A Retrospectus

It's with a throbbing, pounding head and startled stomach that I write my penultimate NOvember entry. As promised, we'll both have a proper post-mortem blog after our annual Company Christmas Booze Cruise where we play everyone's favourite game (Nathan and Lucky drinking themselves around Sydney Harbour and trying not to win the annual Colossal Titty Award).

We broke NOvember at 612pm on the 30th. It was a long, dull day at the office, and I needed a drink. An unintended consequence of NOvember was sheer loneliness and isolation. I realised a few things over the past week- some earth shattering, some less so, but I've been so preoccupied with Life, the Universe, and Everything that I haven't found time to write about it until now.

The first realisation was that I'm quite lonely. I keep busy- having full on commitments in terms of work, my course, fitness, and a hyperactive social life. Removing myself from the people I surround myself with left me on the brink of depression. I'm fortunate- I have the best friends anyone could ever ask for- cutting myself off from them in the name of NOvember was not a wise choice and probably did my mental state more harm than good. Though it's also nice to realise how much I really love and depend on those around me.

I gingerly stepped back into social bliss this weekend. First, Friday. I had a terrible day. I had just written an exam when I received a message from back home with the subject heading 'from mom' *thunderbolts*. My Mother (well, technically step mother but more on that later) has a knack for breaking bad news one of two ways. Over the phone, it will start with the sentence 'Just so you know' ... followed by gratuitous details of time, place, and cause of death (always in that order).

The other way is to send an email with the blood curdling 'From Mom' subject heading. You'd expect 'From Mom' would be one of those cutesy chain mails with a motivational quote and a few drawings of flowers that premenopausal women tend to send  (in fear of 20 years of bad luck should they fail to forward the cursed message).

 Being told that my father was in hospital with a 'mild' subarachnoid brain haemhorrage via email was not the high point of my day. How can  a brain haemhorrage ever be mild anyway? I suppose if you don't kick it straight away you're ahead of the game and it can be considered 'mild'. Worse was that it had happened nearly a week ago and as per usual I was the last person to be told. I mean hey, it's only my father, right? Im 15 000 kms away from my favourite person on the planet stuck in a blacked out ward under strict subarachnoid protocol and there's absolutely nothing I can do- I certainly didn't need to know about it sooner?

I was vulnerable- I felt as though my skin had been ripped off and I was locked out in a thunderstorm. I had never considered that anything would ever happen to my father. I would never be fully orphaned- why would I think about that? He's always been there- the one permanent fixture in my life. Quietly disapproving of a lot of what I do, but wholeheartedly supporting me nonetheless. Always. The realisation of his mortality gave a shock which will take a long time to heal from.

Once I had talked myself back in from the ledge I went to see one of my favourite couples who were ensconced in their usual friday evening ritual of drinking wine on their balcony. They're two of my closest friends and I hadn't seen them in nearly 6 weeks. I missed them- finding yourself in good company means you can actually deal with life's little curve balls. It also helps when alcohol is available. I needed to drink. And it did me a lot of good. Drinks flowed, my spirits soared, and the pain of the day faded slowly into memory.

Saturday morning I woke up to a gloriously sunny day- minus a severe hangover I was in better spirits. Dad's prognosis is excellent. He'll have to stop acting like he's 18, but he should come through this quickly and with no lasting issues. Better, I can drink again. I got out of bed and fumbled the can of elixir of life  instant coffee and dragged my self to the balcony. I felt like an abortion- but it was a beautiful day.

At 930 I received a text from another good friend of mine. It was written in LOLCat speak so I correctly presumed he had been out partying all night, but I naturally went over for a lunchtime beer. Of course by the time I got there he was fast asleep and I spent the day with his flatmate and her boyfriend- another couple I absolutely adore. Tagging onto the wedded bliss of others is something I do particularly well- especially when alcohol is involved. The vast majority of my good friends are coupled up- and I'm happy to play the role of Crazy Auntie Nathan who drops by from time to time with a bottle of wine and devil-may-care attitude. It was so relaxing though- coffee, quick trip to the outlet shops, followed by glorious beer in the even more glorious sunshine.

After a quick "Well, if Im not going out tonight Im going to bed" type domestic, I pottered off. It was beautiful- warm sunshine, cool air, and the slightest breeze that just tickled you in all the right places. An impromptu Grindr chat led to an impromptu regression to adolescence. I'm sorry, but on a day that nice, how can you not lie in the park and giggle-kiss a random muscle boy? It was as though the first shoots of spring were poking through the snowpack of my winter of discontentment. He was polite, good looking, and charming. I may as well enjoy myself.

Some morally questionable activities ensued on a stack of pallets in a quiet corner of the adjascent industrial estate but I remain unrepentant. After a month of not drinking and 4 weeks into a 6 week stint of Financial Austerity I fiercefully reserve the right to blow off steam in the manner of my choosing. Blow being the operative word there. My life has become too much of a no-fun zone. I am very sensible, but I do have a certain hedonistic bent that I need to indulge from time to time too.

Invigorated by my earlier exertions, I strolled home as the dying orange hues of dusk ambled  their way around the brick chimneys, partially lit billboards and flagging palm trees of South Sydney. Cars clipping past me on one side, trains lumbering and creaking by on the other. So many people, going so many places, me caught up in the stream as streetlights flickered to life while the pale, waning Moon yawned down upon the world it was rapidly tiring of.

Today led to another realisation. Without alcohol, I'm incredibly moody. My deamenor depends entirely upon two things- the weather and finances. I can handle one without the other, but when both stink I find myself longingly looking towards the kitchen, enticed by the effortlessly swift exit offered by the cool, non judging embrace of the oven. Were it not electric. I was always very moody as a child- I can see now why my parents kept me well and truly doped up from the age of six until I reached the age of medical consent. I always thought that was to hide me from the reality of having a Mother who saw a gun in her mouth as an attractive End of Life Option. It makes sense- when an eight  year old starts asking questions it's much easier to say 'Here, have a pill' than to roll your eyes and sigh that 'Mummy got absolutely shitfaced and blew her head off, in what can only be described as the ultimate in Poor Parenting. She did love you very much though. Oh, and her boyfriend flushed the note so you'll never, ever know why.' You would take the pills too.

I suppose the cycle of being medicated was simply transformed into a cycle of self medication. Maybe I'm just not wired to deal well with reality. I was dragged into this world kicking and screaming via 36 hours of labour and an emergency caesarian section. One way or another, my very existence would kill my mother.
Things started in earnest with a single gunshot- the Big Bang, scattering the various elements of my life to fall and settle where they may. The faint echo of which still reverberates through everything I do. Sometimes clapping louder than others, sometimes just a quiet thud in the background so insignificant that my ears barely twitch. But it's there, and always will be.

I was born under very, very bad stars. One astrologer actually refused to give me my birthchart and coldly told me find peace as he rushed to refund my money. Another did do my chart and said that I would live my life with no control, wafting from country to country on the back of circumstance and living mainly by my wits, unexpected good fortune and legions of good friends. Oh, and that I'd end up in Sydney of all places. But I'd never find balance. That was 12 years ago and it's held up to be pretty damn true so far. And I'm not complaining either.

All that aside, here's what NOvember has actually taught me.

A) I am a bitchy Sydney Queen- as much as I'm loath to admit it, and
B) I'm happy.

I may never have real contentment, or balance, or a mortgage with 2.4 children and a brawny husband. I may always be a bit extreme. I don't believe in the illusion of free will- an infinite number of circumstances over billions of years led to me being sat at my desk and writing this very essay. Does this make me a defeatist? Never. Do I enjoy my life? Of course I do- so many little things can make you so happy if you resign yourself to the fact that you occupy a particular place in the Universe and have very little control over what goes on around you.

Finally- I like alcohol. I don't need to be a teetotaller- I wouldn't be happy. But I can find balance. Drinks on weekends with good mates will always be a lifelong source of enjoyment for me. I can cut out drinking during the week as there's no need for it and I enjoy being sober too (in moderation).

That is what I'd like to be the lasting legacy of NOvember.

Finding a bit of balance where I can, and just enjoying the rest of whatever existence throws at me.

Lucky: A mini retrospect.

So NOvember has come and gone, in the calmest of manners.

Reaching the point which, a month ago, seemed so far away and unattainable, it whispered past with a gentle sigh, slipping away into the ether of Big Nights Out past.

It ended with a bit of an anticlimax. But maybe this shows that we've learnt something.
Nathan and I were supposed to have a quiet meal, but because he was working late, instead we scampered off to the TeaGardens the day before and had a few beers. Ignoring the taunts and comments about it still being NOvember, we plopped down to a fresh beer and toasted the marvel that was....well....us.

The beer tasted lovely. Cold and fresh, I sunk that down peacefully, looking around at the hordes of revellers in the TG. "Was it always this busy?" I asked my NOvember sidekick. Thats how long it felt I had been inside these hallowed (and slightly damp) halls.

After the second beer I began to feel woozy. I knew it was the weakened alcohol tolerance from the past month, but still - it alarmed me slightly that I was a 2 beer wonder. Especially after drinking the previous weekend, I would have thought I'd have been cured of this peculiar affliction by now. But alas, I also noticed Nathan getting a bit louder, cigarettes being lit at a faster frequency and discussions of another beer on the way.

After a misunderstanding about a third beer, I began to think about slowing down the beer consumption rate. I had to go home after all, and the Monster was cooking dinner for me. A trip to the bathroom confirmed that yep, I was wobbly legged.

How the mighty have fallen.

Nathan suggested staying for one more. I refused (something i've never done before!) and it took a bit of convincing Nathan that I should go. A phonecall from the Monster settled the score, and I arose unsteadily from my perch, wondering if I could bear the trials of City Rail.

Financial frugality demanded this, so I caught the train home, trying to shake the fog of the beers out of my head.  I finally started to feel a bit better after a brisk walk from the station, and then proceeded to walk into the house not really any worse for the wear.

Now, I don't mean to bore you with the mundane ins and outs of my day - I'm merely attempting to discern the experience and how it affected me. Reading back over the entry so far, I've noticed that it seems to be quite negative - I didnt like the way I felt when drunk, I didnt like being asked to drink, and I was tough enough to leave when I thought I had had enough.

A month ago I would never have exhibited this behaviour - in fact I can picture many other moments, whether with Nathan or others, where all it took to twist my arm into staying for another drink was...well...probably a touch on the shoulder. Someone made me dinner? So what! It'll stay warm in the oven. Late for an appointment? Never mind, I'll reschedule. Someone waiting for me? A text saying I'll be there soonish will sort that out.

So if the worst that happened on our NOvember celebratory drinks was that I was home 15 minutes later than expected - then we have done very very well.

Our next big challenge is going to be The Annual Xmas Annihilation, coming up in 7 days. How will I handle the unlimited alcohol, abundance of peer pressure and (I believe this to be the hardest thing of all), my behaviour at previous Xmas parties. During NOvember I had to adjust my way of thinking, in going out and being around alcohol, and along the way I managed to help a few people change their way of thinking about me as a good time girl/party starter/lush. At the Xmas party this is going to have to be done en masse.

Since NOvember ended, I've had half a glass of wine with dinner. It was a disgusting glass too - so maybe thats the trick? Only drink alcohol that tastes like battery acid, and I'm less inclined to throw it down my gob.

This weekend I'll let myself have a glass or two of wine - only if I feel like it. Remove the prohibition, and I'm less inclined to crave it.

Note that I havent really spoken about my feelings as yet. I'll wait until after the Xmas party to bring them up again - I'm not sure I could handle them sober ;)