Jack and Jill have moved away

Jack and Jill moved out some time last week or the week before. I'm not quite sure when. Today the couple that used to be my downstairs neighbors (in this post, for example) started to move into their place.

Of course it's more complicated than that. The couple that I'm calling my "downstairs neighbors"—they need names, so how about if I call them Rick and Rory?—moved away a year or two ago, because they needed more space. When they moved out, Jack and Jill rented the apartment that Rick and Rory had just vacated, to use it as a "guest room" when one or the other set of in-laws visited. So actually it has been empty much of the time. 

Then a few months ago, Jack and Jill finally bought a house. Coincidentally, Rick and Rory were going to have to leave their new place for some reason that I don't remember. They posted on Facebook to ask if anyone knew of a place they could rent. Jill saw their post and called them to ask, "Hey, do you want our place? We bought a house, so we'll be moving out soon." And so it worked out.

There's more. You remember the apartment downstairs from me, that Jack and Jill rented as a "guest room"? They haven't relinquished that yet. See, they want to do a bunch of remodeling on their house, but the permitting process here takes forever. So they have moved into the new house without the remodeling done (so that Rick and Rory could move in); but when the permits are finally approved (maybe in a few months more) they plan to move out of the house and into the apartment while the remodeling and reconstruction is done. Then finally, when all the dust has settled (literally and figuratively), Jack and Jill will move back into their house and relinquish the apartment downstairs from me. When she described all this to me, Jill estimated that that transition might be a couple years in the future yet.

What will this mean for me? I don't know. Of course it means that the crazy parties Jack and Jill regularly throw will all have a different venue. But that won't really affect me because I haven't been going to them for a while. There was a while when I was sneaking out of them (such as here and here); and then, logically enough, Jack and Jill stopped inviting me. I don't resent that: it was the obvious thing for them to do, and I'm less uncomfortable as a result. I don't remember Rick and Rory socializing quite as ostentatiously when they were here before, but the have friends. And those friends did visit from time to time. I guess we'll see.

Of course, I've become such a hermit these days that it really doesn't matter how much or how often they entertain. It's not likely to affect me one way or the other. I'm coming to think this profound solitude is a bad thing, but I don't know what I want to do about it.

               

Another kind of fear

Yesterday I wrote about my fear of having to make a lot of decisions, as one obstacle that stands in the way of my getting published. But there's another.

I am really afraid of putting myself out there.

Bad at parties

Jack and Jill threw a Halloween party tonight. They had skipped it last year because of COVID-19, and in fact they haven't thrown any parties since the outbreak of the pandemic, so far as I can recall. (Or at any rate, they've had people over from time to time -- rarely, to be sure! -- but this is the first one that was general enough that I was invited.)

I knew that I couldn't afford to get really hammered, because I'm planning to visit my mom tomorrow, and that means a drive of a couple of hours. Plus, after I get there, we're going out for the evening somewhere that will require a bunch more driving. So I have to be functional tomorrow.

But also I have come to realize that I am really bad at parties, or at any rate at the kind of parties that Jack and Jill throw. I'm not good at small talk, or at least I'm not good at small talk with people I scarcely know. I'm not part of these people's lives -- none of them, not even Jack and Jill themselves, really, even though they are my next-door neighbors. And I don't dance, not unless I'm so drunk that the next day is already destined to be a total loss.

The one thing I know how to do at their parties is eat and drink. And they always have food out, and plenty of alcohol. So in the past I have often spent my time drinking and drinking again, occasionally chatting with someone who decides to be nice to me, and maybe dancing if I finally get drunk enough not to care that I have no clue what I'm doing.

No, that's not fair. The people at these parties are genuinely nice to me. Even the ones that I know the least smile and wave, and their eyes show recognition; others remember my name even when I've forgotten theirs. They recognize me, and even seem happy enough to see me.

It's my problem. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to interact. These people are all friendly and willing to interact with me in whatever constitutes "a normal way." It's my problem that I have no idea what that means, or how to do it.

This evening's party was scheduled to run from 6:00 pm to midnight. I arrived somewhere around 7:00 pm, I think. I chatted aimlessly with a couple of people, and drank four or five glasses of sake. (Jack had just come home from a trip overseas, and had brought a lot of sake with him.) I was the only one there without a Halloween costume, but Jill cleverly told someone else that I was dressed as a sociopath -- you know, they always look so normal! I thought that was pretty clever. (And in fact I wondered if she had been talking to Marie, but I managed to stop myself from asking.) And then, when no-one was looking, I snuck quietly out their back door and back to my apartment. I was home by 8:15. In fact I was all ready for bed before I decided to write this. But I'm going to bed right after. 

It's times like this that remind me how isolated I really am. And it's a depressing thing to remember. Oh well. Tomorrow is Halloween, and I'll be driving to visit my mom. That will be nice.

Time for bed. Maybe I can forget all this for a few hours while I'm asleep.

    

Holiday wrap-up

I just realized last night that I've written nothing about the holidays themselves. Time was when I always wrote some kind of Christmas post, but not this year. It's been all good, but I'm not sure how much of a story there is to tell.

The boys were with me for a week and a half, ending on Christmas Eve. I was off work most of that time because the company wants us to burn down our accumulated vacation as a cost-savings measure. So we talked; I did a little Christmas shopping and rather more Christmas baking. I made a big vat of persimmon jam (see, e.g., here). 

The three of us went to see "Star Wars 7" with Jack and Jill, and then afterwards had dinner at their place: no drunken carousing, but good food and lots of fun conversation. Then we drove to my mother's place (the same house she bought with my father 43 years ago) to have Christmas with her, plus Brother and his wife. It was a fun time for all, and on Christmas Eve I drove the boys to spend the remainder of the holiday with Wife. I spent several hours on Christmas Day at my volunteer work, and I have spent the ensuing week still off work (see remarks above) and watching a lot of movies. Maybe today I'll clean my apartment.

Not a lot to tell, but a pleasant couple of weeks.  

Depression or ...?

A couple weeks ago I had my annual physical checkup. While he was tapping my knees or telling me "Turn your head and cough" my doctor kept up a running stream of questions ... low-key but consistent. Is it still true that I don't smoke? How much do I drink? What about sexual activity?

At one point he asked me about work. Yeah, sure, I guess it's going OK. It's not like it's going to save the world, but it's going OK. A little later he asked the same question in another way, and I began to wonder where this was going. Most of his questions had an obvious point: when he asked if I've started a new romantic relationship, he explained candidly that he was really asking about unprotected sex. Oh, ... and also about "function": viz., can I still get it up? But what's this about work?

After a while he explained that too. He was trying to determine if I need an increase in the medication I take for my depression. The clues for him were that all I seemed pretty unenthusiastic about work, and I seemed pretty unenthusiastic about finding a new relationship. So what am I enthusiastic about? Anything? And if not, is that for psychiatric reasons?

I told him I didn't think I needed a change in my prescription, so he let it go. But later I started to think about it. It's true that lately I have been sluggish and unenthusiastic about a lot of things. (Work especially!) Is it depression? What else might it be?

The answer came to me quickly: maybe I am mourning. My father died two months ago. Our relationship had its ups and downs, but still ... he was my father. And after his memorial I found myself thinking a lot, Wow, look at all the people who turned out. I wonder if I even know that many people? And how many of them will notice I'm gone when it's my turn? I don't think this is an unusually morbid way to think. Or, to put it another way, I think it's actually pretty normal to think about death when somebody dies. Also to slow down and detach a little bit from the main flow of the world's work.

I don't remember whether I told my doctor that my dad had died. But I think that's part of my recent listlessness.

There's at least one other component. Last week I had an assignment at work that comes around about once a year. For three days I forgot to take lunch and was staying late ... not because of the deadline (though there was a deadline) but because I was having fun. And whatever else I was, I certainly wasn't listless at Jack and Jill's party. So I think the other component in my recent listlessness is boredom. I've been doing the same damned thing every week at work and every week at home and it's just getting harder and harder to give a shit. But give me a change of pace, and I come right back to life

Speaking of which, I've invited Jack and Jill over for dinner tonight. It'll be almost the first time I've cooked for someone else in that kitchen except for the boys -- only a couple of meals for Debbie and I think one for Suzie. I'm looking forward to it. And meanwhile, I should log off and go set the table ....

"Is this your first Jack-and-Jill party?"

It's one o'clock in the afternoon. I got up an hour ago. I've drunk two cups of coffee, swallowed a couple of Tylenol, and put some food in my stomach. And I just finished scrubbing the red wine residue out of the toilet, where I threw it up last night.

That was some party.

Jack and Jill moved in next door, maybe three weeks ago. I met them while they were unpacking, and we chit-chatted a bit. She's a pathologist at the local hospital; he just finished a tour of duty as a Navy pilot. They're young and friendly.

Last week, Son 2 was visiting me for a couple of days. Jill was putting out the trash and we talked for a couple of minutes. Afterwards he said, "My God she has a lot of energy."

And last night they held a costume party. They invited me, which was sweet of them since we'd only talked for a few minutes. I went dressed as Number 6. (Nobody recognized the character.) And because I live next door I was the first one there. Jack handed me a glass of wine, Jill let me help put a few last decorations in place, and I got to make polite conversation as their friends trickled in.

And trickled in. And trickled in.

Soon the only way to make any conversation at all -- polite or otherwise -- was to shout, or else step out onto the front porch. The small house was full. Conversations were squeezing past each other. The music was loud, the fog machine worked fine, the lasers were dazzling, and the wine flowed endlessly. There was a cheese board out for a while, until the ants found it; then Jill whisked the cheese away into the refrigerator and all we had was more wine.

Everyone was friendly. Most of them were a lot younger than I am, of course, but they were fun and pleasant to talk to. One guest -- who had already made plans to stay the night -- cautioned me about "Jack-and-Jill parties". She said she had made sure to eat a full meal beforehand, and was pacing herself deliberately. She warned me that these parties were known for getting crazy.

If this had been a horror movie, that brief exchange would have been the scene where the main characters stop at a gas station to ask directions to the lonely old house, and the grizzled station owner drawls, "You folks sure you want to go out there?"

Mind you, I thought I was pacing myself. At any rate I felt fine. I could talk clearly (or rather, shout clearly) and I was walking with no trouble. When Jill pointed out that they had cleared away the furniture from half of the living room to make a dance floor, I shook my head and said, "I'm not nearly drunk enough to try to dance."

So maybe I should have been paying attention when I found myself, a few hours later, shifting back and forth in time to the music and edging onto the dance floor. Maybe I should have reflected that there might be something not quite sober about bouncing to the music with a glass of wine in one hand and somebody's foam light saber in the other. Maybe I should have noticed that something had changed in the party when Jill dumped the scary black robe she had been wearing and started dancing up a storm dressed in only a leotard - a low-cut, sleeveless, legless, bright pink leotard.

In fact it was only when I went to the bathroom and got away from the noise and movement for a minute that I realized just how funny my head felt. Coming back out I also realized that most people had left. I think Jill was asleep. Jack was still putting on more music, but I thanked him for his hospitality and excused myself. Then I made my way, slowly and carefully, back to my apartment. I got undressed and got almost as far as my own bathroom before I had to drop to the floor. I crawled the rest of the way down the hall to the toilet and started throwing up. I think that was about two o'clock this morning.

The next time I saw the clock it was four. I was still on the floor outside my bathroom, and it was very cold. So I crawled to bed, turned out the lights, and wrapped myself in my blanket. When I woke up at seven-thirty I walked to the bathroom to pee, realized I still wasn't walking very well, and fell back asleep for another four hours.

Today is sunny and bright. My head mostly feels better. I can walk in a straight line. So I wrote a quick "Thank You" message on a note card and walked over to leave it for Jack and Jill. I met the guest who was staying over. She called out cheerily, "Hello Hosea!" and then asked "So how are you feeling this morning? Fresh as a daisy?"

Ummm, ... more or less, I guess. It's one o'clock by now, isn't it?

"I'm feeling pretty good. But then, I approached the whole party with a strategy."

A strategy?

"Yes. Oh, was this your first Jack-and-Jill party?"

Yup.

"You'll find you need to have a strategy to get through them. I ate well beforehand, drank slowly, and I had some Pedialyte. Do you know what Pedialyte is?"

Yes, I think so.

"Well it's a great help for parties like this. Keep it in mind."

I will, thanks.

Of course, I don't know if I'll be invited to another one. A bare acquaintance who's the first one there and the last to leave? By the light of day it sounds pathetic and desperate. I guess I can always hope that Jack and Jill were too drunk to see it that way.

Because I did have a lot of fun. It was really out of character for me, but oh yes it was a lot of fun.