Filed under: In Vino Veritas, In Aqua Sanitas | Tags: addiction, Alps, books, company, conversation, depression, drinking, films, France, Identity, isolation, language, loneliness, mental health, mountains, Perspective, Politics, sea, self, smoking
âMy idea of good company is the company of clever, well-informed people who have a great deal of conversation.â Jane Austen
I went to âBook Clubâ this evening. Was loath to go after last night out at two bars with all the drinking, smoking and haphazard talk. Have been âtwitchyâ and irritable all day as a result. My poor family. Self-recrimination âcause Iâd had one drink more than my ration. Which was already really hard, given that we were out for hours. Self-recrimination âcause Iâd been visibly irritated and uncomfortable with the drinking and smoking around me, and thatâs not nice for those out to have a good time. Self-recrimination because I should know better than to put myself in the line of temptation. And yet. I didnât want to get out of bed this morning. Iâve been near-to-tears all day. And, well, âBook Clubâ is normally a large group of women in what is essentially a âbook swap,â* drinking a lot of wine and chattering.
So I went late. And, I went only âcause it was a bonafide friend hosting it at her house and I wanted to support her. I brought a thermos of green tea and ginger to drink and in order to keep my hands busy and to keep me drinking SOMETHING while, ostensibly, everyone else drank copious amounts of wine. But it wasnât like it usually is. For one thing, it was just our host, a dear friend of hers, another American who, while I may not agree with her politics, is an avid reader and I trust her judgment on books, as well as our hostâs twelve-year-old daughter who is also a reader, and who makes short stop-action films. They were finishing dinner when I arrived, and the daughter had made a peach cobbler. They also werenât drinking alcohol, just Perrier, and later, tea, so I didnât feel tempted or preoccupied with others drinking. Best of all? The conversations were dynamic and interesting. We talked about films, and books weâd recently read, and television programs – both in French and English – and we talked about curricula – both French and American â and we talked about travel, and we talked about exercise ‘fads’ sweeping the globe. It was a good evening. Nothing was discussed in too much depth, as I would generally like to do, but, I am, arguably, too serious.  Ultimately, it was an entertaining evening.
What a happy surprise! Thereâs a moral here Iâm sure. Perhaps itâs that I need to only hang out with people who enjoy talking about subjects I also enjoy talking about? Even if that means I am not as social as I generally like to be. There are several people in the valley whose company I find engaging. Perhaps itâs that I canât be in bars? I suppose itâs like a junkie going to a shooting gallery. Certainly, I canât be in them for too long. In my previous homes â Portland, New York, Los Angeles, London – I would have discussed the subjects we discussed this eve, such as literature, film, culture, education (and, ideally, some politics!) every time I met up with friends. However, perhaps in those cities itâs more obvious to find more people and situations in which to do so. I mean, my coterie of friends in each of the aforementioned places were filmmakers, writers, painters, musicians, artists, and conversational skill is highly valued as a source of creativity and collaboration. Moreover, these types of people are generally more expressive. Whereas where I live now, people are outdoorsmen. Mountain people. They like to climb, hike, ski, and maintain their fitness in the outdoors, preferably at altitude. Thatâs their passion and their focus. Not âwrong,â just not me. While I appreciate the mountains, I am claustrophobic in them, preferring the sea always (âHomme libre, toujours tu chĂ©riras la merâ). As a result of both the environment and the communityâs subsequent interests in general, Iâm often self-conscious, frustrated, and isolated here.
More so now that Iâm trying to substantially reduce my drinking, smoking, and drug-taking after 33 years of âcaningâ it. Additionally, the social life Iâve primarily known here is centered on boozy lunches, afternoons, and dinners…at restaurants and barsâŠwith those that flock to and spend a lot of time in them. However, for whatever reason, tonight I made the happy discovery that while the people and opportunities like this evening might be few-and-far between, there ARE, indeed, situations like tonight. Iâve experienced them here before. Evenings in which I will not spend the entire time âclock watching,’ leaning on, or ‘cluckingâ for my âcrutches,â and can, instead, enjoy what I perceive to be good company. Is this a new direction? It could be. It should be. Is it evidence of a whole new me? Perhaps not. But, perhaps, it is a peek at what the future could be like here, for the remaining years I am here, and thatâs a relief from the bleak perspective Iâve been viscerally feeling for the last couple of weeks.
*We donât read the same book and then talk about it like a traditional âBook Clubâ does. Itâs for Anglophone women to have a supply of reading material without having to buy books, which is a great idea in theory.
Filed under: The Pregnancy Diaries | Tags: big boobs, big breasts, boobs, boredom, breasts, Chamonix, drinking, drunk, lactating, London, maternity bras, pregnant abstinence, pregnant drinking, Rodney Dangerfield
âI found there was only one way to look thin: hang out with fat people.â Rodney Dangerfield
Given the âall clear,â or âtout va bien,â from my doctor regarding my pregnancy last week, I headed to London to visit friends. While there, Iâve experienced a metamorphosis of my body and in my perspective.
I left Chamonix with a slight curve to my belly â nothing particularly noticeable unless you know Iâm pregnant â and suddenly my stomach has exploded and I look pregnant! Itâs as though Iâm a cartoon figure that has blown up an inflatable belly through my thumb or something. My boobs, usually very small, have suddenly become full and round. I walked into a friendâs house and she exclaimed âJesus, Victoria! Wear a bra! You look like a sow!â Being flat-chested, and to this point, not in need of a bra, Iâm startled to discover that Iâm, arguably, obscene now without one! In my shame, I scurried to Marks and Spencer and thankfully had a solicitous friend with me to help me to get the right size, so Iâm now contained and respectably pregnant.
Being pregnant, Iâm not drinking. I donât judge those that doâŠif I were younger and didnât have a history of miscarriages, Iâd have the odd glass of wine, but Iâm not taking chances given my age and circumstances. As a result, Iâve been dashing about meeting friends and acquaintances for the inevitable lunches and dinners, and what Iâve discovered is that many of my pub buddies (aka acquaintances) are dead boring when Iâm not drinking. Worse, these folks are irritating, and there is nothing worse than being boring and irritating. Iâve suffered through so many âexistentialâ confessions, sober, this last week, that Iâm wondering if I was as bad pre-pregnant, or whether itâs truly âcause Iâm not in an altered state? Or, rather, not in the same altered state brought on by many late nights and midnight falafelsâŠ