Sunday, May 10, 2015

And I've got a migraine

I woke up at 1 AM with a horrible migraine.  I managed to corner it with over the counter headache pills and very cold caffeinated sodas. 

It looked like the neighbors were having a party, until I saw the van from the Medical Examiner.  Apparently someone died down the street.  The boy who lives there once tore boards off my fence when he was playing with #2, encouraging him to rip a big hole in the fence between our yards, so they could go exploring.  Apparently splitting hairs, "Don't go in the yard" only applies to the gate?  Huh.  Needless to say it stopped when I informed the mother, and I didn't see the boy again.  

We had a trip to Walmart.  I'm having an ant issue (pretty bad this morning), and needed some bait.  I barely made it, but we went. 

I was really happy we got home before they started handing out the sausage samples at the front entrance.  I think the smell of sausage would have had me vomiting. 

As it is, I was getting shaky and sweaty, both good cues I was heading into the "retched" portion of the program!  I took some Phenergan (anti nausea drug and the only thing I take for migraines), and curled up in bed for a while. 

I woke up around 4, feeling somewhat more human.  I sorted though my other Walmart purchases, and put more soda in the fridge. 

I called Mom and Dad, right about the time Ron came out of his room, pretty drunk.  He kept doing commentary during my phone call, "suggestions" for topics of conversation, etc.   Had I been been better dressed, I would have gone outside to avoid him altogether.  As it was, it was very uncomfortable.  I did manage to convey "I am OK how are things on your end?" and same with Dad. 

After I hung up, I told him not to do that again, it "made Dad uncomfortable".  He basically told me to [censored], then began ranting about gallon ziplocks. 

After we do the monthly reports, we generally put them in a gallon ziplock bag.  However, if we're out, or he lost them, I can fold them into a quart. 

When we did the (monthly accounting) report, Ron lost the bags (we had just bought a new box).  I didn't say anything other than I can make it work with the quart.  He is obsessed with gallon ziplocks now, ordering me to "find them" (they're in HIS room, and he wouldn't let me search anyway), lecturing me for losing them, etc - this all the alcohol. 

Ron used to be really anal about stuff like that - lectures, etc., if he felt someone had made a "sub-level" mistake.  Certain mistakes were fine and acceptable, but a "sub level" (say, losing the water bill, locking yourself out, or leaving your purse under a table at a restaurant) mistake not only deserved, but invited wrath, lectures, condemnation, and punishment.  Unfortunately, alcohol brings this back, and for some reason he is convinced I lost them.

I could give him some of my ziplocks, claiming I "found" his, but that will just feed the bad behavior.  So, I refuse. 

All this, and I've got a migraine.  I just wish Ron could see he is ugly when he drinks.  I don't want to be around him.  I wish I could put him somewhere where he wouldn't bother me.  He was just upset at his cat because she wouldn't eat "more" treats.  He gave her some, which she ate.  He tried to give her more and she refused.  He kept begging her to eat and then scolding her. 

She's not hungry.  And he wonders why she's been avoiding him?  Ugh. 

He can't receive any correction when he's drinking, and from what I read I shouldn't even try. 

Have I mentioned just how much I hate alcohol?   I know I'm trying not to complain, but let's just say old ethanol has NEVER done me any favors. 

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

I hate alcohol as well and am sorry you have to deal with this because we have no suitible answer for his recovery apparently.

Heather Knits said...

I so wish I could have got him on Intervention - they were very interested. However, Ron said, if I had approached him "go to rehab or I'm leaving" he'd have opened the door and packed my bags. It would have destroyed his life. I'd have moved on but... [sigh]

The way I see it, I have to let God work on him.

I can't fix what's wrong with him.

I slept OK, once I got to sleep, and woke up right about the time of my alarm clock.  It hadn't been set properly, apparently.  I got ...