Monday april 9,
Start of another dreary week. Nancy didn’t call when she said
she would on Saturday, so I wrote her a letter. She won’t like
that at all, but tough. Phone is disconnected, despite the fact
that I paid the bill last week. Gotto go all the way to Vienna
on Wednesday for an evaluation, more costs involved. I should have
the $300 loan in the bank, and I should get back the card that
was supposed to arrive on Saturday. I gotta meet someone new,
but first, I have to fix my vacuum cleaner and get this place
cleaned up. Jusst feel like crying all the time. What sort of a
man am I?
Money problems make everything difficult. Fixing the vacuum
cleaner, for example. Friday is my B/R hearing. I’ll take the
day off. I should pay off most of the card late this week. Pay
the lawyer $500 if he’ll take it. I gotta get my teeth cleaned,
so I can meet a woman. I look horrible. And no letters to Nancy.
Yesterday was a mistake. Total silence unless she calls or mails
me.
When will N screw up with D? what a dumb letter I wrote yesterday.
He’ll catch her in a lie. He’s already suspicious about her use
of the computer, questioning her ‘history’ and her desire for a
separate email account. Her problem is, she can’t give up all
contact with me. It’s bound to come out at some point. The more
silent I am, the worse it will get for her, til she fucks up.
They’ll fight about it. Hopefully, she’ll go awol, fucking someone
else. Her commitment to him isn’t very deep, as demonstrated by
her leaving her stuff with me. Patience is the key. If she thinks
about me a lot, that should be noticeable as well, unless he’s
totally dumb. Oh Hell, the letter isn’t that bad.
WEDNESDAY
A truly awful day. I spoke with EAP and tried to arrange a trip
to Psychiatric Institute of Washington for outpatient evaluation.
Bad news is that Calypso’s leg looks really bad.
Thursday, April 13, 2000
A new start, sober. Seeing an evaluator at 10 am. Going to my
noon meeting. Right now, tho, I’m still crying….for Calypso. One
little baby step at a time, Carl. First make it to this
appointment.
EVENING : I’m trying to make it; my attitude is positive. Saw
a shrink and went to the AA meeting. It really gave me some hope.
Then I talked to Dave after work. Such a wise man he is, a great
friend. I have to make it this time, sober. Nancy called at work,
then at home. I’m boxing her stuff up this weekend. Made an
appointment for Calypso next Tuesday with Dr. Breme. I’m doing
what I can, but mostly, I’m doing it sober, thank God. Time to
relax. I hope to have enough dough to take Calypso out this
weekend. We’ll see. I’ll get through this. I feel hope for the
first time in months. I’m exhausted, totally committed to Calypso,
not drinking. I’m finding a way to give up on Nancy. The key is
sobriety. DON’T DRINK, DON’T DRINK, DON’T DRINK. My head is so
much clearer when I’m sober. I’m gonna sleep like a baby tonight.
I’m finally taking care of things; I just hope it’s not too late.
Saturday, April 15, 2000
I’m packing up Nancy’s books and crying bitter tears of regret
and loss. Feel like taking a drink. Cleaning up the apartment.
I swear, by next weekend, this place will look as good as it
possibly can.
Lord, give me the serenity to accept what I cannot change
The courage to change what I can
And the wisdom to know the difference.
I am on the edge.
I am engulfed by wonderful, loving memories,
Of lazy days on the beach with the dog, watching her play
In the surf; of tying on the exotic fly of your choice at Burke Lake,
The dogs going nuts;
Of walks in the woods, looking closely at everything unusual, and
ending nowhere exactly,
Except with you and your red hair and your smile, and your hungry
kiss;
Nowhere to go, and all day to get there;
Of Christmas in a log cabin on the shore,
The colorless, huge moon reflected off the snow
through the window as we played
Blackjack with matchsticks at stake before making love
Before the woodstove, which I fed at 2 and 4 AM;
Of long, passionate nights, ending and continuing past the dawn
Recollections of long, intimate discussions
Of things neither of us had ever shared,
And of the thought that we would always be together, and never part.
Somehow I can barely recall the bad moments,
beyond bad, verging on the horrible.
Those are scars, not memories.
Is memory somehow linked to hope?
And trauma to oblivion?
She loves me no more.
After six years together, I am alone with my memories,
Which how beautiful the mental pictures seem
Tokens of devastation, loneliness, pain and loss.
Memories are of the past, and their pastness is sadness, lacking
hope,
The oblivion of trauma, a forgetfulness that I cannot help but
recall.
With horror….
She loves me no more.
She wants me to send her her stuff. The end. That was my one
hope, that she was leaving her stuff here for a reason. It’s
gone. She’s gone. Accept it. DON’T FUCKING DRINK!
She doesn’t want any letters from me, doesn’t write me. It’s
been six fucking months, for christ’s sake. Give it up, Carl.
It’s over. Will I have to give up Calypso? I don’t think I could
take that, really. SO I WON’T, EVER!
Tomorrow Calypso and I are going to Jones Point with Bill
Burhop…….For the entire afternoon. Should be lots of fun, just
what Calypso needs.
Main Wombat Journal Page
as of December 11, 2003 (on this site)
Moved from Soul's Self Help Central on December 11, 2003
