Friday, January 20, 2006

End-of-week life drama update

The week is winding down, and it's not like the drama has even let up any so it's time for another update. For those keeping score at home, it's been six weeks since the car died and got the ball rolling on the non-stop catastrophies in my life, but I'm still alive.

The setting of the latest incident was Wednesday evening. Earlier that day, I had taken a taxi from home to the daycare to drop off the kids, then took the bus into work the rest of the way. The Nameless One (I don't even know what to call her anymore, but readers of Terry Goodkind will recognize this name) had the car, was supposed to get off from work at 2pm and have plenty of time to pick up the kids before the daycare closed at 7pm.

At about 7:30 I get a call from the daycare on my cell phone and a feeling of dread washes over me. The kids were still there and the other phone numbers they tried calling had no answer. At the tail end of this conversation, my office line rang and the caller ID showed it was her. "I need you to do me a huge favor and call the daycare and let them know I'm really really sorry and that I'll be there in 10 minutes to get the kids."

I called the daycare back up to let them know that someone was on the way. They were relieved, but the lady also let me know that they would have to charge us extra for staying after closing. I told them that it was unavoidable at this point and that she would have to pay for it since she was the one that was late. I really didn't want to know what could have been so important that she couldn't pick up our kids on time.

Shortly thereafter, I get a call from the Nameless One again screeching about the $90 the daycare is charging us for staying open late. For effect, I merely stayed quiet throughout the whole frantic tirade and for a few moments after it was over before giving my reply in an even and calm voice. "I'm sorry, but I feel that you need to be the one that pays it since you were late in picking the kids up." That just set her boiling and I got a cold reply of "Fine! I'm on my way to pick you up, so make sure you're outside and ready to go," before she rudely hung up.

The drive home was punctuated by even more frantic shrieking and guilt-tripping, most notably by the "I hope you're happy because I watched a man die today" attempts. I sat in silence for most of the trip, simply letting the misplaced emotions go in one ear and right back out the other. I was in no mood to hear the story behind the dead man, and if it were true I knew that the universe was trying to restore balance for all of her recent shit and was trying to teach her a lesson. There was no sense in letting her talk freely about it to me to feel better yet, it needed to steep inside of her twisted soul for a while for a much stronger effect. Sensing her words were having no effect, she seemed to make one last-ditch effort by calling a friend to "check" and see if they were still going to come over to pick her up and then went into the dramatics to illustrate a point that someone still cared about her "fragile" emotions.

It has been about 36 hours since she left home, returning only twice for a moment to retrieve some item from the bedroom and quickly leaving again. The whole story takes another odd turn when I get a message from her work on the answering machine last night from the new manager that was just hired this week. Simply put, he wanted to know if she was going to work today (Friday) or skip work like she did the past two days. On top of all the crap lately, lying gets added to the list, and it doesn't affect me at all but the truth sure does reflect poorly on her at work. If things are going so bad, why go and make things worse by endangering your job and risking getting fired?

The lies make me question the whole dead man story as well. Within two hours of leaving on Wednesday night, she made her first momentary return and didn't seem the least bit disturbed or sad by the "tragic" events of her day. I checked the Blue Beast before leaving on Thursday morning and the only evidence I could find of any sort of accident was a smear of yellow and white paint on the front left bumper, but no dents or scratches that I could see anywhere else. In a twisted, sad sort of way, I hope a man did die because that's the kind of shock it seems that it will take to teach her that there are serious consequences to her selfishly careless actions. If one doesn't learn a lesson from something like that, it seems hopeless and I don't know what else it could possibly take to drill some sense into a skull that thick.


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