Nothing smacks the fun out of a Wednesday faster than being confronted with the realization that you made a huge mistake.
The decision was made in May.
I really, really hoped I wasn't going to experience any regret.
And that's what I get for listening to my conscience instead of my gut instincts that were screaming louder than a seagulls at a wharf, NO! DON'T!
Throughout the summer did things that I thought would circumvent potential problems.
Delegating tasks, organizing activities, setting targets for the fall to make the process easier throughout the year.
In vain.
All in vain.
By the end of yesterday, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I had made a big mistake.
Gargantuan more like it.
Now all I can do is sit back and watch things unfold, do the best I can with my little thimble to dump the water from this sinking boat until the time comes that I can take the necessary steps to end the pain and suffering for all of those involved.
And no, it has NOTHING to do with kids or husbands or pets or family of any kind.
For once.
Em got her first tattoo yesterday.
I was along for the ride, which was hard because I so desperately want another tattoo. . .or want to fix one I should never have gotten in the first place.
Alas, my conscience, the one that insists that the responsible adult pays bills before getting tattoos reared it's ugly, reasonable head, so all I did was sign the consent form.
And then went to the library to work while Em got her tattoo.
Because accepting that I had to be the adult is one thing.
Watching Em get the tattoo was another.
I can only take so much.
And nothing soothes a frayed ego like a trip to the library.
Not only was I able to pluck from the shelves the only book in the Tony Hill/Carol Jordan series I hadn't read, I was also able to get a prime table for four by the window, enabling me to enjoy the river vista while I read an article about the film Fatal Attraction and waited for Em.
I think I may have found another quiet, no-computer-allowed work space.
Could it be?
Unlike my first tattoo, Em's tattoo was very tasteful and meaningful.
No Pooh bears or butterflies for my baby girl.
And if I ever get my camera out of incarceration, pictures will abound.
The previous evening she corralled Reilley, her 17 year old cat, and submitted him to a purple watercolor stamp of his front, six toed paw.
Her tattoo.
His name underneath in calligraphy.
A relationship going on 15 years with no discernible end in sight?
People have tattooed themselves for far less.
Ex-boyfriend's birth dates, for example.
Who would do something like that?
Tattoos make me think of this Lauren Cooper snafu. . .
Ta-oo anyone?
Afterwards, we noshed at M&T Deli before rejoining the real world of work and school.
Me with a Crime in Popular Film class to prepare for.
More print out the syllabus and decide which of my 300+ films would be viewed on the big screen, but that's preparation, believe me.
For every one film on my 13 week syllabus, there are five others I could have shown.
I so wish this was a full year class.
Fatal Attraction was the choice of the day.
Reading the article in the morning made me realize how long it had been since I'd seen the 1987 film, a blockbuster at the time it was released.
In fact, the actions of Alex (Glenn Close) proved to be the one thing that was able to unite radical feminists and rednecks alike.
And provided another film on a very short list of films at that time where the female characters were considerably stronger than the males.
Michael Douglas was a downright wimp throughout the film.
Because you can kill all the men you want, honey, but don't think you can get away with boiling pet bunnies.
Returning to work meant meetings filled with needs and demands from people who just.won't.listen. making me regret decisions previously made.
Right back at the beginning and still not a whiff of resolution in sight.
Sigh.
Title Lyrics: Talk About, Tattoos by Caesar
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