It’s Sunday morning and the Wine Harpy is asleep. Last night she tried just once to tap me on the shoulder, but I looked her straight in the eye and said, Are you fucking kidding me?, and she actually backed up and disappeared. She’ll be back another day, and may not be so easily dissuaded, but for today, this day, I’ll take it.
I like thinking of that other voice that assails my mind and assaults my peace as a harpy.
“A word to describe a woman who draws a man into her grasp by pleasing the victim’s biggest desire only to destroy all that makes him what he is.” — UrbanDictionary.com
Haha! How perfect is that? Replace “man” with “Rachel” and it is perfectly perfect.
A woman who draws Rachel into her grasp by pleasing the victim’s biggest desire only to destroy all that makes her what she is.
I love it. THAT’s what the Wine Harpy is capable of. I’m getting off this elevator now, Hell Boy, before it goes down any further.
I found this illustration online by B.R. Guthrie. Awesome, and utterly terrifying. (I can’t even watch scary movie trailers without covering my eyes, so I’m that person…)
Zentient posted this MOST AMAZING video of the harpies. I’m going to play this to myself next time she comes a-tapping, and laugh in her face.
I can’t actually embed the video, but if you want to see it, please, oh please, watch it on YouTube –> Terrifying Harpies You won’t be sorry. 🙂
I feel good today. More up and hopeful than I have in a while. Maybe it’s the feeling that I have a new beginning again and I didn’t wait until Leap Day like the Wine Harpy was telling me I should. “You need a REAL soberversary, one that you’ll remember and that will be special,” she kept saying. “It can’t be any old arbitrary day. How will you remember it? It won’t have the magnitude to really stick. Just drink a few more days (in a row), and then you’ll be ready.”
Well, besides the fact that that logic is flawed and every day is really as arbitrary as the next, if you think about it, I honestly was feeling so bad about drinking I couldn’t imagine drinking a few more days. And part of me worried that making it into a huge big deal on Leap Day would actually work against me. Like starting a diet on a Monday. Or after the holidays. Or on New Year’s Day. That never freakin’ works.
Why not just start today? Get my life going again? <–That was me speaking.
So I did. And I remembered, my Dad quit drinking on an arbitrary day in August, 35 years ago. He says he had to quit or his drinking was going to kill him. For me, I don’t want to live any more of my life under the voodoo mind control of alcohol. I don’t want it to kill my life, my hope, my future, before it actually kills me. I’m getting off this one-way shit train to hell now, thankyouveddymuch.
The sun is trying to come out today, in between rain showers. I’m breathing the light in as if it can actually fill my lungs. (I think it actually may.) That’s how much I need it right now, the light. Bub (my dog) and I are going for a long walk in a few minutes, rain be damned.
I’m struck by thinking: I’m 47 years old and there isn’t enough time in the day. So much to do, to accomplish. So many people to know and love well. So much to experience.
I’ll move out of this fancy apartment this summer and into a place that is much less expensive. I need to save more and manage my money better too. That is some of the best self-care I can think of.
But for now, I’ll just keep breathing.
Day 2. Rachel.