Reboot

It's a new year, and even though I had considered deactivating Pym's Escape, I've decided to keep it up.

KBO, that's what Winston Churchill said, "Keep Buggering On."

I hadn't posted for awhile because at first, things were going much better, and I hadn't had to escape into Pym's. Then the weather got too cold to even sit for long in our computer room. But what might have been the final blow to Pym's was that it didn't feel therapeutic or beneficial any longer, when Spencer would say during or after an argument, "go tell it on Pym's." It felt like it was the end of me being able to be open and honest on Pym's without it later being chucked in my face.

When we'd both cooled down after that particular argument, Spencer asked me to keep the blog up and use it; that I needed the outlet.

In that spirit then, of having healthy outlets, I'm declaring 2011 The Year of Pym's Mental Health.

Though changing from one year to another is mainly a psychological move [every night at midnight, even every minute or every second is a change from one year to another] it's still a good opportunity to set some mental goals, to delineate a starting point for improvement.

And in declaring 2011 The Year of Pym's Mental Health, I'm sort of declaring my independence. Independence from all the worrying and wigging-out over Spencer's drinking -- it's not anything I can control anyway. Independence from other worries that plague me as an obsessive-compulsive. And my actions and decisions will be based on how something will effect my mental health.

In essence, I come first.

That doesn't mean that what I decide will be counter to what Spencer may need, or what my relationship with him, or with Cary, or with Huxley [which may be progressing towards physical intimacy as well] will need. What I need isn't necessarily mutually exclusive to what others need, but I'm putting my mental health first. I don't think any of the people who love me will begrudge me that.

Here's to a new year, new friendships, new-life to important relationships, and a shiny, refurbished, almost-like-new but even better mental outlook.

First Day of Vacation

'Morning of my first off-day for a few days of vacation, yeah!
I'm hoping it's as relaxing as I'd anticipated.

Spencer's still sleeping last night off, but I need to get him up soon, since we're supposed to be meeting with Amanda for lunch, just to get "caught up" and talk with her and her sister.

Spencer and I did argue quite a bit last night after he came home from Kip's. My patience is so rice-paper thin that I'm really pushing back right now. It's not even just the drinking, or the quantity, but that he cannot leave me alone while he's doing it! He can stay in his own lil office and do whatever he wants to do, but no, he's gotta come in to the bedroom or living room--where ever I'm hanging out or trying to sleep-- and bug, complain, lecture, berate, argue...

I do love him, but...whew!

'Nuf complaining from me, too...just had to vent!
Here's hoping the next few days go terrifically!

Best,
Pym

Taze Me Bro

It's been almost 48 hours since Spencer began this weekend's binge, starting Friday evening, continuing through this morning--with a break of crashing out in snores on the couch for thankfully some hours--and he said to me as I went hurrying out the door this morning that he may not be home when I get back later this evening.

I was going out the door to first go shopping, then come in to work to get some stuff done. The hurrying part was because I just had to get out of the house. Friday night was fine because Spencer stayed at Kip's. Saturday evening he came home after they had another argument [shocking that two guys would get into an argument after a full day of beer-drinking] and I've been a bundle of stress since. It doesn't bode well for a relationship, when things seem to go better when you're apart...just saying.

In the middle of The Men Who Stare At Goats, Spencer came in last night, telling me about the argument with Kip. Then he wanted me to start the movie over so he could watch it. So, I started the movie over and then he kept saying, "I don't like this movie," and talking over it and looking away at the good parts. I said, "Fine, then leave the room; no one's making you watch the movie." And it went downhill from there...

Our communication can be bad in the best of times; add to that his couple dozen beers, my three, and we might as well each be talking to goats. Spencer's personality goes hot and cold, angry to loving, yelling at the TV to solicitude to me, from "I don't know why you married me," to, "I love you so much." This roller-coaster of not knowing how he'll react to anything raises my blood pressure and makes my nerve endings freak out. But then, in a lucid moment, he gives me the most beautiful compliment I've ever gotten: "You're the reason artists paint pictures." Waaah! Then it's followed with more wild talk and anger at the world. It all makes me want to run...literally having the impulse to run out of the house yelling crazy-cat-lady phrases...with only the fear of embarrassment or involuntary committal keeping me in check. Then tomorrow, when he hopefully sobers up, we'll probably have a wonderful day. Is it any wonder that this up and down road is leading me to LoopDeeLoo Land?

Sometimes I want to be knocked out for only a little while; someone klunk me with a frying pan, or taze me; then take me to a beach, coat me with sunblock, lay me down on a towel, and let me wake up with a book in one hand and a Corona in the other. Preferably a beach in Puerto Rico. I'd be more likely to have Benicio del Toro trip over me.

Breathing deeply, moving on for the day.
Thank you, Dear Reader, for being a "listening ear"; it always makes me feel better to get it out.
:O)
~Pym

It's Monday

The weekend wasn't too bad; Spencer and I had Saturday together, though he continued his drinking from Friday night, and I got my own six-pack of Miller Chill. We spent the first half of the day sleeping, did some yard work, then some needful errands, came back to the house, cooked a pizza and watched television.

Sunday morning, Spencer slept in, and I nursed a terrible self-inflicted headache from my six-pack. I'm such a dumb-ass, to drink even that much, but at the time, with the lime flavor, they tasted so good. I willed myself to not throw up, slept a little more with ice on my head, was able to manage running a few errands, came back and mowed part of the lawn, and played online.

Spencer went back over to Kip's that afternoon and said he was going to spend the night, so as not to disturb me on a work night. Well, at about 1:30 in the morning he calls twice to say he's on his way home. As I'm now already awake, I watch for him so he won't have to hunt his key. If it weren't so sad, seeing him toddle around the corner, just a-wobbling along, it might have been comical.

After I let him in, we had a typical argument and I tried to go to bed. I made it into bed, but then Spencer had to "talk", which means ramble on. His biggest complaint last night being how much pain his legs are in. [We think he's developed a bad case of sciatica, but can't get to a doc anytime soon.] And how he thinks no one cares, da da da. Even though I can't feel his pain, I do understand that he's in pain. But I can't do anything about it and he doesn't get that. If there was some way for him to earn a couple hundred dollars, we could get him started at a chiropractor. I keep telling him to put ice on his legs, but he refuses because it makes him have to go pee. I'd think he'd take a few extra pisses if it helped him feel better. After our lengthy fussing, he finally left me alone in bed and went to sleep on the couch.

Anyway, this evening, Monday, Spencer is back at Kip's, helping him set up his new computer, and I hope he keeps his word that he won't drink since we have a counseling appointment in the morning.

Either way I'll go, but he needs it just as much as I. And after writing this entry, it's easier to see what a repetitive rut we're in. It could be any Monday in our lives over the past 10 years.

I'd apologize to Dear Reader for the boring content, but I think this is what life is like for most of us. Living, loving, working, bearing crosses, rinsing, and repeating.

'Evening,
~Pym