Late night

Son 1 drove to Wife’s place after dinner tonight. He was pretty clear about not looking forward to it, but it has been several years since she filed her taxes, and she has an appointment in the Big City three hours from here to get them done. Of course she probably owes nothing, but according to our separation agreement we are supposed to exchange tax returns every year. So every year I make an extra copy of mine, and I tell her “I’ll show you mine when you show me yours.”

She doesn’t think she can drive that far, so Son 1 is going to drive her. So far, so good. Only ... the tax preparer is my mother, and Son 1 says they are planning to stay with her overnight.

Now, Mother asked me years ago whether it’s OK for me if she does Wife’s taxes, and I said it’s fine. That’s just professional. But I admit I’m a little rattled at the idea that Wife is spending the night. I honestly didn’t think Mother liked her that well. Of course, I also know that Mother hates to say No. So if Wife asked, Mother is likely to have said Yes for the sake of being nice.

I really shouldn’t have wasted any time on this after Son 1 left. I should have gone to bed, whacked off vigorously (which I feel inhibited about when he’s in the next room), and fallen fast asleep.

Fine, I did the first two. But I couldn’t fall asleep. I kept thinking about Wife’s request months ago to come to our Christmas (because she has poisoned her relationship with all of her own family) ... and about my mother’s easygoing nature and my brother’s existing on a plane that seems to render the two of us mutually incomprehensible. I kept imagining these long arguments with my own family over whether to invite Wife to Christmas.

Also maybe it didn’t help that I was out of alcohol, and I didn’t buy any on the way home from work because I felt self-conscious about it. Son 1 has already remarked about how much we drink — although if it is in the house he drinks as much as I.

In the end I got out of bed at almost 10:00, walked down to the corner shop, and bought a handful of single-serving (tiny) bottles of vodka. I drank them over an hour while reading the paper, and now feel much better. Maybe I have a problem.

Maybe I can get some sleep.

Night-night.