Past Tense
This last weekend was relaxing, for the most part. Well, I don't know if relaxing is an accurate word. I'm still having some trouble adjusting to the upped dosage of the Lexapro, and it's frustrating. I feel tired and rather, well, tired. Yesterday I wanted to take advantage of the couple of hours we had of good weather (we are fully in rainy season) and I was so drained that I could barely peddle more than five minutes or walk down the beach with Dick. Finally, when he asked to go on an overnight surfing trip, I agreed, hoping that he would have more fun with some people with a little more energy.
I go over to the hospital every am to take the Antabuse, and it's been an interesting experience. Some days there are girls I know, and some days the nurse makes me roll my tongue around and show her that I took the medication - I know I mentioned her before, but she also utters some words of enouragement, like, "Good luck, sweetie," or something like that. It comforts me before I go out and FACE ANOTHER DAY.
We went over to a party this weekend, and the hosts were very supportive. They know about my quitting. They hooked me up with my own cocktail (perrier and powerade option with a twist of lime) in a pretty glass with a blue fish swizzle stick, and I was happy. I was mildly uncomfortable when people started dancing. I feel so awkward out there, like everyone's looking at me. Although I have relaxed about many things, shaking my moneymaker is not one of them. They were persistent, though and would not let me sit down, so finally I just had to dance. Screw the awkwardness. Dick and I got up on the table and shook what our mommas gave us until we were tired and went home.
During the evening, one gentleman and I got in a conversation. He noted that I was drinking a n/a drink, and I said, "It keeps me out of trouble." He said that that could be a good thing. Then he said that it looked like Dick and I compete. When I asked for verification, he said that last weekend at the club, when Dick took his shirt off and was dancing on the chair, that I had a look on my face significant of "unh hunh, he's not doing that," and then I went and "got some of my own attention". Which I'm sure means that I humped some guy's leg or something or was dancing provocatively. I don't even remember that point in the evening. He then went on to talk about relationships, and how he felt disillusioned by them (for himself), but I was strangely stung. I have always thought of myself as tolerant and always mildy amused when Dick receives attention from other females. He's a good looking guy, I don't begrude him that. To hear that I compete with him for correspondent attention is...a cut. I'm sure my friend didn't mean to hurt my feelings, just hearing what an ass I've made out of myself is uncomfortable. You live, you learn, right?
I still feel drugged. Tired and forgetful. I can't tell if I feel this way because of my cankle - which I will be posting more in detail over at RT), or if it is because of the medication. I have an appointment coming up, though.
Jane Says: Doctor, doctor. Can't you tell I'm burnin' burnin' ?
I go over to the hospital every am to take the Antabuse, and it's been an interesting experience. Some days there are girls I know, and some days the nurse makes me roll my tongue around and show her that I took the medication - I know I mentioned her before, but she also utters some words of enouragement, like, "Good luck, sweetie," or something like that. It comforts me before I go out and FACE ANOTHER DAY.
We went over to a party this weekend, and the hosts were very supportive. They know about my quitting. They hooked me up with my own cocktail (perrier and powerade option with a twist of lime) in a pretty glass with a blue fish swizzle stick, and I was happy. I was mildly uncomfortable when people started dancing. I feel so awkward out there, like everyone's looking at me. Although I have relaxed about many things, shaking my moneymaker is not one of them. They were persistent, though and would not let me sit down, so finally I just had to dance. Screw the awkwardness. Dick and I got up on the table and shook what our mommas gave us until we were tired and went home.
During the evening, one gentleman and I got in a conversation. He noted that I was drinking a n/a drink, and I said, "It keeps me out of trouble." He said that that could be a good thing. Then he said that it looked like Dick and I compete. When I asked for verification, he said that last weekend at the club, when Dick took his shirt off and was dancing on the chair, that I had a look on my face significant of "unh hunh, he's not doing that," and then I went and "got some of my own attention". Which I'm sure means that I humped some guy's leg or something or was dancing provocatively. I don't even remember that point in the evening. He then went on to talk about relationships, and how he felt disillusioned by them (for himself), but I was strangely stung. I have always thought of myself as tolerant and always mildy amused when Dick receives attention from other females. He's a good looking guy, I don't begrude him that. To hear that I compete with him for correspondent attention is...a cut. I'm sure my friend didn't mean to hurt my feelings, just hearing what an ass I've made out of myself is uncomfortable. You live, you learn, right?
I still feel drugged. Tired and forgetful. I can't tell if I feel this way because of my cankle - which I will be posting more in detail over at RT), or if it is because of the medication. I have an appointment coming up, though.
Jane Says: Doctor, doctor. Can't you tell I'm burnin' burnin' ?
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on Monday, October 09, 2006 at 3:51 PM.
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