Rain, Boxes, and a Conversation with the Moon

Posted on April 21, 2010


I didn’t sleep last night. Mr. Man has apnea, and some nights it’s okay, some nights it’s medium, and some nights it’s really bad. Last night was really bad. Most nights I feel bad for him because he can’t get any sleep. He is constantly jump starting his heart with a deep “Uuuuunhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” breath he had been holding, air finally rushing into his lungs, never reaching that deep necessary place of rest. But last night, selfish as it may be, I was just frustrated with him, with the lack of sleep for both of us, frustrated because I care about him and want him to sleep well so he can live well. So we can live well. But last night, with no sleep in me, and this morning, I was a grumpy girl ready to throw shit.

Me: I’m not snuggling you until you sign up for a sleep study.

Mr. Man: Uhh… mmmm…. Babe?

Me: I’m serious. No. Snuggles. Period. I’m not doing this no sleeping thing. You can do it. I’m not doing it. I like sleeping. I sleep. I like you. I like sleeping next to you. Sleep study. No. Snuggles.

So it was off to Jills. And the rain began. Rain rain rain on my white pants. Dirty puddles covering my pants. Wrong day to wear Jesus shoes, and white pants. Most days are the wrong day to wear white pants, for me anyway, I can’t seem to stay clean. Perhaps years of abusing myself and finally cleaning up my insides means my outsides will occasionally be dirty. I’m fine with the dirt. Actually I love playing in the mud. And jumping in puddles. I jumped in a few today. I was pissed about that too.

Standing at the bus stop after Jills, a guy saw my filthy pants. Filthy.

Guy: Man. That sucks. Those are gonna need a treatment.

Me: Everything in my life is going through treatment. Why not the pantalones too.

Guy: Oh. Hey. I didn’t realize that was you. That’s cool. So you’re still, like, sober? That’s sweet. How was that whole “Sober House thing?”

We hopped on the bus and talked the entire ride from West LA to West Hollywood, he had just left the UCLA clinic where they hand out Suboxone, asked me how Mike Starr was doing, about Shifty and the gang, said he’s doing his best to stay sober, but can’t get into the meetings. Feels too Rah Rah and preachy sometimes. Also asked me about the Pink Cross. Blep.

Guy: Yeah, that chick seems a little nuts too. Guess nobody is really normal anymore huh?

He said he’d check out a few meetings, I told him where I usually go, mentioned what had helped me, but said “To each their own…” also that kicking Subs is hard, so good luck and don’t be afraid to reach out for help. It’s better than drowning in a puddle of prescription meds. Reaching out for help. Key word reaching. So. Hard.

Came home, through shitty puddleville Hollywood and started packing more boxes. Found half a pack of smokes in all my paint supplies. Nearly cried as I ran them under the water. I’m still kicking myself for ruining them and not smoking one. Such a fucking addict with my lozenge and regret for not relapsing. So lame. So. Hard.

Then “Into The Wild” with Deezy, dinner with Angel-where she ran into a girlfriend, we all chatted- I ate giant meatballs on focaccia and we walked home, avoiding giant watery holes smelling slightly of piss. Then it hit me. I can smell the piss. I’ve been in a bitchy mood all day, day 15 no smokey treats, and I can smell the piss on the wet pavement. Don’t know if that means something but I feel like it does. I suppose it doesn’t matter. Sometimes I don’t need to intellectualize why something is important. So I said goodbye to Angel and went for a walk. A nice Saucy must poo walk around the hills. With the ghetto birds flying in the air, pimps jumping out of their “whore’s” cars and screaming at other drivers to let her pass, kids not paying attention and nearly hitting Sauce and me in the crosswalk. We walked all the way up the hill. It was time to start talking.

Me (To the moon, myself, and Saucy if she happens to understand more than “No, Slowdown, Dinner and Dogpark”): So I’ve been moving pretty fast today and maybe it’s time to chill out. It’s almost 11 and the day is done. You’ve been pissy all day so lets try to let that go? Did it really get you anything? When you woke up and decided to be pissed off because your boyfriend has apnea and it interfered with your sleep? Because you weren’t pissed at him. What is this about?

Okay Jennie. It’s fear. You’ve been motivated by fear all day. His “I’m going to stop breathing for ten second increments” thing reminds you of death. You don’t want him to die. His Uncle V said he could have a stroke. You would still date him and love him if he had a stroke but at 24 a stroke is not cool. So you’re afraid he’s gonna die or have a stroke, and because you didn’t get any sleep you turned that into being pissed about pee filled puddles, dirty white pants and threats of becoming a non-snuggler. Lets do this differently tomorrow.

Tomorrow I am writing a few necessary emails. I am starting the proposal over again (I’ve been researching other memoirs, just finished Smashed and am now onto A Year By the Sea). I am going to a Bikram Yoga class with Angel and taking Sauce through the canyon. I’m having dinner with Mr. Man and some new friends. I’m going to snuggle him, because he promised to make a doctor appt by the time we meet up. Tomorrow is going to be a good day. Today was a good day. I was lazy and refused to find the sunshine through the raindrops.

Lets try this again….

Posted in: Good Days