Twenty years ago, I would have thought it scary to have an attempted murder next door. Now what is scary is that I don't. I was curious, yes, as to why the CSI van and yellow caution tape were at my neighbors' house tonight. But it all made sense now, coupled with my daughter's casual "there were police cars outside this morning" comment when I woke up this afternoon. Evidently the police were there for a different reason; not the recent overblown eviction across the street from last week. Now it seems that the insanity has stretched its long and menacing fingers into the lives of our seemingly quiet and content next door neighbors. Who knows what set him off. It could have been a million things, it seems. I wonder if history books will ever truly represent this steep downturn in the moral fabric of society. And more than that, I wonder if there will be anyone left who cares.
I dropped the charges against the guy who hit me back in December, while I was working at our local hospital. Some states say it is a felony to assault a healthcare worker. Others, like our lovely state, believe it is just a risk you take. Part of the job, you know. I couldn't see pursuing my own personal vendetta against him, especially after he really did make a life change of his own accord. Prior to our quaint little "mediation" meeting, I really wanted to turn the screws to this guy, to make an example out of him that said to the rest of the scum bag drunks "hey jackass, us nurses aren't going to take your crap anymore. Get your own damn sandwich and if you think about laying a hand on me, I'm gonna break your arm into three different pieces before I have you arrested." Much to the chagrin of my internal justice, he straightened up (quite nicely, to his credit) and I couldn't do anything but congratulate him and sign the request to let all this go. Strange.
Food costs too damn much. And so does gas. Bills suck too. And I get tired of hearing the police chopper overhead at night. I really want to quit smoking, and then ten minutes later I want to get a second job so I can afford to keep smoking. That's a little schizo, I think. Probably comes from the nicotine withdrawl, since I haven't had a smoke in three hours and I know I don't have any more. Smoked the last one. And I won't go out and spend my last $40 to get another pack. I'll be lucky if I'm not sleeping in a motel by Monday because we're both trying to quit and subsequently bite each others' heads off. I wonder if preserving my marriage is a valid reason to keep smoking....
I think I need to go to bed. I'm looking at the front side of four nights, and they don't look very pretty. And even after all my whining and bitchy complaints, I know there are plenty of people out there who have it a hell of a lot worse than I do. Lord, if you're listening, please bring your peace to my worldly, tumultuous soul and help me keep my eyes on the beautiful end of all of this. Amen and goodnight.
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1 comment:
Strangely enough, I find peace in your bitching, I think maybe because it reaffirms that I'm not the only one who wonders how it all went to hell so fast.
You're right, we are a lot alike - hang in there with the stretch of 4 and with the nicotine wagon... And let's get together for coffee this week if we can (I'll brew if you don't mind stepping over boxes!!) love ya, sister...
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