Addict

I am so addicted to sweet tea. I really thought I could control it, stop whenever I wanted to, but I realize now that that was a lie I was only telling myself. For the last few days, I have been trying to ween myself off of it. But as soon as two o’clock hits, I start tasting that sweet, savory goodness on my tongue.

I know that I can easily put myself out of my misery by driving down to Sonic for Happy Hour, when the drinks are half-priced. But I know I shouldn’t. I mentally wrestle with myself for two hours, trying to stop myself from putting on pants and grabbing my keys. But as soon as four o’clock hits, I’m fine. Happy Hour is over, and I’m safe for another day.

It’s sick. I’m like a dog salivating at a bell. For two hours every day, I’m an addict, shaking and sweating, needing my fix. So far, I have held strong, but I can’t wait until I no longer notice what time it is.

Wallowing in Misery

Today, CC called me to complain about something related to his son. It seems like the only time CC calls me anymore is to complain about something…his new house, his landlord, his stress level, his students, his son, etc. I listen, but I no longer participate in the “woe is me” party anymore. I don’t really share much about my life or complain about anything anymore, because there’s no point. He always tries to ask and goad me into chiming in, almost like my misery validates his own. But I’m tired of fixating on only the negative in life. I want to be happier and focus on happy things. I don’t want to be upset and depressed all the time.

So, I tried to raise his spirits. When he asked how I was doing, I told him that I was playing with my toy skeleton. His response was one of confusion and concern. (Surely I must be two steps from the mental hospital.) So, I told him about the newest member of our family, Boney. I described the antics and funny things the skeleton does each day, and how he’s brought such joy to our lives.

I thought he’d laugh and joke. Instead, he said, “How do you have that much time? Seems like a waste of time for someone so busy.” And I ended the conversation right there. That’s someone that wants to wallow in misery. That is not someone calling a friend to help pull them out if it.

It’s really sad. He used to be a fun guy to talk to, but now I find myself avoiding his calls. If I do pick up, like today, I just wonder what I was thinking. The ironic thing is that Boney is not a waste of time. Living life only looking for the problems and negatives is the waste of time. I’m choosing to be happy. And if it’s a toy skeleton that brings me joy, then I’m choosing Boney…even over my depressing friends.

Masquerade Murder

My spousal unit and I decided to go out on a date night tonight. It was our first date since…well…I guess since about three years ago. Our community was doing a murder mystery / dinner masquerade for couples, and we signed up. I’d been very much looking forward to it. I’d spent weeks planning my outfit and trying to find the perfect mask, and my spousal unit had even bought a new dress (mostly because I insisted that she couldn’t go in her usual black pants). My mom came up to watch Troy for us, and off we went.

We chose a table with only one other couple, two lovely lesbian women named Sasha and Sarah, who ended up being a lot of fun. The event itself was not managed very well, as they tried to do the dinner simultaneously with the murder mystery. So, we found ourselves trying to scarf down food, while also running around and gathering clues. I also realized that you have to have a certain sort of outgoing personality to walk up to complete strangers and question them like suspects. It also doesn’t help if the people are dry and not forthcoming with information. Sasha was selected to play one of the suspects, the vengeful maid…, and I was selected as one of the bachelors.

Essentially, three bachelors were chosen to either get rich, marry a celebrity, or die. It was a game of Russian Roulette, except the decision wasn’t by chance…it was entirely in the hands of our fellow banquet goers. Each man was given a chance to explain what they’d do with the money if they were chosen to get rich. The first said he’d buy a house for his family, noble but not aligned to the hearts of the greedy, selfish crowd with his fate in their hands. The second said he’d buy a boat, better but still not big enough. I said I’d buy my own private island, which was met with cheers and applause. This was more like it! Ultimately, I was voted almost unanimously to get rich, but my glory was short-lived as the host of the party was murdered instead of one of the bachelors. And this is how the murder mystery started.

In the end, we didn’t successfully solve the mystery, but neither did anyone else. We did win the award for Best Detectives of the Night for asking the most and best questions. Although that was entirely because of Sasha and my spousal unit. I was tripped up by not knowing that I could ask more than one question at a time, so I never really learned anything useful. It was also extremely chaotic with the number of people and the frequent interruptions by the “detective.” But we had a good time, and it was good to get away and do something for just the two of us.