I had the worst headache yesterday. I wish Letisha would come back to work, so she could alleviate the boredom. In case I didn’t explain here, she was in a car accident. Her car was totaled. Her daughter, Ashli, whom I’ve had the good fortune to meet, got a rather nasty burn on the side of her face from the passenger-side airbag. Apparently those things are as dangerous as people keep warning. So she’s been talking to her insurance people and taking her daughter to and from the doctor’s this past week.
I already had a headache when I got home, and rolling pennies to deposit in my account didn’t help matters. Nor did finding that Jason was at Dirk’s when I arrived. However, I was offered a ride in Jason’s Camaro, instead of having to drive all of us around.
Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I didn’t have to drive?
I even got my way, and we went to the book store to get a Terry Pratchett novel. We also stopped by the bank so that I could finally deposit my money from the state. $33.10. I could buy...two CD’s with that money. Or pay part of my federal income tax.
Then, we went to Tower. The trip up there was amazing. At one point in your life, you simply must ride in a Camaro. I’ve never been on a smoother ride.
We were cruising along, listening to a song that went, “...That’s when I reach for my revolver....That’s when I blow them all away....,” and I was thinking that I could get drunk a thousand times over, but it would never feel this good. It would never feel so vital. Even the throbbing pain from my head felt good because it reminded me that I wasn’t dreaming.
Then we got to Tower, and Jason made a few too many snippy comments about my driving, and I decided I didn’t want to be around them anymore. So I read part of a Dilbert book, then went outside to smoke. My headache had gotten incredibly worse. Dirk came out, worried, and told me it was time to go.
The ride back was quiet. In deference to my headache, Jason played Bach the entire way home. Of course, he had a headache too, so he was helping himself, too. We got home, and I brought Dirk to work.
Oh, if the narrative only stopped there. Unfortunately, it doesn’t. My headache had gotten worse (I didn’t think that was possible), to the point where every time I saw a headlight, even miles away, there would be a stabbing pain in the back of my head. Or the front. I was too dazed from pain to think clearly.
I was cold to Dirk, and I didn’t mean to be. It had been a pleasant evening, putting aside Jason’s comments, and we’d held hands during the ride over and the ride back. Dirk walked into the building, and I didn’t want to part company like that, so I called after him. He never even looked back, although the guys he passed on his way in stared at me. So, I followed him.
Big mistake. I only wanted to tell him to be careful, because the last time I didn’t say it, something bad happened at work. I walked away from him once, and when I came back, he yelled at me and told me to go home. Then he followed me outside, with me about to cry, and asked me why I was doing this. Doing what? I have no idea. He didn’t have to yell, anyway.
So, I went home. I’d like to say that I was in mental agony, but I wasn’t. My feelings were a bit hurt, but I know work’s been stressful for Dirk. I’d like to say that I stayed up all night, bemoaning the fact that Dirk is so cruel to me, but that didn’t happen either. I fell asleep in my clothes, woke up at about 1 in the morning, and changed into my night shirt. I slept better than I have in a while. I thought about calling Dirk at one point, but I didn’t want to give him another excuse to yell at me.
I did, however, promise myself not to call him first. I was going to wait until he called me, with a suitable apology. I was damn well going to wait for days, if necessary. Even though I was worried and all I really wanted was to talk to Dirk. That didn’t happen either. I’m such a marshmallow.
I even had the end of the entry all planned out. It would have said this:
“I don’t want to be here, waiting for the phone to ring, feeling dread curling in my gut because I don’t know what I’ll do if it doesn’t ring; if he doesn’t call.It isn’t going to ring.”
It didn’t happen that way. Fifteen minutes after I’d composed that dramatic ending in my head, I called Dirk up. We made up. I killed my chance at drama.
Prophetic.