Nizzibet is sleeping on the couch. It’s sometime after midnight. I’m drinking gin. Not because I like it. It just happens to be the most tolerable of the alcohols available.
No. That’s not accurate. The white wine in the fridge would probably taste better. But given a choice of the “hard” alcohols the gin seemed like a better choice. And I’m out of tequila.
Drinking gin tells me one thing. I prefer tequila. Vodka, rum, vermouth, gin, wine – none of them sit on my brain as comfortably.
Speed would be fun. A little coke. Definitely some acid. Or shrooms. But I’ve lost those connections. I may know some sources but it’s rude to ask for a drug connection from people you only see every few months.
So I’m stuck with the legal stuff. Caffeine. Alcohol. Prescription drugs. My prescription, Zoloft, might be fun in large doses but I don’t feel like experimenting with it that way. I was taking it to manage my depression/anger while caretaking Aged Mother. Now that she’s gone I’m continuing to take it, in slightly lower dosages, because a cold turkey quit is supposed to be … unadvised.
Most of the effects don’t sound too bad, sound even a little fun, but the “intense headaches” I can do without. Headaches are the one pain I’m not good at managing. I’m a wimp with headaches. I know people who function with migraines. Hard for me to conceive of.
Anyway … A.M. came home last weekend. A simple black plastic box containing ashes. We had her cremated with her teddy bears (the one Nizz gave her for Christmas and the one Esteemed Brother gave her when he visited in June) and The Quilt. The Quilt was my baby quilt. My grandmother made it for me when I was a baby – patchwork, crazy style. A.M. put a new lining on it when the original got too ragged.
While she was here we used it as a lap blanket to keep her warm when she sat at the table.
It was too short for regular use. I loved it too much to throw it away. Now it’s gone with Mom.
There’s so much work to do. So many people still to contact. Big Sister has looked up possible places to scatter A.M.’s ashes. Big Sister can always be counted on in times of crisis. She and Mom didn’t get along in life. Yet Big Sister credits her for all her skills at saving and managing herself responsibly. Something that A.M. never seemed to be able to hear.
Big Sister tells me that Dad’s ashes still await scattering. Heh. He’s been four years gone now.
Me, I want to outlive everyone I know, wander off into a wilderness (or into the no-man’s-land around a freeway interchange if all the forests are gone) and drink myself to death. While tripping on something. SOMETHING.
Please.
