I was suffering through a very long, painfully boring day of work when one of the officers moseyed in (it was definitely a mosey) to hand me a subpoena! A SUBPOENA. Because apparently all that talk about settling the mess out of court, with a simple plea bargain, isn’t going to happen.

So on the 10th of June, I have to testify. AGAIN. Some of you might remember how I feel about that. In short, I feel nauseated and weak. I don’t dislike it, I’m not annoyed by it, it’s not a mere inconvenience – I get all weak-kneed and terrified at the idea, so as you can imagine the actual act of same makes me want to squall like a tantrum-bound toddler and suck my thumb with my eyes squeezed shut until it all blows the hell over.

I’m getting sort of sick to my stomach just writing about it. Why can’t he just admit he’s crazy so  I can get ON with my life? The evidence is overwhelming, people. There’s no way he’s walking away from this. A plea bargain is smart, it’s reasonable. Instead he’s going to claim innocence (HA!)? And what’s the matter with his lawyer, anyway? He’s walking – no, striding – into what can only be humiliation and loss. But then, what do I know, maybe he likes to suffer, maybe he’s a masochist.

I’m NOT though. I’m annoying and repetitive and I should probably do us all a big favor and end this right now, but if I have to endure then by god SO DO YOU. Just imagine how much moping and whining I’m likely to do in the next two weeks or so. At least while I’m shoveling in antacids like candy and losing sleep and remembering how positively enlivening it was to be shot at, you’ll be shuffling through blog posts or whatever else it is you do when you don’t have to worry about testifying. You lucky bastards.

My youngest sister graduated from high school yesterday, in what I think most people will remember as the longest graduation ceremony of their lives. The class video alone took a completely unreasonable amount of time, considering the inferno-like temperature of the auditorium and the squalling toddler near the front row. And honestly, if the audience – packed full of misty-eyed parents and grandparents brimming with pride – was starting to get shifty and impatient, imagine how the graduates felt. I mean, all they want are their diplomas and scholarship money. And oh yeah, cards with cash gifts. In a class with about twenty kids, the whole ordeal could have easily been compacted into a half an hour instead of the hour and a half it took, thanks in part to the Valedictorian repeating herself about 129458 times during her speech.

But happily, Te is finished with high school. In the fall, she’ll be going to Michigan to start her service in the Navy. I have a few unspoken reservations about it, for instance: why would someone who so clearly did not enjoy high school throw herself directly into the Navy? There are too many common denominators for this to be a lovely and brilliant idea.

But nevermind what I think, because being just as stubborn (or perhaps twice as stubborn) as the rest of our family, Te will do exactly as she pleases, and so she should. It’s her life. I hope it works out for the best.

I didn’t mean for this post to be all dreary and bleak, and now I feel compelled to add that the celebrational BBQ was great in the sense that we all ate and conversed and made merry. Also, later I went to my friend L’s place where we toasted her son (also a graduate) and shared strawberry daiquiris. Because strawberries, they just have a way of making everything wonderful.

Or maybe that was the liquor.

I woke up in one of those moods that can be hard to describe, until you yourself are feeling very much like giving any living thing the one-fingered wave. Suffice it to say, I was very cantankerous.

I swore at my CD player and muttered about the wrinkled state of my trousers, while not bothering to turn down the volume or break out the ironing board. I skipped coffee (never a good idea) and stomped out the door braced against the morning chill, because NO WAY was I going back for a jacket, and besides it’s MAY for the love of god, and anyway it was definitely the jacket’s fault since it was sitting in such an inconvenient spot.

Yes, my mood was such that the blaming of inanimate objects seemed perfectly acceptable, even normal. So I guess it’s no surprise that while I was trudging to work, glaring at the evil street (how dare it just lie there all day?), and a big black dog started barking madly and came barreling toward me at full speed, I turned around with a sneer and said, “Ooooh, you’re so scary!”

…And then glanced around to see if anyone noticed me TAUNTING the dog before going on my merry way.

We’re standing in the garage, looking at his new motorcycle and making small talk.
Me: “When are you going to take me for a ride, show me what this thing can really do?”
Him: “There’s only one seat.”
I arch my eyebrow and smile the knowing smile that I get. “Is that a problem for you?”

We’re in his sister’s kitchen, finishing up a shared plate of deviled eggs. I say something vaguely insulting.
Him: “Fuck you.”
Me: “Not right now, I’m busy.”
Him, while flashing the knowing smile that he gets: “You know where to find me.”

We’re standing in line at the grocery store, side by side. I’m buying a graduation card for my sister, and he’s buying laundry soap.
Me: “You’re doing laundry? That’s a first.”
Him: “Yeah, you want to do it for me?”
Me, laughing doubtfully: “No.”
Him: “Then what are you good for, anyway?”
I smile my knowing smile and he smiles back at me. I walk away.

I feel him watch me leave.

I’ve been expecting a package I ordered for my friend B’s birthday, so when I found one sitting just inside the storm door in my mudroom, I didn’t think anything of it. I scooped it up and eagerly ripped it open, as is my habit.

Except, it wasn’t my package. A fact that was brought to my attention the second I got to the bottom of the packing peanuts, mostly because of the clear, gel-like, PENIS ENHANCEMENT TOY nestled in the bottom of the box. I stared at it for a second, dumbstruck, then unfolded the receipt and read the name of my NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOR.

And then I stuffed it all back to the bottom, re-closed the lid, and read her name as CLEAR AS DAY on the top of the damn box.

The following list of options ran through my mind (because OH GOD PLEASE anything would be better than RETURNING it to her with stammered apologizes about ACCIDENTALLY OPENING HER MAIL-ORDER SEX TOY):
1) Throw the box away, never to be seen again. Hey, UPS loses things all the time, right?
2) Reseal the box and leave it on her doorstep at midnight (a plan hindered by my lack of packing tape)
3) Find the new UPS guy in our area, because clearly this was HIS massive failure, and make HIM take it to her (after properly resealing it, of course)

Instead, I found her phone number and called her. I explained that I  had a package with her name on it, and would she like me to bring it back? And after hastily telling me she’d be right over to pick it up, she came RIGHT over, probably thinking, OH GOOD CHRIST OF ALL THE THINGS TO BE DELIVERED TO THE WRONG HOUSE!

At which point we had an excessively awkward conversation that included me smiling way too much and laughing like a nervous idiot as I muttered apologizes for accidentally opening her package, and her giving lame excuses about a sex toy party she and some friends had hosted that got all ‘raunchy’ and ‘out of hand’.

May I NEVER have to live through anything like it again, ever.

My friend K recently pointed out to me that aside from being a highly judgmental individual, I tend to put people into two categories based on their actions: they are either good people, or bad people. No gray areas exist. Before you go getting all puffed up and leave a string of creative choice words in my comment section, please know that I also do this to myself, and I’m harder on myself than anyone else. Actually, my role as my own worst critic is how this conversation came about to begin with.

I try to be fair, to recognize that good people can make bad decisions. Which would of course be a gray area. Likewise, bad people can make good decisions. Still a gray area. Except I don’t think that way. I think, WHOA she threw an ice cream bowl at her mother’s head? Total bitch! She’s going to hell! Or he cheated/lied/held someone up at gunpoint/screwed around on his wife/didn’t correct the clerk when she counted back improper change? BAD! Straight to hell with him, too.

In fact, now that I’m writing about this, it occurs to me that MOST people fall into my ‘bad’ category. A mere select few meet my requirements for goodness. Why is this? I mean, hell, even I fail to meet my requirements, in fact I don’t just fall short, I do it with colossal greatness.

Can’t I cut us all a break? Hey, it’s OK that you didn’t visit your grandma when you said you would, you’re NOT a bad person! Except in my stupid narrow mind I’m going, ‘Hey, wait pal, you had an obligation! You said you would go, and therefore ONLY A HURRICANE should have prevented your ass from being there!’

Obviously these examples are extreme, but my point is clear, yes? I need to stop cramming people into naughty and nice boxes, labeling them based on ONE bad judgment call. Because hello, we ALL make piss poor decisions. In my considerably short lifetime, I’ve made several, no wait COUNTLESS bad choices. And as I’ve said before, these were not necessarily little screw ups. Most were big.

So I should lay off with the inner organizing and just smile and wave, smile and wave boys. (Why yes, that WAS a Madagascar reference. And PS, watchers of Disney movies clearly fall into the GOOD category, am I right? No matter if you’re a serial killer with a Disney fetish, YOU BELONG AMONG THE MORALLY SUPERIOR).

My co-worker has an 18 year old son, soon to graduate from high school. He’s the guy you want to be while you’re there, assuming you’d rather be male. He’s gorgeous and athletic and popular, blah blah blah. He’s the sort of guy I would’ve been speechless and stupid around, you know?

Today as we were standing in line at Subway, awaiting our lunches, she told me that she mentioned to him that she works with me (my little sister is his classmate) and he didn’t know who I was. So she explained that I’m the lady who sits at the corner desk, and he said:

“Oh, yeah. She’s hot.”

Yes, I am. And also, THANK YOU privileged teenaged boy, for reminding me of that.

I’m a wreck. I have been, for a little over two weeks. I’m living with my friend due to plumbing problems, so I never have actual alone time. I go on walks, but it isn’t the same. Work is a consistently nerve-wrecking experience. Money is tight, too tight. I have a to-do list as long as my arm, but I haven’t tackled it because I’m stuck in limbo, waiting.

I smile and wave and make cheery comments, but inside I am exhausted and afraid. Afraid that everything is going to come crashing down around me, afraid that I can’t hold it all up. And that fear makes me feel stupid, because I am ONE person with SINGULAR responsibilities. I am not my sister, who is juggling work and school and a baby. I am not my other sister, who is trying to think and act for two people now. I am me, and I am failing. If I can’t even handle life right now, how will I ever manage a husband (yeah, right), a baby, a future occupation with even more going on?

And I’m tired of forced cheer and tedious conversations for the sake of good manners and the ongoing drama that seems to revolve around my family and I am ESPECIALLY tired of not being able to look at the world and say all the things I want to say because there’s a good chance they would LOCK ME UP somewhere and then what would you spend your time doing, in lieu of ALL the time you spend hunched diligently over these blog posts?

Realistically, I know that part of my disposition is due to my thyroid – I haven’t been taking it on a regular schedule, due to the fact that I don’t have one, so I’m tired and aching and grouchy more than usual. But really, I’m heart sick.

I’ve never been good at managing stress. I’m 26 years old, and all I really want is for someone to pull me onto their lap, into their arms, and stroke my head while they whisper that everything will be wonderful someday, yes that’s right, GIVE ME LIES. I don’t care how outlandish they are, tell me everything I need to hear to get back into some sort of happy place.

And now, on to a completely related and relevant subject change: CAKE.

Saturday I went to look for my first car. If some of you are thinking, wait, isn’t she 26 years old? you’re right. What can I say, I’m a procrastinator. Anyway, we drove through multiple car lots in search of le car, and finally stopped to test drive some of them.

First they brought out a 2005 red Dodge Neon, which, urk. I’m not a fan of red cars. I like to speed, and to me red car + speeding = the highway patrol pulling my ass over and slapping a $40 ticket up against the window. Besides, the steering wheel was bouncing all over the place, so there were alignment problems or whatever else. The Dodge got the VETO.

Then, I saw it. Sitting there all quiet and unassuming, glowing a brilliant blue color in the sunlight. A 2003 Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo. I have never in my life seen a sexier machine, and I swear if the sales person and my brother hadn’t been standing in the general vicinity I would’ve climbed onto the hood and taken off my shirt in a lust-filled frenzy. Mmm, Jeep.

Still with me? No? Okay, then. It drove like a dream and had new tires – besides having only 74,000 miles on it, which I thought was pretty good considering the age. I came thisclose to signing the paperwork and taking off in it, whistling a happy tune despite the inevitable starving I’d have to endure due to gas prices and insurance costs. Thankfully, common sense (and, okay, admittedly I had to actually have insurance before they’d let me leave in it) prevailed, and I declined the completely marvelous Jeep.

My heart has a little dent in it thanks to the lack of Jeep filling my driveway, but I’ll probably survive. Also, aiding in my survival is the determination to go back some weekend very soon with my brother-in-law (who tolerates me better than most people, the sucker) and purchase something with better gas mileage.

Still, in my continuing fantasy, I drive off the lot in the Jeep, windows down and stereo blaring, with a mile-wide grin on my face.

I shouldn’t go. It can only cause trouble – I know this from experience. I should stay here, and be the person I like. The self that I’m happy with, if not always the one that I’m drawn to.

Still, she lurks beneath the surface, taunting me with her wares. Dark eyes, a pouting mouth. I want to go, she says, and I tilt my head in consideration.

I shouldn’t. I know where the road will end. But there is something perverse in my soul, something that wants to go no matter the consequences, even knowing those consequences will likely be many and much.

Energy hums along my skin, whispering of what could be, if only I give in. If only I take what I want.

I chew the inside of my bottom lip, torn. Do I go? Do I stay?

My stomach lurches at the thought of not seeing him. I put on my shoes and tousle my hair, not meeting my own eyes in the mirror.

The walk is long, but I don’t change my mind.