Once again suffering under a panicked compulsion to write something, anything; no matter how awful. Indeed I am drunk. And forewarned - it will be awful.
Two things:
1) In the shower Saturday morning dreading the day to come. I can't escape to work, so it'll be 48 hours under the scrutiny of MW. She will say ugly things and complain the entire time; but we will get nothing done.
I'm sick thinking about it. Another two days, destroyed. Precious time squandered. MW has started falling down. A lot. An absurd amount of tripping over, basically, nothing. Her own feet. This makes her furious. And confused. The entire house needs to be rearranged in a way that makes it impossible to fall. Make-shift railings made from dog-gates have turned the kitchen into a maze. Sofas, chairs and beds all shanty-town now.
I'm to blame for a lot of it. Still not sure why, but I am.
MW is constantly pissed at me.
Hot water from the shower rolls down my back, but my stomach grows cold.
The way out. The ultimate end.
It is no longer abstract. Concrete plans form in my mind. The ledger tilts too far and I have no counterbalance argument.
I see it. I want it. Part of me aches for it.
A release.
Why don't I?
No response but the background static that has existed since the universe began.
2) Part of the ongoing charade of normalcy is MW searching for employment. She can work another twenty years, you know. Sure. Her Aunt worked until 60 (never mind that MW is now fifty. 60-50=20?)
Since quitting her job last September, she's applied for over 1,000 jobs. And when I say she's applied, I mean to say I've applied for her. And taken all those bullshit employment test you have to take in today's job market.
I pass the tests, she gets the face-to-face interview, and they don't hire her.
I wonder why?
So I'm doing another one of the pre-employment screening tests for MW and it's a dozy: all sorts of complicated word problems, math, and an intricate computerized VR environment simulating a call center. As I'm plowing through, I think about deliberately fucking it up so MW doesn't get the interview. Wouldn't that be for the better?
An interesting moral question.
Which led to another dilemma: all the test require the candidate to "do their own work". Yeah, right. It's gotten to the point where I wouldn't trust MW to enter her own phone number correctly. So by doing the applications for her, I'm lying and cheating the system.
But I'm doing it for loooooove.
Right?
***
More of the same. No solutions, just fuck-ups.
Depression. Booze.
And in the background, static. Like old television at three in the morning: white and black dots buzzing on the screen.
Suicide.
No comments:
Post a Comment