Resolved

I recognize that my life is actually pretty damned good and I have no reason, no reasonable excuse, for feeling blue. But sometimes damned if I just don't feel like I can do anything right.

Last night after work I met a colleague-turned-friend for a drink. His dad died a couple of months ago in a very long and drawn-out fight with cancer. He's an only child, like me, and I really felt for him – I couldn't help imagining how devastated I would be to lose one of my own parents that way. So we met for a drink. We talked about his dad, my divorce, people we know in the PR business, plans to take over the universe, etc. And I watched him pour beer down his throat in vast quantities. We were there from 5:15 to about 7:30 and he probably had 6 beers in that time. And he would order more wine for me, as well, so I ended by having 3-4 glasses, myself. Too much to really be driving home, I can see that in retrospect.

And too much to be talking to people on the phone, as well, apparently. When I left the bar, I was worried about my friend, wondered if there was something I could or should do or say to help him break the cycle of grief and booze. So I called Gray, who was due to deliver Grayson to the apartment at 8. I told him I'd be a few minutes late and also described to him the scenario and asked him what he thought I should do. His response: "It sounds like you've had a few yourself," and later: "Best thing you can do is not drink with him. Don't encourage him."

Subtext: or myself.

Gray dropped Grayson off and I got him bathed and put to bed. Then Bob called. He's in a mood. I was very sleepy, so I didn't follow everything he was telling me, but there was an undertone of bitterness about departmental politics spanning the past 8 years or more. And then I described, foolishly, my evening to him, and my concerns about my friend. He asked me how much I'd had to drink and commented that it was a lot for such a short period of time. "Are you comfortable having a few drinks and then going to pick up your son?" he asked.

"I didn't pick him up, Gray brought him to me."

"Yeah, but I'm asking if you're comfortable with that."

I had to admit I was comfortable with it. God knows I've done it often enough. Hell, I've driven him to Norman with a plastic cup of wine in my hand. Bob told me he won't drink at all if he knows he needs to go get Bennett later. It's just not worth the risk, he said. And he asked me to imagine getting pulled over for drunk driving with Grayson in the car... suggested that it could lead to me losing custody of my son.

My spirit, by this time, is low. I know that Bob's in a mood to begin with, that he has this puritanical streak that I find both totally charming and completely annoying, and finally, that under all of it he didn't really like me being out drinking with another guy. But for the second time in an evening I'd been asked to put the question to myself about my own drinking.

Am I a drunk? Do I have a problem I'm in denial about? I'm thoroughly depressed. Here I was, concerned and trying to show support for a friend, and it has all turned back around on me. Lately, truly, I feel as though I can't do anything right. I feel as though I'm being inspected and judged... by Gray, who treats me, subtlely, as though I'm on an emotional razor's edge, who tells me how to look over Grayson's homework and insists I make him re-write sentences if the handwriting sprawls too much. By Bob who hints that my drinking is a problem and and my parenting may be sub-par. Why is everyone else a better parent than I am?

I am resolved to put the issue to rest. I'll drink no more during the week. I'll go over Grayson's homework with a fine-toothed comb. I'll make sure I'm getting shit done, dotting all my i's, ironing my underwear, reading intellectually enriching material, eating vegetables and getting plenty of exercise. Maybe if I live a perfect and blameless life like everyone else does, I'll stop feeling as though everyone is criticizing me.