Fear

I’m becoming extremely concerned about a friend.  It’s someone I am in contact with every day, and because our time together is so ordinary, it’s hard to know how to bring up such an extraordinary topic.

My friend is depressed and has an alcohol abuse problem.

I guess I’ve known for months, but now it is becoming problematic.  He has no respect for himself, and in turn, very little respect for anything else.

He’s been through an extremely tough year that would lead anyone to some level of self-destructive behavior, but I don’t think he sees that the self-medicating and avoidance are only going to make the coming months so much harder.

Probably against my better judgment, I’ve been helping him out financially as the result of an accident, a loss of his residence and months off of work.  But I’m near the point of writing him off–or at least cutting him off.

Maybe I am being selfish, but I work really hard and it sucks to see him taking advantage of the situation.  He’s supposed to be trying to pay off some debt and get back on his feet, but instead, he drinks or smokes away every penny he makes.

I really don’t want to be the bad guy, or his mother, but I can’t keep this up.  The anger and resentment growing in me will eventually end our friendship even if his addiction doesn’t.

I have tried to talk to him about the specific incidences in which his behavior has caused problems, and while he is always contrite and agreeable, very little has changed.  And I’ve never really mentioned the drinking.  I’ll mention that I need him to be more dependable, that he is disrespectful at times, that he needs to grow up.  But I haven’t found a way to discuss the root cause for all of my displeasure.

‘Cause I drink, too.  Often, with him.  And I feel certain that I have my own issues with alcohol.  Although, my issues are extremely different, I don’t think he is capable of distinguishing between the two of us.  I drink too much on certain occasions, which is completely different from his habit.  His habit: when he wakes up, before work, probably during work, and after work until he can’t feel or move.  And he doesn’t care.

I’ve really got to make a change.  Partially for my daily mental health, but mostly because I don’t want to be the guilty one who knew but didn’t act upon the knowledge.  Which is completely selfish as well.  Argh.

Is it possible to help him with regard only for his health and well-being?  Does it matter where my motivation comes from?  Am I just a selfish bitch?

Oooh… Peter Gabriel

I can’t believe I left Peter Gabriel off my list!  Probably because I could never choose just one.  I’ve certainly got to make it clear that I cannot live without at least one of his albums–so I guess it would have to be Shaking the Tree, although I adore So and Us in their entirety.

This came up last night in a conversation with a new acquaintance.  You know, one of those friendly get-to-know-you topics that you can discuss with anyone?  But I don’t think he was just anyone.  I found myself very aware of my rambling words and gesturing hands, and the way he focused on what I was saying even when I couldn’t.  I realized I hadn’t felt nervous around someone in a really long time.  And I liked it.

I could plunge into the “He’s not my type” part of the story, but there’s no point in all of that.  He’s not.  But, who cares?

Rare & Endangered Species

(As I’ve mentioned too many times before) I’m going through a short story period at the moment.  Despite the fact that I have piles of books at home, waiting to be read, I decided to check out a few books from the library.  It was one of those days that I went to the fiction section without a plan and just waited to see what would happen.

I chose three books: The Shawl by Cynthia Ozick, Rare & Endangered Species by Richard Bausch and The Bridegroom by Ha Jin.  Ozick I had read in a contemporary Jewish fiction class in college, but the other two were unknown to me.  They just looked interesting.

I have started with Rare & Endangered Species, and I really like Bausch’s writing style.  In a way, it’s very simple–one or two characters, a specific idea or situation, minimal dialogue.  But, he delves so completely into each character or moment that it becomes immediately complex.

You know, I usually research any book I am considering and find reviews in Amazon, Publisher’s Weekly, the NYT.  No more.  I’m going to read by happenstance.

Albums I Can’t Live Without

• Graceland by Paul Simon
• Fat City by Shawn Colvin
• Grace by Jeff Buckley
• Transcendental Blues by Steve Earle
• Home by the Dixie Chicks
• Tracy Chapman by Tracy Chapman
• Oranges & Lemons by XTC
• If I Should Fall From Grace With God by the Pogues

Reminder: Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip

Just read a posting on another site that got me fired up.

Reminder to All:

Go home and watch Studio 60.  It’s good.  Dammit.

Rebecca Wells and the Ya-Yas

Although I am still in my gunshy state, as far as reading goes, I did actually read a novel over the weekend.  But it might be fair to point out that it was really just another collection of short stories.

When Rebecca Wells put out Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, I fell immediately in love with it.  Maybe it was the Southern girl in me, or maybe it was the fact that she so perfectly created those characters and the setting (and the scents, and the intoxication, and…).  Whatever it was, I loved it.

Then I went backwards and read Little Altars Everywhere.  Even though it was technically first, I am very glad I read it second.  It didn’t have the hook that Divine Secrets had–it seemed more like a character study.  But it was good.

So when I saw Ya-Yas in Bloom in the bargain bin for $5.99, I knew I had to buy it.  I had already been warned by most people that it would be a huge letdown, so I was prepared.

I’m so glad that everyone told me I would hate it.  ‘Cause then I didn’t.  It was no masterpiece, to be sure.  But a nice little collection of vignettes.  Those characters are so vivid in my mind, any stories about them are welcome.  And congrats to Wells for creating these people that have stuck with me for the past 10 years.  That’s not an easy task.

Happy You-Know-What

I’ve decided to take this special day to discuss a concern of mine.  It might be a bit shocking to those who know me, but it’s time to come clean…

I’ve been dreaming about babies.

Yep.  Me.  The girl who swore she’d never have kids.  The one who hears a crying child and wants to throw it off of a rooftop.  Scary?  It gets worse.

I’m not in much of a position to have a child, even if I wanted to… I’m not sure I can have children and even if I can… I rarely go out with anyone more than twice.  I don’t make enough money to raise a child on my own.  I never even babysat children when I was younger.  And I think my pets hate me.  Really, it’s a bad combo.

But, still, the dreams.  Almost every night lately.  Sometimes it’s my child, sometimes a friend is having a child.  Sometimes I just dream I’m pregnant, but it’s all about fucking babies.  I guess I’ve heard this can happen sometime after turning 30, but don’t they have a pill for this yet?

And why do I get just a little twinge of sadness once a month?

Reality Shows I Actually Do Watch:

I’ve been in denial so long, but here goes…

• America’s Next Top Model
• Project Runway
• Top Chef
• Top Design
• American Idol
• Survivor

I suck.

Sarah Silverman…

is a very bizarre girl.  I just watched Jesus is Magic, and I can’t really decide what to make of it.

I’ve never been offended by her comedy.  I swear.  I think she is really progressive and intelligent.  I love her fearlessness.

But there is one thing that bugs me just a bit, and maybe it’s because I’m not progressive enough.  I think her standup would be more effective if she knocked the whites (or, in Silvermanesque terms, the “crackers,” “honkies” or “peckerwoods”) as much as every other racial group.

Sure, she likes to cover the self-flagellation with her Jewish jokes, but it doesn’t balance her teeter-totter.

Maybe it’s just me…

A Gun Shy Reader

I’ve been trying to read the same book since December.

Yep, that’s right.  December.  I’m so ashamed.  And in my line of work…

(Now it becomes clear why it’s been so long since I posted.)

Snow by Orhan Pamuk.  It’s wrecked me.  I feel like I can never read again.  I just could not finish that damn book, no matter what.  I promised myself a full-on drunken celebration if I finished the last 100 pages by the end of January, but even that didn’t work.  Pamuk, what have you done to me?

It’s not that the book was boring, or poorly written, or even poorly translated.  I just couldn’t do it.  And I like to read everything.

I feel as if I should resign my position.  I shouldn’t be allowed to call myself a librarian.

But, instead, I’ll read short stories for awhile and try to build up my confidence.  I’m a bit gun shy just now.