Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Don't Know If I Can Deal With It.

Tuesday morning, and a grey and chilly morning it is -- also wet. It doesn't have any of the delicate, sweet-smelling quality that the last few days have had, no Spring-like atmosphere. Just rain. It makes me think of things like nuclear winter -- I've just been re-reading some of my Angela Thirkells and in the post-war books, the people are constantly complaining about the weather, how it never gets sunny and the summers aren't even warm. I wonder if Angela herself was unaware of the existence of nuclear winter? Or even of nuclear weather alteration? Cuz she never mentions it or causes any of her characters to explain it to the village or anything. I keep wanting to.

On the way in to work this morning, at about seven thirty, I saw a few things that, while they didn't actually frighten me, made me realize how huge the risk I am taking is, the risk of being loose on the freeway in a gas-powered vehicle, surrounded by hundreds of other gas-powered vehicles, all of us doing (let us be honest here) about seventy miles an hour, and only kept from one another by our so-human hands on the wheel. A motorcycle changed lanes twice, across the road in front of me, in plenty of time, and very visibly. But there was a fine mist from all the traffic, filling the air, and I suppose it is possible that the over-sized, jacked-up truck-and-a-half on my left did not see him. Because he came surging up beside me, and was right on top of the motorcycle before he braked sharply, and skidded sideways. On those wet pavements, and at that speed, it is truly amazing that we did not all die right there, in a big pile of twisted metal and spilled gasoline and blood. The motorcycle whipped sideways off the road and onto the shoulder, the huge truck caught itself before pushing me into the slower cars to my right, and I kept going forward. There weren't even any honks or screeching sounds. Just a quiet little near-death experience.

Then, as I was coming off the freeway, and slowing down to more ordinary land-speeds, I saw some huge thing going on in the road, with many cop cars and lots of whirling lights. Don't know what it was, cuz I was driving off in the other direction, but I'll bet there were some wet and bloody people, and some at least scraped metal, if not twisted.

And yes, since my workday starts at nine, why was I on my way to work at seven-thirty? Because Joe is back. Sleeping on the floor of my office so that I cannot get to the computer in the morning, and filling the house up with unpleasant music and using my phone, since his has been turned off for lack of payment. The father of the friend he was staying with has kicked them out and made loud threats of arrest, because the friend (and possibly Joe, since he was there -- I really don't know) sold some electronic equipment to buy drugs with.


Joe asked me to get him up this morning at six-thirty so that he could catch a bus to Clackamas Community College and take his GED, finally -- and I woke him again and again until I left the house. But when I left it, he was still in bed.

This is all getting so very Michael-like. I don't know if I can deal with it.

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