I am not near the breaking point.
The band is going into the studio on Saturday and recording the two songs that will be put on the free tape. It should only take a couple hours, up to four. The studio is going to give us complete creative control. Dirk’s looking forward to it, as is everyone else. So am I – like I would look forward to having a tooth pulled.
Dirk didn’t get the car registered in his name because you need to have insurance or pay the $500 uninsured driver’s fee in the state of Virginia. He had neither, so he just got the title put in his name, intending to keep the car parked out of harm’s way until he got the money to get ut registered. But fate had other plans.
His mother had a doctor’s appointment, which she’d known about months in advance. Instead of arranging to have her husband take the day off work and take her, she didn’t tell anyone until it was too late for anyone to do anything. Then, she insisted Dirk let her use his car. His unregistered, uninsured car. He said no, then went to work. She has a van that works fine, she just didn’t feel like driving it. So, she went into his room, found the spare set of keys to his car, and drove off in it.
And she didn’t understand why he was pissed off. She now refuses to drive him to work, forcing him to drive the unregistered, uninsured car to work and back. She tried to sway me to her side and was upset when I told her that taking that car was the most illogical, irresponsible things I’d ever heard of anyone doing. I further informed her that, had she been my mother, I would have called the cops.
She’s upset with me now and I don’t care.
Had I been given free rein, I would have informed her that Dirk should have called the police, considering how quick she is to call the cops on him and his brother for nothing. After all, they’d only be following her example. I was also tempted to tell her that perhaps her increasingly illogical decisions, demands, and delusions of late are the first stages of senility.
Mostly, I wanted to call her a stupid old bitch who would be better off dead.
There’s a lot going on right now. Floyd is the very least of my problems. I haven’t had a moment to myself in a couple weeks, and it doesn’t look as though its going to get better. I’ve been working frantically on the webpage for the band, and I’ve been trying to sort out my finances enough to find out if we’ll be able to buy the equipment we need in time. I’m only in charge of sorting out my own finances. Everyone else can fend for themselves.
I’m not freaking out. I’ll be okay, if I can just remember to breathe.
Breathe.
When I was a child, perhaps 3 or 4, I couldn’t distinguish between sounds and the sensation of touch or movement. I always thought that touching something or moving my limbs produced a very quiet sound. A sound so quiet, only I could hear it. I would trail my fingers along my arm to hear the noise it made. Sometimes I’ll catch myself listening for a second, only to realize that what I heard wasn’t a sound at all. Just the movement of my chest as I breathe.
I’ve heard it said that the winds around the eye of a hurricane are the strongest, and that the eye is as calm as a clear blue day. I always thought, wouldn’t it be great if people could run fast enough to keep up with the eye until the storm dissipates?
Unfortunately, you have to go through the storm at least once to get to the eye.
