As a lot of people know, I’ve been bitching quite heartily about being way too friggin busy the last month, from church events to people leaving the country to mothers day and birthdays, newsletter editing… whatever, I never wanted this blog to become some open wound where I berate the internet with what’s going on in my life.
Sucked. So hard. And it’s not even over yet.
So, forgive me while I vent. Because I already deleted this post once but still can’t get over it. Imagination failing… must… complain…
Set the scene:
Sitting on the couch, playing some video games, liiiiiiitle tipsy… maybe a little something else that Trudeau’s still workin’ on legalizing… suffice it to say… relaxed. Super stoked that even though I work the next day and have a meeting with the volunteer coordinator for the conservation center tomorrow, after that I have THREE WHOLE DAYS to come down off of what has been a crazy stressful month. I was so happy, guys.
Obviously too happy.
Mark walks around the dimly lit corner into the living room… propping himself on the wall.. and like a kid in a damn horror movie says with blood trickling out the side of his mouth “I.. I need help.” His hand palm up, outstretched… contains half a tooth and a little bit of blood.
And hello to realizing I threw out the box of salt last month when I cleaned the kitchen and now we don’t have anything to sterilize the wound in my boyfriend’s face.
Time to venture out into downtown after midnight… which honestly, at the time, not something that scared me much, but as you’ll learn in a minute is not something I’m gonna try and make a habit of for the next little bit.
Salt acquired, boyfriend calmed, bleeding stopped things start to normalize. we realize no one’s dying, it wasn’t an actual tooth, just a crown. He will likely need surgery… but immediate crisis is over. we’re able to get to sleep with the promise of waking up early and getting stuff sorted out before I have to leave for the volunteer meeting and then immediately after, work.
wake up, phone the nearest dental office, make an appointment, run out to buy lots of chicken noodle soup so he’s got something to eat he doesn’t have to chew until his appointment… next week.
But here’s the thing. I went out the FRONT door of my apartment building to get these supplies. On my way back out to go to work… I left through the back door.
Opening the door to the back of the building and whole world explodes into police tape, cruisers and middle aged white men in Kevlar vests.
There had been a murder in the building next door. About three hours ago. and about five hours after another murder that happened about an hour after I had gone out for salt and about two blocks from the other murder so about three blocks from my home.
Get to work. Thankfully at least one of the murderers seems to have been arrested as I keep checking local news sites all damn day. And just to kill any hopes of this day turning around for me. AGENT CARTER HAS BEEN FUCKING CANCELLED.
The fact that a TV show centered on a strong female lead just when I’m feeling vulnerable and defeated by life hit me so god damned hard today.
How am I supposed to be the strong person as my man is staring down the barrel of a few very painful awkward days of not being able to talk or chew that can only end in a chair, unconscious with needles and other surgical implements crammed into his face followed by at least one week of awful pain when the world keeps murdering people outside my door and Hollywood keeps killing my goddamned heroes.
Fuck you Friday the 13th.
P.S. the fact that everybody mentioned in this post is technically having a worse day than I am… is of no comfort. So shut up. Let me be selfish.