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So I’m coming up on half a century so naturally I’m taking stock of my life. I’ve done better than some but not as well as most. Unfortunately complacency has set in and to steal from one of the greats ‘I have become comfortably numb’ (sans pin prick of course) but nevertheless. 35 days into 45 days of sobriety and I’m starting to realize that the reason I’ve been drinking so much as of late is because of the sheer monotony that my life has become.

Ironically today I looked up the opening theme from American Beauty because it was the ring tone I selected for my new iPhone and guess what, it’s called Dead Already, how apropos.

I am doing virtually NOTHING to stimulate myself. And of course, living with fucking Eeyore doesn’t help either and now that I’m losing weight and not drinking it has just exacerbated the disparity between him and I. So as of today I’ve agreed not to talk to him and instead, find someone else to talk to. This is easier said than done, the older I get, the more I realize how much I prefer my own company to most.

I’ve decided I’ll vent here for now, sorry for those of you who are actually reading this if I seem a bit glum. Luckily you don’t have to read anymore than you feel like. One of the reasons I want to write about this here is to make an emphatic point about the person I am living with. I can state many things in here because, despite his knowing about my blog and my general (alleged) passion for writing he NEVER reads it. What kind of a person says ‘I love you’ and doesn’t support you in any of your endeavours except to pay you lip service? What the fuck is that all about?

Look, I’m sorry you’re so fucking depressed you can’t pull your finger out of your ass to help yourself, never mind me but why are depressed people always so fucking selfish as to heap their burden on the people they supposedly love and care about? It’s like dating a junkie all over again on an emotional level, (okay granted your jewellery isn’t being pawned and you don’t have to search the house for used needles …) but emotionally it is EXACTLY the same. So basically, I’ve just moved from one helpless person to another throughout my lifetime and it’s time I made different choices.

I think for my fiftieth birthday I will sacrifice this alleged “comfort” and give myself back my solitude. I’m starting today by not trying to communicate or ‘work things out’ with him anymore. This weekend I’m going to do a ton of stuff that I keep claiming I will do instead of sitting around the house for 4 hours waiting for him to wake up just so we can sit like to fucking potatoes on the couch staring at the t.v.

I really don’t understand why I’m fighting myself so hard to let go of this relationship, especially given the promise of things to come if I let go … but then again I do. It’s that stupid mothering instinct and because I haven’t had children I pick these pathetic misfits and think I can ‘fix’ them and then when I realize I can’t I feel guilty about letting them go because I think they’ll flounder (which is thinking pretty highly of myself really considering they survived how many ever decades before I came along). With this current person though it’s a little more to give up because he’s paying bills and rent and I have to have the unappealing task of YET AGAIN, being the bad guy and ending the relationship because, like almost every other person I’ve ever been with, he will never do it. I got dumped once and it was such a relief to not to have to be the bad guy and to just feel bad that I got dumped for a little bit and move on, it actually made me envious of the dumpees. No wonder they wimp out. (Oh just for clarity, with most of my adjectives just assume the word “fucking” is in front of it because that’s the way I feel in my head right now but I just didn’t feel like inundating the actual writing with it, or you know, feel free to use your own expletives if you like. Just make sure when you’re reading that you make it a lot more raunchier than it is here and then you might get down to the true grit state that my emotions are in right now. Also feel free to be creative with the caps lock, yelling aspect as well.)

It’s sad that this has turned into a silence driven by anger situation but there you have it. I’m vehement that I’m not going to talk to him for the next five days and then maybe he will see that he’s angry not because of me but in spite of me. Now I truly get why fat people (who are fat from being sedentary) are so fucking unhappy. Why don’t you get off your fat ass, do some exercise and raise your endorphins? Best drug in the world! Nope not Eeyore, he’d rather procrastinate, so he stays in a job that his doctor has told him in no uncertain terms will contribute to the demise of his health and his ulcer on his leg, continues unhealthy eating habits, sleeping patterns and procrastinates against doing anything to better himself or his situation and then turns around and says he’s angry because of me. Yeah sure buddy, tell yourself.

I, on the other hand, am particularly frustrated because of him and, if I extricate him from my life, I will essentially be happier. I have started exercising more, eating better and even writing a little bit again. And now I will take the next step. I will start getting up earlier in the morning, taking care of the dogs myself, going to bed earlier on the weekends so I can get up and enjoy the rest of the days during the summer. Hell, even if it’s raining this weekend, I can get up and sew … well repair for starters but … you get the point. The other wondrous thing that this situation will afford me is the seeming feeling of solitariness in an occupied house. One of Eeyore’s many good qualities (and yes, he has many or else why would I be with him …) is that he sleeps like the dead. I can have the bedroom door open, t.v. on, sewing machine going – he’s not bothered.

Personally, I have to sleep with silicone ear plugs wedged into my ears to exclude as much sound as possible in order to get a decent night’s sleep. So glad I discovered this in my early thirties so I didn’t have to go through a lifetime of insomnia, or dependency on prescription drugs. (Although I’m happy to say that non-prescription medications have been invaluable throughout my lifetime and if it weren’t for them, I don’t think I would have survived a myriad of situations and come out the other side. The constructive use of recreational drugs is highly underrated and honestly, instead of people trying to convince kids that drugs are bad altogether, since they’re everywhere, we should be teaching them about responsible consumption and how to use them and in conjunction with what and the risks involved with mixing, etc. but I digress.)

Right, so that’s my ramble.