Okay, so it’s been a while, nearly 3 years actually. A lot has happened since my last bout of verbal diarrhea so I got a bit to get through here.
So let’s begin with my very own pet topic, booze.
I know, I know, Aussie = booze, what’s the big deal? Well the big deal is my wife is an alcoholic.
Now for those that aren’t aware what the deal is with living with an alcoholic let me try to fill you in a little. Imagine you live with two people, one the caring, sharing loving person you like to spend your time with. The other an anti-social, grumpy, smelly, liable to break things over your head for an imagined slight sort of person. This person will smother you in a sea of used alcohol vapour as they tell you how much they love you and how much they mean to you, or they’ll call you every name under the sun, or if you are really lucky, start throwing shit at you, depending on what sort of mood they are in.
A mood that can change at the drop of a hat mind you, just to keep you on your toes.
So you like / love can stand the nice person, but you have to accept that the Alkytroll comes as part of the package.
Or you can not and walk away, except you can’t.
I know, I’m not making sense again. See the thing is if you do walk away it’s not the Alkytroll you’re hurting, it’s the sweet loving partner that’s copping it in the neck, the one that breaks your heart for even considering walking out on.
Of course it’s the same person, I know it’s the same person, but it’s not, you know?
The good person knows that they are hurting you when they drink, but I think they manage to convince themselves that they aren’t hurting you that much, after all you’re still here aren’t you?
Catch 22 with an extra serve of smack upside the head for your trouble.
Does it sound like I’m trying to make out that drunks can be violent? Maybe I am, all the ones that I know that had it bad can be very violent, including my wife (yeah I married her, pretty smart huh?)
I’ll tell you right now, there’s nothing that cures the male ego faster than waking up in the morning with a face full of cuts and bruises.
“Yup the missus beat the living bejeezus outa me last night and how about those bears?”
You know how your Dad told you when you were a kid that you never hit a girl? That’s something that kinda stays with you, even when you really need to be forgetting it. And no I’m not saying lets start wailing into her, but a little self defense would be nice.
Except it’s not really a little because that won’t get the job done. You get to a point where you realise that she is not going to stop unless you put her down, and I mean to the point where she won’t get up again because the booze is making her go at it like it’s all she can think about, like there’s no stopping, it has to be done and done right.
So you have a choice, you can swing back with enough force to put her down so she can’t get up again, something I know I couldn’t live with, or you shut up and take it like a man because that’s all you have left.
So you have the two black eyes and the scratches from those fingernails and whatever rings she had on at the time and you try to go on like it’s no big deal and who needs balls anyway?
Fun huh?
But that’s not the best bit. Oh if only that was the best bit.
No, the best bit is their drug of choice is something that is easier to get than a glass of water. Seriously. Booze is always within staggering distance, be it pub or a bottle shop or your local friendly neighbourhood supermarket that just wants to make sure you can get your booze and cigarettes in one handy location.
And those bastards aren’t just happy to make it easy to get either, they make sure that if you’re an alcoholic then they are there to help you with your addiction. Well to feed it anyway.
In the state where I live it is illegal to serve someone that is visibly intoxicated. They even put a nice big sign behind the bar / counter that says that you may not be served if you are intoxicated. Does that stop them?
Hell no.
My wife has literally staggered into a bottle shop in a state that makes it obvious that she’s drunk, usually by the way she’s using solid objects to lean on, and still they serve her.
“Here you go Ma’am, watch the wine display, do you want me to carry it out to your car for you?”
Bastards.
Fucking greedy money grubbing bastards.
There’s no let up you know? There’s no “well you’ve run out, you might as well sleep it off” because they can go to the pub and buy more. And the bastards know this, and they don’t a flying fuck about her, or you, they just want the money.
“So hide the money,” I hear you say. Good idea, and lets pour out the booze while where at it. Great idea that, wish I had thought of it myself.
Except I did, which means she’s cut off, which means you’re in trouble because you don’t just cut them off like that, that’s when the violence really ramps up. I know there are some of you out there nodding your head right now.
Hell hath no fury like a drunk deprived.
That’s a taste anyway. More of a vent than a rant but hey, it’s my blog so I make the rules.
There’s more, I’ve barely scratched the surface, but I’m tired and need to sleep, even though I know I can’t.
Enough, I’m off, cya later.