A (relatively speaking) more lucid account of last night's happenings.

2002-07-25 - 10:02 a.m.

Gah. To borrow a phrase.

So, the house is empty. I'm hungover (or will be when I stop being still drunk). Now to make sense of the last few entries for you faithful readers.

First of all, I had been drinking. As had Pookie and 'guest. It was probably inevitable that we'd all have some sort of explosion, and while I did get violent, Pookie broke a glass, so all ended up well.

About violence: no fist-fighting broke out, though if it had, The Magus would have been flat laid out on the ground bleeding from more than one orifice. I'm a little bit of a non-combatant. Usually.

I am not, however, naturally non-violent. I beat up my brother mercilessly when we were kids, as, maybe, one hundred percent of the older brothers of the world have done ('cept Pookie, but he has twin and being-put-in-a-dryer issues), and I tend towards having a temper. Hey, I just realised that last night was the first time I had ever raised a finger against someone else since seventh grade when I challenged the class thug to a fight because everyone was making fun of me. Yay.

Okay, rambly entry...there's something about the whole scenario that I want to poke at, peel apart, but I'm not quite there yet...I'm avoiding whatever it is, even in my head...I'm going to drink some juice, then head back to bed.

The summary first, though.

Pookie, 'guest, and I were drinking. 'Guest became increasingly distracted and withdrawn, opting to play on his guitar rather than engage us in conversation. I sensed that he was preparing to use Pookie as his confessional again (more on that later, but y'know how people who are really good at comforting, giving advice, therapizing end up being the people who are -always- comforting and therapizing?), and I asked him politely to put away the guitar. I asked him a couple of times, and he ignored me.

Um, this is starting to seem really childish, isn't it?

Anyway, I got up, wrested his guitar away, and he left. First he left the backyard, and then, at some point, he got in his car and drove off.

This was excessively distressing for Pookie, on account of the houseguest being his ride home to Halifax. Pookie has both abandonment and betrayal issues. The Magus set aside his raging anger and held Pookie while he sobbed. He sobbed and I got angrier.

At one point Pookie threw a glass against a wall. The glass was full, so I got wet. For the record, we tend to break a glass about once a month. Not always from wall-throwing, either. Last month I knocked a glass off the counter, and the month before Pookie was doing dishes and one broke. I guess it's a little late in July to go breaking glasses, but we hadn't broke one yet this month, so it's probably better to get that nasty business out of the way.

My summaries tend towards being verbose, don't they? And rambly. Bear with me.

'Guest came home after two or three hours. He grumbled and set about moving stuff around. Pookie got upset and quietly went into the bedroom and closed the door. I stood up.

On account of being exceedingly drunk, I don't remember what I said, though I do remember him ignoring me. I wanted to call him puncticillious (spelling) but all I could say was "stupid, stupid man." which loses something in the translation. What is puncticillious, anyway?

And that's when I pushed him. I shoved him, hard, against the wall, stepped back, and demanded that he go talk with Pookie, now. I remember how surprised he looked. I guess I really don't look like the great big angry monster or something. I -can- be imposing, I guess, for someone who doesn't know me: I'm 6', and nearing 250lb (yeah, yeah, there's a great entry about weight and stuff coming in September), but something about me erases any threateningness from peoples' minds.

The 'guest said he would, and then proceeded to finish packing or whatever it was he was doing. So, I pushed him again, a couple of times, making it clear that I did, indeed, mean 'now.'

So, he went into the bedroom, and once I was sure they were talking I went outside and sat in a chair and wished I was someone else.

Then I came back and typed one of those brief-but-incoherent entries, and the rest is history.

So, now I must drink juice and handle my hangover as best I can.

Cheers,

The Magus

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