I'd been good.  I managed to get through the various jolts of a Saturday night alone up at the bar in the doldrums of August without being pushed over the edge.  I'd had a beer, got out the door and on the bike with my courier bag and helmet, headed toward home, adjusted to going up to Adams Morgan to revisit the places and people of Thursday night, managed to avoid getting involved.  I got as far as locking the bike up and going down into the dungeon of Bedrock Billiards, as if descending into an aquarium.  There was the woman brave enough to tend bar, talking to a few bearded guys in tee shirts, I thought her attractive from the night of the Memorial for a friend's father, but the crowd, intent on pool, going up for air for a surly cigarette, did not engage, and so, you know, this is a waste, let me get out of here.  Which I did.  A woman who'd been out talking to a friend smoking a cigarette encouraged me to hang out;  I thanked her politely and she went through the glass doors and down the stairs.

Out on the street by the bike, I dawdled for a few minutes.  Two women walked by, one wearing overalls, hey, kind of cute, no?  a fun look.  But between the open bars along Columbia, that which might have led one to temptation, well, the bike got me here, it can get me home, easier in fact, downhill, just got to get past Russia House's temptations.  I unlocked the u-lock, slung it over the handlebars, and rode home.  I got in the door, dumped the bag, sat back on the leather couch for a moment, after pulling out the open bottle of wine, out of the fridge for the coffee table, had none of it, didn't even touch it, went to bed.  And even, even if I wasn't going to sleep right away, at least I was resting and it was dark and quiet, and I could relax.

And the next day, before work, I rode the bike, indoors, on the trainer.  I got up a good lather.  A little meditation.  And then I went off to work.  Sunday night.  I got there, feeling good, actually.  I'd cracked the code, finally, so it seemed.  A decent mood.

The evening went on.  And then, all of a sudden, around 8:30, I'm tired, it's slow, the bar stools are full, except for one seat,  I was very very sick of it, tired of it.  Talk about a kitchen renovation, a marble backsplash up against a window sill to go with the marble countertop, while I just wanted to proceed with my job, after the unannounced birthday, the conversations, enjoyable, but taking a huge amount of energy.   As humoring people for five hours straight does.

On Sunday night, just put it on auto pilot.  The Germans, a party of five, the girls stuck me with that, were dry and tedious.  Is the steak special lactose free, what's on the vegetable plate...  And then, to boot, on a tab of $175, a tip of $10.  Such experts, the Germans.  They came in asking for duck, where is the duck?  No, we don't have duck, except as foie gras.  The effort to talk politics, which they brought up, and I humored.

I got enough problems, just want to be done with the night, not be pushed into having a drink, my usual coping mechanism.

I just want to get out of there without being pushed into have a drink.  I just want to get to the Safeway, get restocked a bit, then go home, plan a visit to the doctor for the small scratch which is not healing well, take care of a few things, and mainly, just to get home, to do what I did last night, take it easy, chill, not have any beverage of the wine sort beyond the beer I've had.  Just bedtime, just relaxing, reading.

So Sunday night I got back home, got on the bike, necessary to help unwind as I rode, easing frustrations.  I had a little bit, not too much wine, and woke up tired the next day.