Today was the epitome of Mondays. I had to switch my car around twice for other family members to leave. I forgot to grab a snack to eat at work. I started the work day mixing up my filing cabinets. And the building I am temping in has officially turned off the heat, so it is ten degrees colder in the file room where I am working than it is outside. The high for today was 57 degrees. Everyone else in the building has a space heater. There’s nowhere to even plug one in the file room.
Not to mention the horrible tragedy that occurred at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. My thoughts go out to anyone still waiting to hear from any friends or family, as well as the families of the two confirmed dead. It is saddening to know that we live in a world where this is something that happens.
It was a rough day for my mother, as well. She was working a trade show for her company and the designs for accommodating wiring at the convention center resulted in her tripping three times. She came home with a very badly skinned knee the hurt to move.
It was decidedly the kind of day the call for a drink with dinner.
After my father and I picked up take out for the family, we came home as my mother, sister, and my sister’s boyfriend were finishing off their first round of margaritas. I pouted, and was treated to my own with dinner. While nomming away on my take out, my sister put down a strawberry margarita next to me, with about four more gulps worth left in the shaker in front of me. I started off with one smallish sip.
HOLY SHIT BALLS
The only indication that what my sister put in front of me was strawberry flavored was the fact that it was pink. It was one of the strongest drinks I have ever had. Admittedly, I haven’t had a whole lot of drinks in my time, given that I spent most of my college years playing the goodie two shoes. Every sip had to be followed by food or a different beverage to get the think taste of alcohol out of my mouth.
When I was about halfway through the drink, my sister asked me what it tasted like. I decided to be honest. “Tequila. Tequila and shame.” This resulted in a tear-inducing giggle fit from both of us. The tequila part is kind of obvious. Then there’s the shame. The shame is born of the fact that I never drank anything remotely strong while in college, even when I was surrounded by other people who were. And it’s a damn Monday! I have to go to work in the morning! What responsible adult does that.
After my sister had grabbed what remained of the shaker and poured it into her own glass, I really should have stopped. Instead, I stood up (which I was amazed I could even do), walked around the table and took three sips out of her glass. More giggles and silliness ensued. I wasn’t entirely sure I could feel my brain. My sister perpetually tried to get me to drink something she called “Sweet Revenge”, but this is where the adult in me prevailed. I said no.
The margarita also has one more taste: sadness. Sadness because over time, sobriety has crept in. After such a shitty day, and the promise of another mundane week ahead, that really blows. But I have to be an adult, whether I like it or not. And I have to get up and go to work tomorrow, no matter how badly I don’t want to.
I’m kind of amazed I have been able to type this, especially since an hour ago (when I started typing this), the word “because” looked weird. Not sure why. It just looked weird. And that is how I know sobriety is returning. Because can type with my usual rapidness. It’s also bedtime.
Good night, everybody. Keep Boston in your thoughts.