|
it had been ten or eleven days since her life came undone with the force of a demonic nuclear explosion. She had gone completely fucking crazy and spewed hatred onto the monotone moronic passive fuckhead she had married the second time. She went way over the top, and he was having none of her. She went into free fall. All by her lonesome. It had been post-COVID so all of her work friends had dissipated and her two friends had moved away. She relied on some horrible advice and spent her days in torment. She doesn't even know how she kept her job and stayed in school except for momentum, grace, and bad acting.
As during all times of torment for her, she pulled out the most precious object she had - her magic talisman. It was her beloved grandmommy's engagement ring. She never wore it except when she was scared. It was too valuable and one of the prongs was damaged, so she had to be very careful. Looking at it, always made her feel connected to something.
Without a singular doubt, she was full on insane.
It was comforting to know that he was also insane, yet not as stigmatized/labled. When she had returned from the jail he had stuck her in, after three or four days, the house looked exactly as she had left it. Her first action was to pick up a broom. Laugh if you want, but clutter disturbed her.
Then, she dealt with the decisions she had made. She dealt with them by feeling rage. She was the victim. She was misunderstood... blah blah blabbity blah.
She wasn't used to wearing the ring, and she was really into rings as talismans, so she had a few to use. In fact, her last words to her spouse before the police dragged her sick self away was "find my wedding ring. it's in the bathroom." How odd of her. She never wore that ring either - it didn't have enough gold in the gold/platinum mixture. But, it was important to her for some reason. She has lost many rings.
But her grandmother's ring had been with her for years - through all the moves. She had always labeled it her object to save were the house to be on fire. Metaphorically, her life was in fucking flames. She was sooooooooooooo lost - so confused. She was so nuts. She was all alone and flipping the fuck out with the thoughts in her head. It was ironic, but it was really hard for her to be in the house and alone. Previously, that had been her happy place - the passive fucker out of her space - and to dwell in an architecturally beautiful dwelling with a grand view. Now, it was a reminder of tremendous work and sadness. At some point - probably copying the stupid useless documents her coworker had told her to make sure she copied from passive fucker - she lost her wallet. It was only the second time in her life she had lost her wallet, and the timing was a bitch.
So much was a bitch during this time. As usual, she headed back to the womb - the bath tub. She used to joke to herself that if it was a two bath day, it was a toughie for her. She allowed herself to take three - whatever to get through the day. In order to protect her grandmother's ring - which was a tiny bit too small for her, she would always take it off - not wanting to lose one of the diamonds or mess it up with water. She thinks that might be where it was - in the bath tub's soap dispenser. Or she may have left it by the kitchen sink or the bathroom sink - or she might have left it on the mantle to 'watch over her' or she might have stuck it in her pocket to "save it from theives'. she had no memory of the last time she had seen it, and her head went blotto trying to figure it out.
But it was gone.
Nowadays, she never took baths. Her current free place to stay had no room for complaint, but the hot water heater (which would remain untouched in the crawlspace of the house) only had enough hot water for six inches of water and she never turned on the cold portion. It sucked, but so much did so whatever.
she deserved all the scorn and pain.
The day she was moving out, her second husband had her served with a restraining order. It sort of knocked her for a loop. He had punched her in the head, grappled her to the ground, slapped her face, and beat her backside. Like her father, he had no accountability or retribution from any of those actions. She was lost. She had indeed pulled his hair in her psychosis, but whatever .
So, there wasn't time to make sure everything was accounted for. Her new apartment was fuller than five ticks, but it was stuff she had chosen to take from him - not anything logical - like making sure she had her interview suit or ... the entire wardrobe lay untouched by her. She now lived on a skeleton of clothing. Who cared.
The ring was gone. She had apologized at her grandparents' graves, and the guilt still stayed with her. There were several times she could have fessed up to her aunt and mother, but she was too scared and ashamed.
shame shame shame....
Her hairshirt was constant.
|
