Bull's Blood
Tonight I stopped by the local liquor store to pick up some cheap red wine because I wanted to drink something, and I'm trying to cut back on the beer. I noticed that they had in stock a number of bottles of Bull's Blood, a Hungarian wine from Egar. It's decent, though not complicated, and it's cheap — $5.49 a bottle, so I bought two. As I opened it, I discovered that the cork was dry, and it crumbled as I removed it. The wine turned out to be musty and corky. This happens to a lot of wines, as I understand, so I don't blame the wine, but it's still a bit of a disappointment. So far 2005 has started out this way.
The year opened seemingly well — I decided to set certain goals for myself, and I'm sticking to them, but there are some impurities that I need to contend with.
First, there's the troubling situation of my mother's depression, which has robbed her of her job and has filled her with concerns that she can't work her way through on her own. With the help of a friend I've provided her with some recommendations for counseling; she's already begun medication. As someone who generally keeps her less than happy feelings to herself, she doesn't want counseling, but my sister, my father, and I have convinced her to give it a shot. I'm praying for her release from this condition so that she can become herself again and get on with life.
Second, there's the death of my business partner's father, which has shaken him and his family up, and has inevetably caused some problems with work. This provided me with the opportunity to see my ex-girlfriend, his sister, for the first time since before we broke up roughly two years ago. Though this went smoothly, it's difficult to see her after so long, and it brings back feelings and nonspecific memories of our time together. She said while we were together that she could never be my friend if we broke up, so I have little hope to be her friend, but I'd like to be in touch with her and know whether or not she's doing well. I'll try.
Then there are my personal demons who sit on me and tell me lies, like the kid down the street used to when I was young. There's nothing quite like being unable to trust my own feelings, to have to puzzle every moment and every response out, and try to catch glimpses of truth. Feelings of being broken and empty, like a beer bottle tossed on the roadside, mingle with fear of hope and with unreasonable hopes and desires. I want nothing more than to drink and forget about it all for a while, to feel silly happiness bubble up within me, to indulge in those false hopes, and to sleep. At night I dream of debris-laden water that carries me wherever it wants, which is nowhere in particular. Right now, all of my feeling seems to have leeched out of me so I cannot continue writing.
There will be better days, when I am not so focused on myself, and I am doing good things.
The year opened seemingly well — I decided to set certain goals for myself, and I'm sticking to them, but there are some impurities that I need to contend with.
First, there's the troubling situation of my mother's depression, which has robbed her of her job and has filled her with concerns that she can't work her way through on her own. With the help of a friend I've provided her with some recommendations for counseling; she's already begun medication. As someone who generally keeps her less than happy feelings to herself, she doesn't want counseling, but my sister, my father, and I have convinced her to give it a shot. I'm praying for her release from this condition so that she can become herself again and get on with life.
Second, there's the death of my business partner's father, which has shaken him and his family up, and has inevetably caused some problems with work. This provided me with the opportunity to see my ex-girlfriend, his sister, for the first time since before we broke up roughly two years ago. Though this went smoothly, it's difficult to see her after so long, and it brings back feelings and nonspecific memories of our time together. She said while we were together that she could never be my friend if we broke up, so I have little hope to be her friend, but I'd like to be in touch with her and know whether or not she's doing well. I'll try.
Then there are my personal demons who sit on me and tell me lies, like the kid down the street used to when I was young. There's nothing quite like being unable to trust my own feelings, to have to puzzle every moment and every response out, and try to catch glimpses of truth. Feelings of being broken and empty, like a beer bottle tossed on the roadside, mingle with fear of hope and with unreasonable hopes and desires. I want nothing more than to drink and forget about it all for a while, to feel silly happiness bubble up within me, to indulge in those false hopes, and to sleep. At night I dream of debris-laden water that carries me wherever it wants, which is nowhere in particular. Right now, all of my feeling seems to have leeched out of me so I cannot continue writing.
There will be better days, when I am not so focused on myself, and I am doing good things.
posted by transfigure @ 10:22 PM
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