2018.01.31

His problems are over.

God help me, that's the first thought came to mind when I heard a co-worker, and friend of sixteen years, had died in a car crash. 

He wasn't even forty years old; two young kids, beautiful wife. 

And now his problems are over.

The Huntington's Wars have harden me. 

My friend wasn't withering away from disease; he wasn't in any pain - mental or physical. He and his family were young, healthy, and vibrant with big, big dreams. But my first reaction - unbidden and, fortunately unspoken - when I was told he'd died suddenly was Good for him.

His problems are over.

I loath myself and what I've become.

***

In keeping with the theme of self-hatred; I came very close to deliberately crashing the car the other day. It was in the fever pitch of another white-hot HD battle. MW was in the passenger's seat screaming at me. Screaming like a banshee. Screaming incoherently; painfully, a sound so full of hate and rage, it warps reality. How can this be real? The sounds coming from MW right now aren't human.

My foot went down on the accelerator; my hands twisted on the steering wheel. What's the harm? This can't be real anyway. 

Still, I kept it between the ditches.

I'm a long-time veteran of these wars. I've been back and forth over the minefields countless times. This explosion was close, but, I guess, not close enough. Not yet.

***

The screaming started when I made the wrong turn off the freeway. Kind of. We were driving to an unfamiliar town so MW could see where she was going to be interviewing for a job the next day. Yes, she's still trying to find work - no, nobody will hire her. Anyway, the directions were suspect so she told me to pull over and check them. I decided to make a left turn exit as that would make retracing our steps easier, plus, I'd spotted a convenience store where I could easily stop and look at the printed instructions. 

MW, however, wanted me to turn right, and said so very angrily.

In my haste to obey, I had to swerve and brake hard to make the turn.You don't disobey MW. Even when she doesn't make sense.

MW deemed the sharp swerve and heavy brake a rebuke upon her command; and thus the screaming commenced. 

***

I'm drinking too much, again. Last time I hopped on the wagon, it came on the heels of an unsettling reality break. I should probably try to get ahead of that.