Better, but not so much

It has been a long time since I've posted! I've been keeping tabs on myself, keeping tabs on my issues, and I have to say I am doing MUCH better. I've started at the gym again, work is fantastic, life is great....except of course for the Boy. He's out of work, for the third time in less than a year, he's trying to find work, but not trying hard enough. I am so sick of bearing the financial burden of this family, so sick of all of my success going down the toilet because I have to care for him. When we moved a year ago, I told him we HAD to split things 50/50, or else. Here we are a year later, and I'm bearing more of the burden than I ever have. I don't think this is the way things are supposed to be. I think a lot of my problems and issues stem from frustration, er, buried frustration over this ongoing problem. I know I should have laid down the law way back in the day when we first moved in together, I shouldn't have been so lenient, so accommodating--but I was, because I was young, naive, and in love. And now it's snowballed into a huge problem that we can't really discuss, because I've tried--he says he'll work on it, and never does.

The Monkey on my Back

I'm writing this here mainly because I don't want anyone I really know to see, and also because I'm too scared to admit it for real.

I have a serious problem with alcohol.

Not the needing-to-drink-a-pint-of-vodka-first-thing-in-the morning-to-get-through kind of a problem, but a I-can't-control-the-amount-of-booze-I-consume-and-I-can't-stop-behaving-badly kind of a problem.

I drink every day. Not a great deal, at least by my standards, but more than most. It's usually four or five beers a weeknight, several more, plus cocktails, on the weekend. When Liam and I are out together, just us, it's usually OK -- we will have fun, then go home and go to bed. When other people are introduced, or I'm out alone, that's where the problems begin.

Sometimes I feel like a sexual predator. Other times, I feel like prey.

I met up with some old friends of mine for a couple cocktails earlier this week. It ended up with me in a VERY compromising situation with someone I NEVER EVER should have ended up in a compromising situation with. Not to mention the fact that I have a FIANCE.

A few days later, Liam and I went to a party, at which I ended up in ANOTHER compromising situation.

I feel disgusting, like a whore, and worst of all I feel like if I keep doing these sorts of things that I am going to lose Liam and my whole world is going to fall apart.

And it's ALL BECAUSE OF ALCOHOL. Sober, I am a responsible, respectful, nice, caring, kind, hardworking person. I feel lonely sometimes, sure, but don't we all? I have relationship issues, but nothing earth-shattering. I don't know why I drink so much. I don't know why I can't control myself. All I know is that I want to stop and I don't know where to turn to for help. My father was a borderline alcoholic, or maybe he was a full-on one, I don't know. All I know is that in his mid-40s he gave it up, cold turkey, for fear of hurting our family. I have always loved my father, truly and deeply -- and while I remember the hard times during his drinking days, I never viewed him in a negative way, not one day, not once ever. I have heard that alcoholism is genetic....but I still wonder if bingeing every now and then makes me one, or just makes me a person with a drinking problem. Or maybe I'm just overreacting and romanticizing. I don't know. All I know is that I don't like the me I am when I am drinking. She is reckless and stupid, makes bad decisions and breaks hearts. I want her to go away.

more menstrual woes

And I forgot to mention the self image issues. I feel so horribly ugly during that time. It doesn't help that I just got back from a 15o mile bike ride that I felt fantastic about -- but then I saw the pictures and all I saw of me was an ugly mess with misaligned teeth and a beer gut. My boyfriend, bless his soul, insists I'm OK...but he didn't help by telling me how attractive he finds lesbians. WTF???????

I'm hoping this will soon pass.

Let me just tell you something. I HATE HAVING MY FREAKING PERIOD. I know this is neither an original nor unique thought, but holy good god damn!!! I have been in a horrifyingly bad funk for the past 2 weeks...culminating with extreme anger over the weekend, and last night, I got to have...dun dun dun...INSOMNIA!!! Oh the joys and the fun! Oh the excitement and the F&#CKing aaaaaaaaaaaaaagony! Last night I went to bed at normal time -- around 10, 10:30. Woke up at midnight to find Liam STILL on the computer (my laptop) with the living room lights burning brightly and if I'm not mistaken, the TV still on. So now I'm awake. He comes to bed AFTER taking a shower. It was HOT and MUGGY as hell last night, my sheets REALLY need to be changed and I do not have air conditioning. Good ol hot and sweaty and freshly hot-showered Liam comes to bed, and ups the temperature by about a thousand degrees. After about 10 minutes I leapt up, yelling "F&CK THIS" and went to the couch, IN TEARS (thanks, menstruation!!! Love ya for that one!). Liam comes out and asks me what's wrong.

Now, dear Constances, at this moment I could have let loose all of the problems my pre-menstrual mind was stirring up --- his share of the bills, his lack of desire to keep the house clean, his constant nitpicking, etc etc etc. BUT I knew that if I did, i would never ever get back to sleep, and we'd end up in a nasty fight.

I did eventually go back to bed, and it was cooler in the bedroom, but Liam had the entire blanket wrapped around his sweaty self, and when I pulled off a corner, it was damp.

Sooooooooooooooooooooooooo needless to say, I'm gonna be a bit GRUMPY today.... lack of sleep is crap. I hate hot muggy nights, really I do.

Oh, little pink apartment, how do I love thee? I so wish I could spill ALL of the secrets I have here, but, alas, I fear the guts I have to spill are a tad too revealing. I would pass judgment on me reading what I have to say.

So I won't say it. Sorry, ladies. Maybe in time.

Things have been going very well with Liam lately...he's been happy and kind--save for one argument which resulted in this Constance yelling "DO YOUR OWN F&@*KING LAUNDRY". I was in a terrifically terrible mood that night, but bad as it was, I'm proud of myself. Ya see, as nice and kind and caring as Liam is, he also is a tad controlling and also hypercritical. Normally when we argue I'll admit defeat (even though I know I'm right) to quell the situation. This time, I didn't. It confused the heck out of him, and he was sweet as pie (almost to the border of sucking up) for the next few days afterwards. Mission accomplished! Meanwhile, his un-folded laundry is STILL sitting in a basket--I am taking a stand and refusing to do it for him, to see how long he will go until putting it away. My bet is...well...never.

I spent a glorious 5-day vacation about 1000 miles away from home. Left Liam at home and had fun fun fun while I was away visiting my BFFs. I felt amazing when I got back...after the vacation hangover wore off.

Then, Liam and I spent about a day in the woods, visiting family and having a good old time. I think both of us needed it.

I'm still irritated about clean-house issues...it seems like all I ever do is run around the house picking stuff up, dusting, doing dishes, vacuuming--and if I slack off for one day, it looks like a category-5 hurricane swept through the place.

Well, that was enlightening, huh? I should have some more, um, juicy stuff for y'all later.

It seems like all i do here is bitch and moan...but that's what little pink apartments are for, right?
My man is really great--nice, fun, silly, loving, but GOOD GOD DAMN he is a pain in my ass sometimes, especially when it comes to money. So we both pay the rent together, right, but it comes out of my bank account. He informs me last week that he wouldn't be able to put in his portion until Tuesday (2 days after rent is due). I say OK, because the check never clears until the 4th.

Guess what happened.

The rent check miraculously clears my account on Monday. He puts the money in on Tuesday. I get slapped with a $40 overdraft fee. I ask him to pay it and he says "are you blaming me for your overdraft?"

Seriously, people...am I missing something here? If it was me who caused his account to be overdrawn, I would be wracked with guilt and offer to pay him the overdraft fee and then some.

My solution: We open a joint account, to be used only for shared expenses. If it is overdrawn, it is our problem, not my problem.

Constances -- is it just me or are all men absolute idiots when it comes to money? Like, they are broke when you are out of toilet paper/toothpaste/soap/etc but when they see a new toy they like somehow they always find the money to buy it?

I am totally PMSing this week..any time I PMS my money worries/anger with my man about said money issues are increased tenfold, it annoys the crap out of me but he really needs to stop.

Dude, you are in for it

So, when you told me your friend had an extra ticket for Monday's Red Sox game and he wanted you to go, I said OK. I was very happy that you were concerned that I wasn't getting to go, and even happier when you said you almost didn't accept because you'd rather go with me.

Go, have fun! Seriously. I am not going to keep you from having a good time, simply because I can't go along too.

Have some beers at the game, heck, have some after, too -- totally fine with me. Public transport in this city is great.

BUT. WHEN you call me after midnight and WAKE ME UP to come and get you (three miles away) because you've missed the last bus-- DO NOT tell me in the car that I have "no right" to be upset. DO NOT get mad when I refuse to give you the driver's seat (as if--you've been drinking!!!) and under no circumstances DO NOT make me feel bad for being upset that I've been woken up from sleep to have to get dressed and come pick you up.

Seriously.

Oh, the Agony!!!

So after commuting via bus and train for the last 6 or so months, I scored a job within driving distance. When Liam and I moved to the city, we got rid of one of the cars (actually, we traded in his truck and MY car to get one car, because he was upside down on the truck payments and wanted to get rid of it...) The car we have now is MINE. Well, we share it, but I pay the majority of the monthly car payment and I pay for insurance. Up until recently, I rarely ever drove it.

He's been commuting on bus/train, and is doing so for free for the rest of the month thanks to my T-pass that my former job paid for and he begged me to give to him.

So my first day at work ends, and I get a phone call from Liam, whining about the bus and the train and asking could-you-please-come-pick-me-up. Out of my way and into traffic. Now, I will say that when HE was at home, between jobs, sitting on his lazy ass, IN THE WINTER, he not once came to pick me up, even when I asked.

I compromised and met him about a mile from our apartment, ha ha.

So the second day at work comes and goes, and I get to drive straight home, but only because I have to put a chicken in the oven.

Then....Liam starts telling me about all the job's he's applied for....AWAY from public transportation.

Is he CRAZY? It's like, dude. We have ONE CAR. ONE. I am using it to get back and forth to work. You will have to find a full-time job NEAR PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION.  I know the only reason he is doing this is because he is insanely jealous that I get to drive it and he has to take the bus. Deal, buddy. Deal with it. Don't make this harder for me than it already is. You get a practically free ride from me already, so don't let's start adding on the frustrations, kthx.

So this Constance just beat out 100 applicants for a brand spanking new job. Much rejoicing throughout the land and lots of cocktails to be imbibed in the coming days.

I'll be doing something I love, and they want to pay me good money to do it.

Naturally, I'm ecstatic, but also scared out of my mind. Plus, it's hard on Liam. He's been struggling since we moved, trying to find the perfect job, going on interview after interview, working temp jobs and going weeks without work. He's happy for me, but I know that my success also fuels his depression and feelings of unworthiness. So while celebrating my new position, I also have to take time out to counsel him. It's hard sometimes, but I love him, so I work through it.

I've always been the breadwinner; however, I made a big stink before we moved about how we needed to be more in line sharing expenses. He's got a litany of excuses he's used since day one to get out of paying for heat, electricity, etc...and truth to be told, I AM SICK OF IT!!!! He got a big lecture from me the other day, complete with spreadsheet detailing current expenses and current payments from each, alongside a proposal detailing how we could split our household expenses 50-50. He agreed, and I made a point to say this plan will be implemented before the warm weather hits. Fast forward a week or so....he says to me, "Before I start contributing more to the family fund, I'd like to by X, Y, Z.." and got PISSED when I freaked about it.

I am a firm believer that Men Don't Change. It's the cornerstone of many a discussion I've had with my girlfriends. Liam and I have been together for a looooong time and I'm worried now that I should step back and plug in the Men Don't Change equation, and see how it applies to my current situation. Am I screwed? Destined to continue to bear the brunt of our financial responsibilities?

At least I get to do something I like for work.....

two years out

I wrote this just about a year ago, at the time it was one year from the procedure, now it's nearing two. Most days I can handle the decision, but some days, I can feel the weight of my decision. I recently read an article in Vanity Fair magazine about Joni Mitchell, Carly Simon and Carole King in which they discuss Joni Mitchell's song "Little Green". Before I read the article, I had no idea it was written about a little girl she'd given up for adoption. Listening to the song on my Ipod this morning, it was all I could do to hold back the tears--as I hadn't even given mine the chance to be born. And there are very few people in this world that even know I went through that.

So I give you my words from last year:

Sometimes the line between fantasy and reality blurs so much you aren't sure which side you're on, until reality smacks you so hard in the face it knocks a little bit of your consciousness streetside.

When the fantasy turns into a pismire of anguish, a corner you never thought you'd have to turn, a crossroads you never in your wildest dreams imagined yourself standing at, suddenly, urgently, it's time to act.

It all comes into focus: you, standing in the center, glowing like nuclear waste, and there they are on either side of you, calling, crying, pulling...and there you are, shimmering away, full of disgust for yourself and wondering how exactly you got there in the first place. Except you know exactly how you got into this predicament, and it disgusts you even more.

He told you he doesn't know how to cry, but there he is, sobbing away, creating some suicide plan, elaborately described--blood spattering clean new condo walls. He has the gun, he knows where to get it, he's going to use it, if you do that. If you do it, I will do it, he says. You are afraid to get in his car, check twice beneath the seat for a weapon.

You are going to do it. This is not how it's meant to be. You pick up the phone, driving home, you call the number, you make an appointment. Hang up the phone shaking your head, wondering in amazement how your insurance could possibly cover this kind of thing.

Meanwhile, the man at the other side of the crossroads seemingly rides up on a white horse, swoops you away and carries you home. This one, from whom you were trying to escape in the first place.

Standing on the cold concrete, wearing your sweatpants in the city, wearing no makeup, pushing past the throngs of protesters and naysayers, pulling down sunglasses and averting eyes.

Four hours later, it's over.... an overwhelming sense of relief rushes over you..maybe that's just the drugs-- but you swear they sucked some of your own soul out, too, while you were on that table.

Moving Day

Welcome to my kickass secret pink apartment. I am honored and a little nervous to be joining such a great group of women. Thanks, Constance the First, for having such a fabulous idea.

I'm here, moving in my swank furniture and setting up the place. The view from this secret city apartment is so nice, can't wait for the weather to be warmer--I'll head up to the roof deck and enjoy a cocktail or two (or seven) :)

I'm a 31 year old East Coast woman. I live with my 30-something man, we'll call him Liam here. We met in fall 1999 and moved in together a year later. We are not married and don't have any plans to do so in the near future. I think we are going to end up as one of those couples who are together forever but never get married (a la Kurt and Goldie). Things aren't always perfect--life is an adventure.

Stay tuned for more blissfully anonymous posts, and feel free to stop by Apt 125 any old time, even if all you need to do is borrow a cup of sugar.

Constance the Hundred Twenty Fifth