Ristin forbade me from worrying about him because it only meant he had more to worry about then. Surprisingly enough, this actually worked until this latest bit of unpleasantness. So how did I respond to this? I got some gourmet pizza and Byron opened up a bottle of red wine. We downed the whole lot. Byron estimates we each drank about four standard drinks' worth, nowhere near as much as I had at Darth's birthday celebration, but still enough to be pleasantly lubricated. nightcoon of course would see nothing wrong with this, but the point is I promised myself (not Ristin) that I wouldn't drink anything during Ristin's absence, just to prove I could. I so easily fell back on that familiar old crutch. Now that I've fallen down once, it's so much easier to fall the next time. I won't even bother trying to have a dry Christmas now. I've got nothing left to prove.
In other news, I've had these lines (from "Treat Yourself Gently" by Brisbane band Isis) running through my head all day:
I've got some dead friends who live on inside me,By his account, Ristin was dying inside before he met me. He must be dying right now without me.
I've got some living who are dying inside.
I have something else to feel depressed about, but I'd only make it worse if I whine about it here.