Pelagia Noctiluca

Pelagia Noctiluca

Tuesday, January 22

Not So Uplifting

This post needs several disclaimers.

1. My latest painting is vivid and beautiful, and it comforts me.
2. I really do love my job and there are many fun and easy shifts.
3. I still question the purpose of this blog. It may just be to hear myself talk, and that's ok.
4. I'm aware that I can double-think myself into oblivion, and my awareness of that spits me through an even thicker tunnel of double-thinkery that dumps me back into my painting room and then I'm ok.
5. I just annoyed myself by sounding like the being john malko-whatever movie, and now I'm seriously digressing.
6. What I like about being single is that I can work until midnight. I like it that I can come home and do whatever I want. I don't like that when I do want to talk, there is nobody here. If I didn't work until midnight, I could rendezvous with other people who go to sleep at a reasonable hour. But, then I'd miss out on the action of the swing shift.
7. On to the action, and finally to the main topic of the email.
8. Almost. Part of my funk tonight is being annoyed all over again about a bunch of crap I just deleted because I can't go that far in a blog.


It was a terrible work weekend. Laundry Bucket Banger freaked out all weekend long, as opposed to once every day or so for a few minutes. He got arrested a few times for trashing the house, and each time spent a few hours in the hospital before returning to us. I almost wrote a post like this on saturday night when he disappeared for 8 hours and we all worried like crazy. Another disclaimer, this kid is awesome most of the time and one of my favorites. He really needs a place more equipped for him, but there isn't one. Anyway, he flipped again tonight and I ended up in between him and a pregnant girl calling him a fucking retard. Thanks, girly, that's helpful. So, she locks herself in the bathroom while he tries to kick down the door, and in the fray, I got hit in the face. It's not bruise-worthy, just a sore nose, and to the point, finally, yes, of this story is that he went to jail for assault. For assaulting me, and now I'll have to go to court and testify, and the whole thing was stupid, and he shouldn't have been in our house anyway with volatile pregnant girls and random heavy objects strewn about. So, it sucks and I feel guilty because I didn't want him to go to jail and I had to be the one who decided on the spot whether or not to press charges. The problem was that he was still freaking out and unsafe to the other kids, and the mental health people wouldn't take him. So, the safest place for him seemed to be juvie and that is fucked up. So, cheers to my blog, I feel just a hair better now.

1 comment:

yarnwhore said...

Sad, but you're right. The other kids need to live there as well, and the greater good needs to be considered. He needs something more than what can be offered at that particular facility. Hope it works out in the long run. Freakwhispering only goes so far, and you're not there 24/7.