared she didn't know what to do. Luckily, I was able to choke most of saturday's onset back to a mild weep, as opposed to whole-body heaving sobs. Honestly, I'm afraid of having another 1998. It was truly frightening then, and I don't ever want repeat it.
---
We went and saw Phantom again. Emmy Rossum keeps getting hotter each time I see her. :-) One more (slight) annoyance, though. During the "big song" they sing after he leads her through the mirror, Webber felt it necessary to add these irritating little synthesized clapclaps to the percussion for the movie score. Almost kills the scene. Cheesy cheesy cheesy.
---
Braved the oft-feared self portrait sketch last night. Surprisingly, it's recognizeable as me. Not surprisingly, it's ugly as sin. Feature proportions are pretty good, but I made my face waaaay too fat and over shaded my lips, making it look like I have lipstick on. Also over shaded those two weird ridges that run from your upper lip to the bottom of your nose, giving me a Hitler moustache. Still no clue how to draw hair, but did an ok job. All in all, not bad. Better than I expected, but far short of where I'd like to be. Practice practice practice.
posted by Grover at 1/23/2005 02:22:00 PM
1 Comments:
Bad stuff, good stuff - it's all just stuff.
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If but some vengeful god would call to me
From up the sky, and laugh: “Thou suffering thing,
Know that thy sorrow is my ecstasy,
That thy love’s loss is my hate’s profiting!”
Then would I bear, and clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased, too, that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.
But not so. How arrives it joy lies slain,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
--Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain,
And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan….
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.
"Hap"
Thomas Hardy
Consider that and enjoy a beer, because the Reaper is around every corner.
Don't be down - your supposed to be enjoying some beer.
Peace.
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