Let’s talk about last night.
Psychobrat was planning to spend the night at a friend’s house and then go shopping today for Spidermonkey’s Christmas present (he’s been out of town). At 8, she came out of her room demanding that my mom take her to the bank so that she can cash her check. She had some money already, but her reasoning was that, even though she didn’t intend to spend her entire check on Spidermonkey, and even though she still intended to save some of it and not spend it all on herself, either, she has to have all of her money together, with her, so that she knows how much she has and how much she can spend. She can’t do it on a sheet of paper.
My mom didn’t want to go to the bank, so Psychobrat started screeching.
My dad heard the mating call of the yellow-bellied sapsucker and came out of his room to investigate. He immediately sided with Psychobrat, saying that even if my mom didn’t want to go to the bank, she could at least give Psychobrat all of her money. So he started fishing in his pockets and then told my mom to go to her purse and take out everything she had until, together, they had $140 for Psychobrat. Psychobrat went into her room, complaining that they had only given her $90 so far. She emerged a bit later, and Mom had decided she’d rather just go to the bank. Psychobrat gave all the money back and Mom went to the bank to cash her check.
The only time I bothered to make any comment at all through all of this was when I said, “It’s not good to carry that much money around with you at one time, anyway.” Dad immediately turned around and looked at me and said, “It’s HER money; she can do whatever she likes with it! GOD, Ginny! What do you think she’s going to do, lose it!?” So I just kept my mouth shut for the rest of that shit-show.
Milo walked in the door right after all of this. We were supposed to hang out and get a little tipsy. I went to tell him what was going on and asked if he wanted to go for a walk.
He said, “Uhh…no…I was kind of planning to go to Moe’s.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I said, “Oh…well, okay, then. Have fun.”
I went to my room and started getting a headache. I came out to grab some cold water and Tylenol to make myself feel better. That didn’t work out.
The first thing I saw when I walked out of my room was the dog peeing on the carpet. I immediately started yelling, “FALKOR! YOU STUPID DOG!”
My dad came out of their room and yelled, “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT HERE!?” So I yelled back, “HE JUST PEED ON THE CARPET!”
My dad laughed.
He looked at my mom, who had just come out of their room, also, and said, “You see now why I don’t want to get a new carpet?” He says this all the time, as though we don’t know. And then he started yelling about the carpet like it’s news, and he said to me, “And you don’t understand why I get this way…” as though he pities me for being so stupid. (Hahaha, you stupid girl, you don’t know what angry is.)
So I yelled back, “WHY THE HELL DO YOU THINK I ALWAYS WANT TO GET RID OF THE STUPID DOG!?”
He laughed, and then he paused. The question had actually stumped him–only for a second, but he was at a loss for words. That never happens. I took that second before he immediately started yelling something again at my mom to go into my room, grab my coat, and walk out the front door.
I walked around the neighborhood for an hour and 15 minutes before my mom found me in the car. But I insisted that I did not wish to go back to the house yet, so she finally went back home. My goal was to stay out until after midnight, to make some sort of point, although I don’t know what it was. It was 10:00 when I set out, which meant I’d have to walk around with a headache for two hours. I was so freaking tired. And when I only had five minutes left, I thought, ‘Wow, I can’t believe I made it!’
That instant, I felt like I was going to throw up.
I didn’t want to throw up on the street, so I decided to head home immediately. And after all that…all the times I told myself I could just keep going, just another 45 minutes…just one more half-hour…I walked in the door at exactly 11:59. What a fucking waste.
I didn’t throw up, but as I thought I’d be sick if I moved, I just went to bed. And that was my New Year’s.
The worst part of all was that I had so wanted to get drunk…and I slept through the champagne. I didn’t even have a glass of wine earlier because I was waiting on the damned champagne.