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A misty, dank and grey-toned kind of Sunday... interior atmosphere, the same. The storm, for Miss Jane, must have begun before she opened an eyelid. I've learned through time that decisions of any kind throw her into a panic... turn right, stop where, what to cook for dinner. And she started off shaky, this morning. Before the first cup of coffee kicked in. "What's bothering you" resulted in a tearful maze of rambling worries and frustrations... mainly concerning her parents, their estate, and her estranged sister (abusive, hard-living, leaving children in her wake) and brother (alcoholic, itinerant, leaving children in his wake). Things she cannot control, things she is too timid to attempt to control... even though I am supposed to be here to help. This must be what occupies her mind, constantly... to the exclusion of hearing me when I speak. Why she never seems to take pleasure in anything. Or attempts to change it. Like she's expecting a knight on a white charger to come and fix it all. My conscience says that it's my job. What's in my chest has doubts. I left her to sulk, and set to mixing up some omelettes... just to do something different, jump start the day... didn't matter. Ouside, the grey continued in the same damp attitude. Good for the landscape, at least. A while later "Biggles" (who had heretofore been refered to as the Gooner... Biggles is a better fit), and his friend Raphael (from Sao Paulo) dropped in for me to burn some CD's for him. Forgot blanks, as well... wanker. Gone three hours later. Chuck called, asked to drop by... and by her reaction, I passed him off. Can't have more than one visitor in two weeks, it seems. Leading her on our escapes down the road must be pointless. It's all an escape. Jesus, I'm boring myself. So I escaped into... Pearl Harbor. Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels. She, into eBAy. The old shed behind the house sagged to the ground, silently, into an exhausted heap... weak timbers sodden with hours of rainfall. A monotone day revisited. |
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