tHe haPPy grOUch

tHe haPPy grOUch

Sunday, September 4, 2016

It seems I always write on Sundays. Maybe that's because I have nothing else to do on Sundays. No work, no boyfriend to visit with, no son to hang out with... Just me and the lake. And facebook, maybe a novel, dishes to do, laundry to put away, floors to be cleaned...

I asked my bartender if she needed me to come in and make change for her today. She said no, her drawer was all set. I said- well damn, now I have nothing to do today. She said- relax and enjoy.
Why can't I do just that? Why can't I sit lakeside and stick my nose in a book? Or turn Netflix on and binge watch something?
I'm trying. I've actually been doing it? Maybe? I've been sitting here on my porch by the lake for hours... drinking coffee, surfing facebook, looking at college websites (yes, still trying to determine what I want to be when I grow up, and how to go about it), playing games on my phone, texting (and probably annoying) my son...
But my mind is still so unsettled, that even doing this much doesn't really feel very "relaxing"...
Although, I still haven't gotten out of my pajamas.

I've still been fighting the high worry/anxiety state of mind. It seems it's going to stick around. Although I've been trying to calm myself. I'm trying to not worry so about my future and the future of my children. Sometimes just putting it out of my mind works. Sometimes though, it's still debilitating. I get caught in it, and can't get out. Sometimes it goes from worry and anxiety to full blown crippling fear. And I'm stuck in it.
It used to be that I never worried about the future. I don't know why... Maybe it was circumstantial. At one point in my life, my future seemed fairly well predictable. Comfortable, safe. Now there is no way of knowing how/where I will be, near future or distant.
Maybe this is what we do as we age, as our children grow older.
All I know is that I have no goddamned idea what next year looks like, or two years, or five, or ten or more. For myself or for my children. And it's so. fucking. frightening.
But still I try to fight the worry.
I wish there were a bigger word for worry. Worry sounds too normal. This doesn't feel normal.

Anyway...

Work is good.
No big stressors there at the moment. Everything seems to be running smoothly, for the most part. There's the usual bar bitches, as there is everywhere, and particularly in every bar. Who isn't doing what, who isn't pulling their own weight, who isn't doing something right, who likes/dislikes who... But for the most part, we're a pretty good crew. There are nights I sit and worry about it (shocker). But I remind myself that everyone is capable. If shit doesn't get done, or get done right, it will eventually. We make it work.
And we are fortunate to work for the people that we do. I guess I've never mentioned it, but we have some pretty awesome bosses. Seriously, though. I don't think I've ever hung up the phone, or walked away from either of them, without hearing them say "thank you". Simple, I know, but it goes a very long way. They actually give a shit about each of us. They're goddamn good people.
I still enjoy what I do, again, for the most part.
I still find it ironic that I have such a hard time with alcohol/addiction, and yet I am in this industry. So very ironic.
I love the day shift. As much as I hate people, I do love my daily customers. The ones that you see day in and day out. You develop relationships with them. You're no longer just a bartender, and they're no longer just a customer. It's something along the line of friends, even though you don't hang out with them outside of work. It's a very interesting connection, actually; it's hard to describe.
I have one customer in particular that I've grown quite fond of over the last few years. He reminds me of my dad, so very much. He loves his beer and his whiskey. He's more of a grouch than I am (if you can believe that). He drives me crazy a lot of the time. And he's dying of cancer. I don't know what I will do when I don't see his face every day.

Kids are good... Mostly?

Dawson is gone with his Dad, as he is every Thurs-Sun. I still haven't grown accustomed to this, even after all the years we've been doing it. I think it's actually gotten more difficult lately. I miss him so much when he's gone. I cry most Thursdays. And off and on all weekend. Most people live for the weekends. I despise them.
And he seems to be growing farther from me as he gets older. Is that normal? This sucks. He tells me I say "I love you" too much. He looks at me while sitting on the couch and says- why are you sitting so close to me? I want the days back when he would watch a movie with me and snuggle on the couch.
Norman Bates's mother. Sigh.
And he has a girlfriend. Ugh. Yuck. Ewwwwww. UGH!
He started high school last week. Jeezus H. How the hell did this happen...
I've been (you guessed it) worried sick about him each day. I worry from the moment I drop him off till the moment that school lets out. And he's only been going two days now. Christ, how will I survive this???
Living in a choice of high school town certainly has it's benefits. The downside, however, is that the eighth graders don't all move onto high school together, they don't have their entire class to rely on in high school. They all go their separate ways. In Dawson's case, only six of them chose Hermon.
Add to that his high anxiety, much like his mother. Although, he does a much better job of suppressing it. Or maybe just hiding it. I'm not really sure. I know he's super nervous, he's just not saying so. And he struggles academically. Jeezus. I worry about him so.
All I can do is hope that he has a great experience. Be there for him as much as possible. Try not to smother him. Try to help him with all his homework... Ummmm, I didn't even pass Algebra. We might be screwed.
Try not to worry. So. Goddamn. Much.

Logan is.. well.. I don't know. Damnit.
She's dealing with shit of her own. Shit that I can't help her with. Maybe if I were financially comfortable, I could help her with some of her worries. But I'm not, and I can't. And believe me, I punish myself daily for that.
Even still, I can't help her with her personal stuff. I can't make her do, or not do, something. She's an "adult" now, right?
Sigh.
Try not to worry. So. Goddamn. Much.

And, I'm still lonely a lot of the time.
Maybe I'll eventually get used to that.

My bartender just texted me and said she needed some change. Yay! I've got something to do!
Guess I should go get out of my pajamas.

Be well.