Why the Irish Drink
I told Rob the news on Wednesday and stayed home to cry. My puppy not quite knowing why I wouldn't play with her tried her best to be so unbearably cute. I half heartedly threw her rubber bone across the kitchen and she bounded and pounced and then realizing the response wasn't what she wanted, she gave up and curled up next to me intermittently licking my face to make sure I didn't forget she was there. I didn't leave my house, I didn't even take off my pajamas.
My mother came by around 6:30 or so hoping to drag me out to eat something but I really didn't want to face the world just yet. I spewed my anger at her and Rob, trying my best to just vent and not dump on them, after all they were trying to cheer me up.
I went to work on Thursday and spent a good half hour in the "pump" room (a room used by new mothers to express milk while at work so that they can continue breast feeding their children after returning to the corporate grind.) I couldn't return on Friday, I didn't want to get out of bed and so I didn't.
On Rob's request (okay on his begging and pleading that I get out and do something fun) we went to a St. Patrick's day party. Which is possibly one of the worst day's in NYC, second only the the Puerto Rican Day parade. Not that I have anything against Puerto Rican's or the Irish, its just the destruction that occurs during both Parades and the parties held after is enough to make me consider the suburbs as a nice alternative. Plus when it comes to St. Patrick's Day the rampant homophobia about their precious parade kinda makes me a bit ill. I mean it's okay to be drunk at ten in the morning, it's okay to pick a fight by four in the afternoon. It's okay to dye your hair green and piss on the street in open view of small children, but god forbid you like kissing people of the same gender, HORRORS!!!
Well I must say there's nothing like thinking about chemo therapy and loosing your hair, or sterility and coming to the conclusion that maybe you would one day like a child (even though you have professed the opposite for so long) while Drunky McDrunkerson and his girlfriend alternate between sloppy salvia dripping make out sessions and arguing about where they stand as a couple. I wanted to leave I wanted to return to bed. I didn't say a word to anyone about why I looked forlorn, not that they even noticed through the bottom froth of the green beer left in their pint glasses.
You want to know why the Irish drink so much? Its because they have to deal with the fact that St. Patrick was Italian.
My mother came by around 6:30 or so hoping to drag me out to eat something but I really didn't want to face the world just yet. I spewed my anger at her and Rob, trying my best to just vent and not dump on them, after all they were trying to cheer me up.
I went to work on Thursday and spent a good half hour in the "pump" room (a room used by new mothers to express milk while at work so that they can continue breast feeding their children after returning to the corporate grind.) I couldn't return on Friday, I didn't want to get out of bed and so I didn't.
On Rob's request (okay on his begging and pleading that I get out and do something fun) we went to a St. Patrick's day party. Which is possibly one of the worst day's in NYC, second only the the Puerto Rican Day parade. Not that I have anything against Puerto Rican's or the Irish, its just the destruction that occurs during both Parades and the parties held after is enough to make me consider the suburbs as a nice alternative. Plus when it comes to St. Patrick's Day the rampant homophobia about their precious parade kinda makes me a bit ill. I mean it's okay to be drunk at ten in the morning, it's okay to pick a fight by four in the afternoon. It's okay to dye your hair green and piss on the street in open view of small children, but god forbid you like kissing people of the same gender, HORRORS!!!
Well I must say there's nothing like thinking about chemo therapy and loosing your hair, or sterility and coming to the conclusion that maybe you would one day like a child (even though you have professed the opposite for so long) while Drunky McDrunkerson and his girlfriend alternate between sloppy salvia dripping make out sessions and arguing about where they stand as a couple. I wanted to leave I wanted to return to bed. I didn't say a word to anyone about why I looked forlorn, not that they even noticed through the bottom froth of the green beer left in their pint glasses.
You want to know why the Irish drink so much? Its because they have to deal with the fact that St. Patrick was Italian.
posted by selling my soul at 10:11 AM
2 Comments:
Hey--so sorry for what you are going through. I hope things have since got better.
Ahh, sweet girl.. I'm sure it sucks in every way and it's not easy. It sounds like your boy and your mom are close and supportive and I hope that remains the case. My heart goes out to you cuz you'll have to fight this out, but I'm sending every ounce of good energy I have your way. Big big hugs!
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