Thursday, 18 December 2014

My get out of jail free card.

I'll float above the ocean
the sun above is burning my head
I will grow wings and fly everywhere
Sam was supposed to be my wingman today but he and Matt had a bit of a bickering session over breakfast this morning and so Sam stood me up in favor of make-up brunch and a stroll on the seawall downtown with Matt before they both spend second shift working.

(The fight was nerves, that's all. Their very first wedding anniversary is this Sunday. I don't mind being stood up in that case. They need more time together.)

So the only one left, since PJ is out and about and Loch is working and refused to leave me here alone is Poet. Duncan who pawned me off on Joel long enough to go to a meeting and then he stopped at the store on the way home and brought me pixi stix because he feels bad. Pretty soon I'll be making excuses to sidle past New-Jake once or twice a day for a hit off his insulin pump but in the meantime I said thank you and offered to share them. I was taught to be a good girl. I was also taught that the way to a girl's heart (through her clothes) is with candy. Ask Loch about that too, if you want.

But I don't think Duncan is leaning that way today. He wants to bicker too, it seems but I'm not biting. I'm sure by now he's noticed I'm agreeing with things I wouldn't agree with if I were on fire and you were holding the hose until I caved but I'm doing it to keep the peace and wow, is he ever annoyed.

I'm annoyed too. He ruined a perfectly good rainy Thursday with a heaping dose of Joel. When I was waiting for Joel to tie his shoe in the garage I wondered if I could just hit him on the head with a shovel, drag his body over behind the other jeep and forget he ever happened to me but then I remembered that I have no poker face and if asked point-blank I always tell the truth.

(And so I had to spend the rest of the morning inside out to keep that peace intact.)

Yes, Detective, it's true. I killed my former psychoanalyst but in my defense he had it coming. I've just been biding my time until it was right and I could get away with it. But the jig is up. Lock me up and throw away the key, I'm not fit to walk amongst the innocents, not anymore. 

*Later, during medical evaluations*

What does this tattoo say across your back, Mrs. Reilly? 

It says Innocent in Gaelic. Neamhchiontach. 

Oh, well, then, you're free to go. Sorry for the trouble. Have a nice day. 

Wh-what do you mean? 

Obviously the owner of your soul is someone who can see the future so this was put into your skin as protection against an adversary you didn't know yet. It means you're safe. You don't have to go to jail for life after all.



I collect my small pile of clothes and my belongings. Thank you and good day. 

Good day, Mrs. Reilly. See you again. 

Gosh, I hope not. I do believe I'm running out of men. Those who are left are precious. 

Take care of them, then.

I will.