"Feeling better?" one of the girls just asked me.
"I'm fine," I replied as she walked out of my office.
I keep having to remember that asking that is just one of those pleasantries of relationships. "We really don't want to know how you're doing," I thought as I turned back to the invoice I was trying to make sense of.
Luckily, Dad is back in town. He knows full well what I go through a few days before my injection. I just leaned back in my chair to look at him filling prescriptions down the hall. It is comforting to know he is home.
Earlier in the day I called Dad about the money.
"Let's wait until your injection," he said.
"Okay," I replied as I hung up feeling relieved.
We are both buying time. I've felt worried today that I have so little self control that I will be standing in Fred's dollar store buying a dollar pack of those little pink pills in a few days. I am not worried about drinking at all. Drinking even seems unpleasant to me today. Dad still thinks I am going to turn back into that unruly drunk man we managed to change a year ago through sheer determination.
3 comments:
I don't know all you past since I just started reading your blog - but I really admire what you've done, what you've made it through - really, I do.
One thing about the friends we make here...we really do want to know how the other is doing. I love your honesty, Andrew.
After 147 days you have earned the right to not be suspected. You've done so well! Your dad will see, don't worry.
I really want to know how you are, that's why I come to visit you here!
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