Know Your Place
Sanity never lasts long. At least not in my world.
I told you about my coherent Monday. How things were starting to resemble a normal lifestyle and how, for a few glorious hours, I looked like the kind of person you could ask for financial advice. I really felt good about myself. I remember sitting there, chatting about current political affairs, probably nodding thoughtfully at appropriate moments, when I felt a message coming in.
I excused myself politely to check it. And there it was. Unknown to everyone, tonight had suddenly become a F*ck Monday night.
You know F*ck Monday. The event where we collectively decide that Monday isn't the calm, restorative day I just spent an entire blog post pretending it was, but merely an extension of a filthy weekend that apparently hadn't finished with us yet. I stared at the message and instantly felt like I'd been betraying everyone. Worse, I'd been lying to myself.
There is no well-behaved Doreen.
There is no respectable version of me who stands around at parties discussing the things we have in common, laughing politely at anecdotes about what little Jimmy said in third grade and asking how someone's renovation is coming along.
Who the fuck was I kidding?
Apart from the practical information about where and when, that message basically said:
Doreen, stop faking it and get back to where you belong. Take a line, a couple of pills, get a drink and put on something skimpy.
That was the message. I'm paraphrasing, obviously, but I know what I read. And what could I possibly do but comply? When someone reminds you who you really are, it seems almost disrespectful not to act accordingly. So, off to Mother Road I went, where Cole had set up a small but perfectly adequate operation near a motel pool. It was exactly the type of place where my brief experiment with responsible adulthood could come to a dignified end.
I hit the floor running. I'd already taken care of some of the preparations on the way over, and from there things accelerated rather quickly. Smoothies were forgotten. Good decisions were cancelled. My clothes had considerably less fabric than they'd had earlier that day. Monday had been restored to its proper state.
So please, leave me be. See me for who I am and don't judge.
I tried sanity.
It lasted until I checked my messages.
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This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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