Okay, I’m going to finally admit to something I did that I’m really not proud of: I got drunk last weekend. No, I got completely shitfaced. Why am I not proud of it? Because I like to think I have a little more self control than that. Because I didn’t want Carol to see me in that state. I failed in both regards. I’m a better person than that.
So, yeah I’m beating myself up over it. Means I must’ve done something bad, right? No, not really. I just embarrassed myself by talking like an idiot. You know, drunken philosophical discussions. The words of Joe came from my mouth on a few occasions. I really don’t like him at the moment.
I came stumbling home, waking up Carol. I cried, embarrassed at the mess of a man I was presenting her with. I missed a whole day as I struggled with the worst hangover I ever experienced since my youth, trembling, sweating, and still throwing up late the next afternoon.
Carol said it’s okay, this isn’t a normal thing I do, so don’t be so upset with myself. After all, she came home throwing up her tequila that one night. Don’t forget about my father-in-law that one New Year’s.
She was quite understanding and forgiving but still: I missed a whole day with my family due to my binge drinking the night before. I’m extremely pissed off at myself over this. The anger has subsided over the past few days but the fact remains: I was not at my best and I’m a better man than this.
Imagine the mental lashing I’d give myself if I committed infidelity. Makes me wonder, did she beat herself up over it when it happened? Does she still?
After I recovered from my night, I found myself going back to spending most of my waking hours (including ones where I should be sleeping) angry at her.
Though last night, we got a bit silly which made me feel better. Flashing each other always lightens the mood.
In bed, I warn her, here comes the question: how have you been doing lately?
“I’m okay,” she says.
Am I husbanding okay? I ask.
“You’re fine,” she replies.
I leave it at that. Our next appointment is on Monday.