1. It was stupid to make a New Year’s Resolution to be happy. Making such a resolution is basically just an admission of one’s fundamental unhappiness, but done in such a way that one can deny to herself that that’s what she’s doing.
2. I came back from the bathroom last night to find the Professor and Sarcastro talking about what I should do about the Butcher. Neither of them understand why we continue to live this way–with one car and one okay job and one crappy job and a couple of lives that have in no way turned out like we thought they would. I don’t know how to explain it to them in a way that would settle the matter, once and for all. So, I was relieved when they made a big show of changing the subject.
Here’s the thing. Lately, the Butcher is my last line of defense against unhappiness. For him, I don’t despair. For him, I keep going to work. For him, I don’t drink myself to sleep every night. I hold it together for the Butcher because we’re in it together. Maybe he doesn’t do the same for me, but that’s okay. I never asked him to.
My Grandpa Hick has these letters he’d shout out when the situation warranted–“FHB” was “Family Hold Back” which meant that there might not be enough food to feed everyone including the guests, and so the guests should be allowed to take all they want before the family eats the rest. The other one, which was the one my dad constantly drilled into our heads was “OFST”–“Our Family Sticks Together.”
That’s what we’re doing. We’re sticking together.
3. Sarcastro paid for everyone’s dinner. I (and everyone else) thought it was an incredibly nice gesture. Then he said something along the lines of how it was obvious to him that we only asked him along to bankroll the evening. He was joking. But for a second I was worried that he’s saying in jest what he means in seriousness–that he paid because he thinks I don’t really have the money to spend and that, because I’m poor, I keep him around to use him for his car and generous nature.
But I’m trying to quit projecting my insecurities onto him. I’m not resolving or anything, because lord knows how shittily my resolutions have gone so far.
4. Being drunk at Sarcastro’s is strange, though, like a very vivid dream. This has to do in part with the floorplan and the way the furniture is arranged. If you’re sitting on the couch, you have no sight-lines to any of the other rooms. You can see the TV and all these large artsy photographs of places that look vaguely familiar, but not much of the rest of the house. So, you can be wrapped up under a beautiful afghan, watching cartoons, and Sarcastro keeps reappearing in front of you with handguns and drinks and photographs of old loves or assault rifles or wearing a hat and twirling a cane and disappearing just as quickly. It was very surreal.
5. Eh, that’s it. I’m bummed, but I was glad to have Shug here for the weekend. She let Mrs. Wigglebottom ride in the truck and she let me drive, and that’s about all a girl can ask for.