I got a call from Sarita. She sounded sick. Her power's been out all night. Something was wrong. She said she was keeping her kids home from school. They have perfect attendance records. I asked her what was wrong. She wouldn't say. I asked her if the kids were ok. She said yes. I asked her if it was her man. I could tell that was it. She said yes, but she couldn't talk. I asked her if he'd hit her. She said no. I asked her if he was listening and she said yes. I told her to get away from him.
I won't go into all the details except to say there was some verbal and emotional abuse, and I was on the verge of calling the police. I told her to get those kids to school and come to work because I needed her. And to put me on the phone with dude. She wouldn't do that, but agreed to take kids to school and come to work. I hung up and called my friend in high places in law enforcement and got some advice. Which was basically to stay out of it. That all I should do was encourage her. Which I did.
I had two client meetings and made a deposit at Schwab. Kept nodding off in the webinar at client #2. Got The D a Chick-Fil-A. No milkshake this time. Just cole slaw and carrot-raisin salad. It's been three days since his last poop. Thank god, when I asked him about that later, he said he pooped today. And somehow he found the Miralax. Don't know how.
When I got home, Sarita asked me what was wrong. Wow. She's in Shit City and was worried about me. She started fixing The D's plate and I told her to come up to the Airie when she was done with that. I was already in a fetal position on my bed and I told her to lie down with me. We were both so exhausted that we fell asleep like a couple of kittens, snuggled up together. No small comfort.
The next thing we knew, it was almost two. Time for that prick to pick her up. When he got there, I made a point of walking to his car, chatting him up, telling him how wonderful she was, and saying I'd kill him if he laid a hand on her. Well, I left that last part off, but I sent the message loud and clear that I had her back.
Now, I'm still fucking with Comcast (programming remotes and switching equipment from old account to new account), plus dealing with second plumber who called third plumber who has some gizmo to detect leaks through the wall. I sweet talked plumber #2 into hooking up my washer. He didn't want to do it, but I just told him to watch me and tell me if I was doing it wrong. He got frustrated and told me to move and he did it. I asked him if it was ready to use, and he said plumber #3 would have to tighten it up.
Bright spot. I got a comment on this very blog from some dude who says he's from Comcast. An apology of sorts. My friend Lundy said some big companies monitor blogs and tweets for bad PR. Wonder if I can get some blood money. We'll see. Not counting on it.
Oh, one last thing. The weather is beautiful. High was 72. Sunny. The D seems penitent. Bulimic cat finally seems happy. Birds are chirping. Great day for moving...
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