And then the dog got drunk

Yesterday was quite the day.  I mentioned my monster from the past.  What I didn't mention is that this feeling of darkness that creeps is truly a physical manifestation.  My facial expression changes.  My back gets the creepy-crawlies.  I feel anxious and paranoid.  When I look at myself in the mirror, it's like some strange person has taken over my body.  That's why I call this obsession my monster.  I become that monster. 

So yesterday already started off on pretty shaky ground.  And then my dad's family got involved.  We've been trying to plan another family reunion for literally years now.  Someone gets all gung-ho on the idea, throws around some possible weekends, and then nothing happens.  Just as my grandfather began his rapid decline, the reunion idea popped back up again, with a different urgency than before.  We all wanted to see Grandpa one more time.  Clearly, that didn't happen.  But now we're trying to also incorporate Grandpa's memorial service into the mix.  It's not going well.

Someone throws out a date.  I go through my calendar, and figure out how I can possibly make it that weekend (which usually involves driving through the night, staying a few hours, flying home - a mess).  And as soon as I come up with a plan to make sure I can be there, another relative says "Oh, I was planning to go shoe shopping that day, can't make it!" or something stupid like that.

One uncle has sent the same email eight times.  His point?  Not everyone is going to be able to make it, so we'll have to compromise.  No shit, Sherlock.  How about you contribute something useful to this debacle?  In the meantime, my poor father is so upset with what a disaster this reunion/memorial is turning out to be.  Nate and my brother's wife just keep rolling their eyes in disgust.  Our grandfather died - why wouldn't we drop our lives for a weekend, fly up to New England, and celebrate his life together?  Why are we talking about planning a memorial in October when he died in April?  This is ridiculous.

So my mother-in-law was not at all surprised when I texted her yesterday afternoon to please stop by the liquor store for some margarita mix.  She knew I could use a drink, and she was happy to have one (and a bitch-fest) with me.  She packed Laura into the stroller, walked to the liquor store for the necessary supplies, then walked home with the margarita mix swinging from the handle of the stroller.  As soon as she took Laura out of the stroller back at the house, the whole thing fell backwards.  The margarita mix shattered all over the sidewalk.  My precious tequila gone.  Back to the store they went for more mix. 

Back at the house once more, my mother-in-law carefully unloaded the liquor first, then Laura.  Then she let the dog out of the house to enjoy the sunny afternoon.  And that's when the dog got drunk from the tequila puddled on the sidewalk.

But as my mother-in-law confessed this story (with the drunk dog zooming all over the yard at hyper warp speeds), all I could do was laugh.  I had battled the monster of eating disorder that morning, battled the monster of family that afternoon, and my dog was drunk.  If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.  So I poured myself a nice, cold margarita and started to laugh.