I Earn My Rum
25/6/11 19:52![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
darkemeraldsI went out for a mojito with a coworker friend of mine last night. We sat outdoors at the Brasserie Montmartre and watched Friday evening people going by in their fancy clothes. The mojitos were perfect, and the Bra' serves these teeny little pommes frites done in duck fat that are from heaven. It should have been a stellar wind-down to the week.
I knew that my friend's stepfather recently died, and I was prepared to do some listening. It started out well enough: he reprised his funeral speech and described the wake. Before long he was speaking of the final illness, the last days, the moment of death itself.
The more he talked, the more bludgeoned I felt. The details were awfully similar to those of my own father's death a dozen years ago, and I began to feel a bit deer-in-the-headlights. I tried to steer the conversation to something less triggering--to his mother's new circumstances, the will, his stepfather's accomplishments in life, anything. I hinted at my distress by saying that I knew all about the details, and how hard an experience it is.
It was no use. He needed to talk, and he was oblivious to my discomfort.
The thing is, we're not that close. We go to the art museum together a couple times a year, and put a martini-centric 6:00 "business meeting" on Outlook once every few months. We talk about work, travel, gardening, and home repair. We're not grief-close. He's a bit of a narcissist, and actually knows very little about me. (I also tend to end up footing the bill quite a bit.)
When I've been triggered like that all my thoughts become dark. It's not a good state for bike-riding, because images of horrible bike-car death intrude. The joy goes out of even a lovely ride home on a bright June evening. I got home without incident, but not without resentment. And I felt guilty about feeling resentful...and round and round it went.
A good night's sleep helped, but I've been full of food cravings all day. I think (well, I know) that the triggered feeling is biochemical, and that the follow-on state--the standing-down, as it were--is like a kind of hangover. That condition makes for sugar cravings, and sugar cravings are very, very hard to resist.
Let the record show that I did not, in fact, resist them very well at all today.
On the plus side, a much newer (and better) friend cheered me up this morning by making me laugh and giving me the audiobook version of Ben Aronovitch's Rivers of London. The book is stellar and the laughter is probably what saved me from eating my weight in carbs. So thank you, newer friend. Healing comes in many forms.
I knew that my friend's stepfather recently died, and I was prepared to do some listening. It started out well enough: he reprised his funeral speech and described the wake. Before long he was speaking of the final illness, the last days, the moment of death itself.
The more he talked, the more bludgeoned I felt. The details were awfully similar to those of my own father's death a dozen years ago, and I began to feel a bit deer-in-the-headlights. I tried to steer the conversation to something less triggering--to his mother's new circumstances, the will, his stepfather's accomplishments in life, anything. I hinted at my distress by saying that I knew all about the details, and how hard an experience it is.
It was no use. He needed to talk, and he was oblivious to my discomfort.
The thing is, we're not that close. We go to the art museum together a couple times a year, and put a martini-centric 6:00 "business meeting" on Outlook once every few months. We talk about work, travel, gardening, and home repair. We're not grief-close. He's a bit of a narcissist, and actually knows very little about me. (I also tend to end up footing the bill quite a bit.)
When I've been triggered like that all my thoughts become dark. It's not a good state for bike-riding, because images of horrible bike-car death intrude. The joy goes out of even a lovely ride home on a bright June evening. I got home without incident, but not without resentment. And I felt guilty about feeling resentful...and round and round it went.
A good night's sleep helped, but I've been full of food cravings all day. I think (well, I know) that the triggered feeling is biochemical, and that the follow-on state--the standing-down, as it were--is like a kind of hangover. That condition makes for sugar cravings, and sugar cravings are very, very hard to resist.
Let the record show that I did not, in fact, resist them very well at all today.
On the plus side, a much newer (and better) friend cheered me up this morning by making me laugh and giving me the audiobook version of Ben Aronovitch's Rivers of London. The book is stellar and the laughter is probably what saved me from eating my weight in carbs. So thank you, newer friend. Healing comes in many forms.
(no subject)
26/6/11 13:24 (UTC)(no subject)
26/6/11 16:03 (UTC)Even with as many years of experience as I've got, my desire for pleasant company on a sunny summer evening sometimes makes me forget what I already know about the company.
(no subject)
26/6/11 15:28 (UTC)(no subject)
26/6/11 16:06 (UTC)In pools.
Dear God, I love the internet. Thank you for that.
(no subject)
3/7/11 08:11 (UTC)But oh, the memories you just brought up for me! I miss Portland. I wish I didn't have this anxiety about driving downtown and this chronic pain that keeps me so close to home right now or I'd hop on the bus! Hee.
Back in my younger years my friend S. and I spent many an hour at the Brasserie and usually were able to get by as older and we'd have wine with our meals or gin and tonics. Hee. At seventeen and eighteen. How sophisticated we felt! I never had many choices for food, being a vegetarian, but they were always so friendly and nice and willing to rearrange a salad or check to see if a soup had chicken stock or whatever and S. loved their seafood bisque. And I could always just get a fruit and cheese plate, you know? Man. Seriously. Memories. There was another place we loved too. The Patisserie? Mmmmm. And a place in the industrial area, that started with an M, it had all these crazy pastas... Montage. And there was this place in NW called The Brazen Bean where they had this Trio appetizer with roasted garlic, an artichoke spread and then a layered pesto, roasted pepper and soft white cheese thing, OMG. You'd put it all on fresh bread and then just MOAN. They had the best pear brandy and all kinds of fab desserts. Okay, heh. I'm going to shut up now. We did more than eat, but yeah. Portland. :-)
Also, hi! *hugs*
(no subject)
3/7/11 18:18 (UTC)La Patisserie--wasn't that down on...um, near Saturday Market and Skidmore Fountain in one of those gorgeous old stone-fronted buildings? I remember that place! Montage, of course, is still there and still serving macaroni and cheese and alligator meat.
I'm sorry you're sequestered away from city life--you seemed to really favor it, and I hope you can return to it soon. You've had a hard road for a long time and the universe should start pouring some of its spare goodness into your life right this minute!
(no subject)
15/7/11 18:55 (UTC)You've had a hard road for a long time and the universe should start pouring some of its spare goodness into your life right this minute!
Yeah, universe! I'm waiting!