Everything fell apart in me.
How are things with you?
– Jack Kerouac
8 days sober
I have done a week without booze and I don’t know how I feel about it. I kinda don’t want to talk about it or write about it or think about it too much, lest I tempt fate. I am taking my dad to the pub tomorrow night to watch the football, and I know it’s going to be really difficult not to drink. I suspect that it’ll all be too much for me and I will ask someone to take my dad home so I can leave early. That Guy I was sleeping with and the woman who is pregnant with his child will probably be there. As mentioned in a previous post, it transpires that Pregnant Lady knows about “the affair” so we’ll have to see if there’s any confrontation at all. Meh. I doubt it. Although if she attacks me I obviously won’t fight back because she’s 6 months pregnant. So if anything does kick off, I’ll just have to stand there and take it like a woman. Fuck it.
I received some money from the gov!!!! Finally. Thank God. To celebrate I bought a carton of orange juice, a jam doughnut, a 7-day bus pass, and topped up my phone with calling credit for the first time since November. I had lots of voicemails to listen to, mainly from LC and C checking to make sure I haven’t killed myself. They’re so sweet.
I also ordered a secondhand copy of The Handmaid’s Tale from Amazon, because I feel utterly ashamed to say that I haven’t read it *hides face in hands* Then I started thinking about all of the other great books that I should’ve read by now (being a graduate of English Literature and all) and all these titles suddenly came flooding into my brain. I realised that most of these books that I pretend I have read are indeed the great classics of Brit Lit, and so are available as a free download on my Amazon Kindle (best thing the ex-boyfriend ever gifted me). Then my casual browsing turned into a manic downloading spree and I got lots of new books on my Kindle without paying a penny.
Other than Tess and Jude, I have read nothing else by Thomas Hardy: a crime, I know. To be honest I think that my dad introduced me to Thomas Hardy a little too early (I was only a little girl when I first read Tess and didn’t understand it all that much, a memory which later presented itself as dislike). So, I downloaded Far from the Madding Crowd and The Mayor of Casterbridge, hoping that my apparent disdain for Hardy will dissipate.
Another shocking confession… I’ve never read Jane Eyre. (I’ll give you a moment to let that sink in). This classic novel wasn’t one of my dad’s favourites, we didn’t have a copy at home when I was growing up, we were never taught it at school and it wasn’t in the school library, and I deliberately avoided taking the Bronte course at university. So I guess I’ve just never had access to it or sought it out. But, I’ve downloaded it now and I do look forward to reading it.
I have also never read Voltaire’s Candide so I bought the English translation and original French edition for a grand total of zero pence. I think I’ll read it in English first, then French, although this plan is subject to change. Then I got distracted and read some Rimbaud and Verlaine, and then Amazon’s recommendations took me off on a tangent and I downloaded the following:
The Life of Buddha and Its Lessons by Henry Steel Olcott (1912)
An Introduction to Philosophy by George Stuart Fullerton (1906)
How to Live on 24 Hours a Day by Arnold Bennett (1910)
Responsibilities, and other poems by W. B. Yeats (1916)
The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci – Complete
Human, All Too Human – A Book for Free Spirits by Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche (1908)
I have so much learning to do to keep me busy/keep me out of the pub and away from alcohol. I love doing comparison studies so some of these texts from the turn of the 20th century will be duly compared to more contemporary texts.
And I also downloaded a handful of books containing stories which I can read to my niece. She loves it when I read to her and sometimes I’m too brain-dead to invent new stories (my niece is 4 and her bedtime is pretty much the same as mine!) so when we’re both tired it’s easier for me to read one of the classics from Andersen or the Grimm brothers. Or indeed a few limericks from Edward Lear’s The Book of Nonsense.
On an unrelated note, I had the most vivid dream last night and I can’t seem to forget about it. In the dream, something happened which was overtly sexual. And it was beautiful, not seedy at all, in fact it seemed like something of a perfect moment. If someone features in a dream of mine and it’s particularly significant, I will tell them about it in real life. This sexual nirvana that occurred in last night’s dream was with someone who I’ve spoken to about dreams many, many times before. But when I think of the way to describe this dream to him, words fail me. However I try to put it, it sounds obscene, inappropriate, sleazy, offensive. What happened in this dream cannot be put into “nice” terms (or as Sartre would say, “flowery language”), which is so strange because myself (or, my character?) in the dream felt complete bliss in that moment, the moment which seems so distasteful when translated into layman’s terms.
To be honest I don’t think he’d want to hear about my dream anyway. He has probably decided it’s easier not to be my friend. I have too many problems that he doesn’t seem to want to help me with. It’s always been easy for him to walk away, he’s done it many times before. But I don’t think he’s coming back this time. Ah well. C’est la fucking vie.
I think I’ve had enough of this day; time for quetiapine dreams. Bonne soirée mes beaux petits pétales. xx