Spent a lovely day at the Studio Sunday. Sadly, the evening was shot.
The Kid has been fairly meek the past weeks that he’s been living with me. He has been going out to help Awana at the alpaca ranch and looking for work. He’s been respectful and (sorta) helpful around the place. We’ve talked about his alcoholism and he has seemed remorseful about where he finds himself due entirely to his own poor decision making. He has been sober and as “normal” as he’s ever been.
Until Sunday. I left the dog with him because she’d have to stay in the car otherwise. I left instructions about airing the place out as soon as it warmed up outside. I put the dog’s harness on and gave him very specific guidelines about how to handle her – there’s a new dog in the park that she doesn’t like and I don’t want to have any incidents.
I arrived home at 7:30 PM to find the door open, the screen door shut and the dog inside with her leash on. I told him specifically that the dog will push the screen door open and be GONE at the slightest provocation and he is not, under any circumstances, to leave the dog loose inside with only the screen door between her and freedom. I was VERY clear and made him repeat my instructions back to me.
The Kid was passed out on the couch, curled up into a ball. Snoring. I smelled something not quite identifiable the second I stepped inside. It wasn’t foul, but it didn’t belong. I tried to rouse him but was not successful. Okay, he hasn’t been sleeping well, so I’ll leave him alone, take care of the animals and we’ll talk about it later. I had drafting to do for The Other Boss.
He came to as I was getting settled in at the computer and when he sat up I knew what the smell was – booze of some sort, definitely not beer, his drink of choice.
Sigh. Fuck. Oh, yeah, he was totally wasted. He said he bought one 12 oz beer and that’s all he had. I told him he was lying. He stuck to his story. I continued to disbelieve him. I searched for the source of his inebriation and finally found it at the very back of the pantry – the tequila bottle was no longer sealed. He had drunk half the bottle. He continued to assert his innocence, but there was no way one beer fucked him up that badly.
After a couple of hours I went to bed, after supervising him pulling out the couch and assuring him that if he puked anywhere but in the toilet he would face my wrath. I was angry enough to chew nails.
Monday dawned and he looked like shit. I had locked all the liquor in my car* so there would be no repeating of this particular episode and I was pretty sure a tequila hangover would be punishment enough but I couldn’t resist a bit of lecturing. He admitted that he couldn’t really remember the previous night. Sigh.
Yesterday when I got home from work he was busy filling out job applications online. I tried to be calm as I told him I understand he’s a grown man and I have no right to dictate how he lives his life but this is my house and I won’t have him drinking while he’s staying with me. He was very apologetic. He made no promises. I, however, did promise to do my best to hound him into staying sober, to pound into his head that he is an alcoholic and a potential drug addict (his father was both, as were/are many of my relatives) and he will not be able to drink casually and I will not put up with his self destructive behavior under my roof. Get help or I will get it for you.
We’ll see where it goes from here. I’m still hopeful he’ll make the right choices but on the alert in case he stumbles again. I’ve been here so many times. I’m really tired of it now but I can’t abandon my son.
* Yeah, I should have done it before I picked him up, but I kinda thought a sealed bottle would dissuade him and he really prefers beer. I had no idea he would be stupid enough to drink half a bottle of tequila. Live and learn, as they say.