Progress thread for ne
And in new developments...
Ed is snoring away on the couch. I'm glad he's still breathing. He's lucky he isn't sleeping in the shed. (He'd be in the dog house, if we had a dog house. Of course, if we had a dog house it would be a palatial extravaganza with servants and down comforters.)
We stopped to chat with some neighbors when we were walking the beloved Goose (dog) last night. They invited us in for a drink and to see the renovations they're working on. About half way into my drink, I was already looking for an escape, but Ed was clearly enjoying himself so he stayed after I made my excuses and bolted for bed.
I was asleep before I'd shut the front door, and woke up at 1:30 am alone. Some of you might remember that last year Ed went out with some coworkers and had to be rescued because he was too drunk to manage life. And the year before that, under similar circumstances, he drove home so drunk that he got lost and couldn't even tell me where to find him. (Thank all that matters for providence and for GPS that he was still whole when I finally did reach him.)
Needless to say, even for those fortunate enough not to have alcoholism, these things are extremely alarming. (Ha. What an understatement.) They take on a whole new tenor for us, though. I won't live in the shadow of booze anymore, even (especially) if it's cast by someone else. On the other hand, I don't really blame him. Ya' know? It's what we do, and we can't help it. His off switch is broken.
That said, I am fucking furious. Obviously. At 1:30 in the morning I got dressed and went over and knocked on the garage-turned-"redneck bar". (That's what my neighbor calls it. I already mentioned that these are not ever going to be close friends, right? Anyway.) Neighbor answered, Ed peering at me from behind him, and said he'd make sure he got home safely. OHMYGAWD. Hell hath no fury like a woman whose husband makes drunken eye contact and doesn't even acknowledge he's lost his mother-fucking-mind.
So I went home and planned to exact some sort of horrible revenge before I got a grip and called and told him, and the neighbor, that he needed to drag his drunk-ass home and go to sleep. But not in my bed.
Clearly the take-away is that it's all the dog's fault. And that I need a much larger life insurance policy on him. Because if he doesn't kill himself I might have to do the job for him. (That's a joke, internet peeps. I'm not murderous. You can't spend gobs of money from jail!)
More later.
And in new developments...
Ed is snoring away on the couch. I'm glad he's still breathing. He's lucky he isn't sleeping in the shed. (He'd be in the dog house, if we had a dog house. Of course, if we had a dog house it would be a palatial extravaganza with servants and down comforters.)
We stopped to chat with some neighbors when we were walking the beloved Goose (dog) last night. They invited us in for a drink and to see the renovations they're working on. About half way into my drink, I was already looking for an escape, but Ed was clearly enjoying himself so he stayed after I made my excuses and bolted for bed.
I was asleep before I'd shut the front door, and woke up at 1:30 am alone. Some of you might remember that last year Ed went out with some coworkers and had to be rescued because he was too drunk to manage life. And the year before that, under similar circumstances, he drove home so drunk that he got lost and couldn't even tell me where to find him. (Thank all that matters for providence and for GPS that he was still whole when I finally did reach him.)
Needless to say, even for those fortunate enough not to have alcoholism, these things are extremely alarming. (Ha. What an understatement.) They take on a whole new tenor for us, though. I won't live in the shadow of booze anymore, even (especially) if it's cast by someone else. On the other hand, I don't really blame him. Ya' know? It's what we do, and we can't help it. His off switch is broken.
That said, I am fucking furious. Obviously. At 1:30 in the morning I got dressed and went over and knocked on the garage-turned-"redneck bar". (That's what my neighbor calls it. I already mentioned that these are not ever going to be close friends, right? Anyway.) Neighbor answered, Ed peering at me from behind him, and said he'd make sure he got home safely. OHMYGAWD. Hell hath no fury like a woman whose husband makes drunken eye contact and doesn't even acknowledge he's lost his mother-fucking-mind.
So I went home and planned to exact some sort of horrible revenge before I got a grip and called and told him, and the neighbor, that he needed to drag his drunk-ass home and go to sleep. But not in my bed.
Clearly the take-away is that it's all the dog's fault. And that I need a much larger life insurance policy on him. Because if he doesn't kill himself I might have to do the job for him. (That's a joke, internet peeps. I'm not murderous. You can't spend gobs of money from jail!)
More later.
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