A Moment Of Weakness

          A Moment Of Weakness

Seething in the lobby of the Westin hotel in the heart of downtown Seattle. I had just came back in from getting soaked in a winters storm outside while smoking these gnarly cigarettes. Something which is given a nickname of what I am sitting on right now does not belong in this weathered mouth. I had quit cigs six years previously after a seven year binge. Now I regress back to putting a dirty butt in my mouth.

A father passes by behind my lounging couch with his young son straddled atop his shoulders, they reach his wife standing in line at the counter and he says rather loudly as if announcing his presence to the lobby patrons, "You need to go dry your hair," to his unsuspecting wife. I wonder if she takes offense to revealing to the lobby the state of her frazzled rain soaked nap. How inappropriate. The lady has feelings man.

My conscious has guilt weighing down upon it. I just escaped the sanctity of my cozy hotel room while Lilly comforts the contorting and screaming kid as she cradles him into his morning nap. I had to get away. I awoke angry and could hardly muster up the courage to speak. The night before had been a hellish scene of frustration for me with the boy. Lilly had a holiday party in a nearby hotel last night, so I hung out with the boy all by my lonesome from 5:30 till 12:00. In that time he slept only one hour, divided up into two short naps. Not his typical night. He should have been asleep before Lilly left, then been up for merely a couple hours before passing out again around 8:30. Instead he was fighting his existence until nearly 11:00. My frustration rose to anger and I lost my cool. I had reached the tipping point of remaining calm and boiled over.

I wanted to shake him to express my anger, of course I could never…ever, could I. Is that a question or am I convincing myself I could not. I felt like throwing my pillow at him, to startle his wits. Isn't there some kind of room service that takes babys down to the kitchen and puts them on ice for later consumption? Isn't there a number to call that can fix this? Where the hell is Lilly! She was supposed to be here two hours ago. Why am I so angry with Lilly, she has done nothing wrong. And yet I feel contemptuous towards her because she is not here to take away my frustrations. I can’t simply hand off the boy and be done with this battle. I audibly sigh to my complaining son as I imagine Lilly shitfaced in the ballroom of some neighboring hotel schmoozing with her fellow coworkers, of whom she has only met in person tonight.

So last night we all went to the lobby for an evening stroll to buy butts. Like I said I don't smoke cigarettes anymore. Until last night. My throat has a scratch, my clothes reek of cheap Phillip Morris aftertaste, and half a pack later I inexplicably can't stop inhaling this vile creation. The boy decided to interrupt my newly found sleep at 2:30 this last night, and awoke our room with tormented screams for thirty minutes. Dam I should have taken that sleeping pill. I scour my bag and pull out a methocarbamol the size of a chewable vitamin C wafer. Break it into quarters and pop one of the small wedges. They were originally intended for dogs. Ahh the perks of having a fully stocked animal hospital in the family...Sleep comes. And it goes just as quickly as the boy once again begins wreaking havoc at 7:30 in the morn. For another hour I fight it. I denounce his authority of invading my sleep and fight the incessant battle taking place among him and the warrior Lilly. I lose the battle and give in to his torments.

So only twenty minutes ago I skipped out after five hours sleep to go out into the frigid 40 degree Seattle rain to stick another butt in my mouth. A vile and yet wonderful feeling courses through my blood. My blood brain barrier has been violated, and I like it. The metho pill still courses through me as I fight to bring my senses into full fruition with a dose of hotel room coffee. The brain numbing air out here does the rest. I wonder how Lilly is fairing with The Boy up there, perhaps I should go make amends and return to our wonderful vacation I abandoned late yesterday afternoon. The feel of Christmas is alive up here, the frigid air, seasonal decorated trees among the concrete jungle, the raving mad shoppers coursing through the streets as we walked the entire length of the city. What happened to that. Can I bring back the joy we were experiencing yesterday. I’m off to try. Holding this anger in me is poisonous. He’s just a baby dam it! It’s only sleep!



I return to our room to find The Boy standing up, his face smacked up against the rain punched window. Lilly is putting her face on in preparation to go to another work function involving food and wine. She asks me, “what did I do, you haven’t said one word to me this morning…”

Just as I was about to explain my grief away with excuses, she takes my words right out of my mouth, “I know you’re tired, I know he’s been a pain in the ass, but I didn’t do anything.”

“I know. I’m not mad at you. I’m just stressed out, he’s driving me nuts.” But I do feel anger towards Lilly. She wasn’t there last night when I needed her. I should know better than to go on her work trips. Am I jealous she is out schmoozing and I am stuck in here with the crying kid? Last work trip I went on with her this year I got in a fight with one of her coworkers. He was inappropriately drunk at the work function dinner and was making very rude and intrusive comments to everyone. He said the wrong thing to me and we got into it good. My shoddy past came back to life and my alcohol infused anger resurfaced. I promised myself never to go on another work trip, and yet here I am. And I am in a foul mood, but for a completely different reason. I have no good reason to be angry with Lilly. She has done nothing. I need to better learn to manage my feelings and openly express them to her. After assessing the current situation in the room and the mood of The Boy I ask Lilly, “so did he sleep yet?”

“Yeah, for a mere twenty minutes.”

The Boy is irritable, I am irritable, Lilly has been irritated by us both now. She picks him up and plops him down on me lying on the bed. He spazzes out for a while, then becomes transfixed on The Simpsons Movie playing on local tv. He’s getting groggy. Lilly is about to leave and comes back in the room, she whispers from behind us, “oh I forgot my purse.”

‘No, don’t…” I whisper.

“I know…” as she puts her trench coat over her head to hide her face from The Boy and tiptoes across the room for her purse. I laugh inside. If he sees her when tired he will begin to cry, I know this because of trials and errors. I also shield his eyes from her view.

The Boy finally passes out as oddly enough, Marge and the kids pull up to Seattle in a train. I look out the window at the city I am watching on the tv. Rain, cold, clouds, I love it. There must be waves, I think. I pop another wedge of methocarbamol to hide myself from my anguish. He’s sleeping? He’s asleep! Too bad I now have to pack up the room and forgo my own sleep, in preparation to head out to her relatives house in the woods. He just woke up? He’s awake! A mere twenty minutes of peace…