Yesterday I devoted myself half-heartedly to my paper all afternoon. I devoted the rest of my time and energy to cooking various things that involve lots of beating to help rid myself of some of the pent energy and bitterness that comes with writing a five page boring paper.
So, I made bread. And pudding. And pizza dough. And mashed potatoes. From scratch all of those things. And they all came out very edible.
Writer Guy came by around seven thirty for mashed potato pizza. It was really good. Good enough that I ate it for breakfast and lunch today and if I hadn't slept for twelve hours beginning this afternoon, I probably would've eaten it for dinner too. I still might.
After the pizza, I took him to the bowling alley. Because he quit his job and he was having some sort of "I don't work with you anymore" party, and he intended to get drunk. The bowling alley is less than a mile from here, so I volunteered to be his safe and sober ride home.
The clearing of the car was an ambitious undertaking. It's been snowing again. And I don't own an ice scraper. He had to go inside and get his keys and get his scraper and then I turned on the windshield wipers without first shutting the door and three inches of snow fell on my head and then we had to stop for smokes and finally I dropped him off at the bowling alley.
I came home and finished my paper. Then I went back to the bowling alley.
His friends got him so trashed. So trashed. Actually they were just in the bowling alley bar, and had not yet started bowling. Bowling alley bar on karaoke Friday. And I was sober. And dressed for an evening of paper writing, which I thought was the same sort of casual dress appropriate for a bowling alley. Except apparently the bowling alley bar is actually a night club in terms of dress. So, white long sleeved t shirt with bright blue vintage camp t-shirt on top was not quite in its element.
Back to the drunkeness. Writer Guy had me sign him up for karaoke. Somehow, after stumbling to the bathroom, suggesting that I finish his beer, and everyone at the table asking me if he ran off to puke (they clearly realized they had fed him enough booze that this might've been a good idea), he got up and sang "A Boy Named Sue" almost perfectly. It was enough for me to think that he was not nearly as drunk as my first impression had given me.
Then I saw him trying to walk back to the table. And suggest that it was time to bowl. His friends were like "We're bowling, you? Aren't." And so I tried to take him home.
Somewhere in there, he caught site of the television and there was some woman on it, standing around in a towel. I really wish my boyfriend would look at me like that. I did have the presence of mind not to tell him that right then...
Getting to the car wasn't too hard. Getting his coat on to go outside wasn't really terrible. By the time we got home (this is about three minutes, less than a cigarette's drive away), the poor boy was nearly passed out. I got out of the car, gathered his stuff (a shirt, the ice scraper, his camera, etc), and walked around the car. I'm not sure how we would've ever gotten into the house if Emma hadn't opened the door for us. Because everytime I let go of him to open the door, he wandered off to the side of the porch and I had to go get him again.
Somehow in the standing in the living room, he managed to slip from my grasp and fall face first onto the hardwood living room floor. We really were all debating whether or not to just give him a pillow and blanket and call it a night. Because he didn't move for a long time. Finally he got up and stood for a second or two before collapsing backwards through the french doors to Kristie's room. That time we managed to catch him and ease him to the floor without him hitting his head.
He got up and crawled to the loveseat. Then he kinda draped himself over the arm.
Good enough. I managed to help him up and we attempted to go up the stairs. I can't decide if my choice to stay behind him was a good one or not. He passed out and collapsed in the stairs. I was standing behind him holding the railing bracing myself trying not to let us both fall down, considering whether or not this was a lost cause and I should just try to jump over him and save myself while going "Babe, look, you have to stand up. I can't help you. If I move, we'll both fall down these stairs. Babe, stand up. You have to stand up. Come on. Please! Stand up. You can't sleep there. Honey, you are passed out in the stairwell. You have to get up."
He kept saying "I know where I am, but..." and as soon as he got to the "but" was when he would collapse. That was true from the moment we stepped out of the car.
Right, so eventually we managed to get to my room and he comes out with "I know where I am. I recognize this room. This is familiar to me." Apparently, the rest of my house, where you know, he had just eaten dinner and has been coming in and picking me up and hanging out and sleeping over for the last three months? Not so familiar.
I took off his shoes and coat and called it a night. Poor boy, who normally gets up by seven even on the weekends, was resting on the couch when I came home from class at ten thirty.
I took a ten hour nap today. I think it was well earned...