Saturday, April 9, 2011

In which I am a royal fuck up

I'm in a weird mood right now. I feel like all my emotions have been shuffled to the right, and I'm not exactly responding the way I should be. Perhaps this is because I'm tired or because I'm stressed or because I am working for the first time in my life. It might be because I have been hearing whispers for days on end now like a fuzzy radio station that I can't turn off. I can't even make out what it's saying except for the number 10 and the letter W. Apparently these disembodied mumblings host Sesame Street.

See? I'm hearing voices and I'm making cracks about it. And I haven't even gotten to the worst part. Let's hope I don't collapse into a laughing fit.

I roll silverware at work. It's something to do other than stare at the menu and wonder who the heck came up with the word Zinfadel. It's also really really easy. Even someone with coordination as poor as me can pick it up without much trouble. I fold to the side of the restuarunt instead of in the kitchen like the servers so that I can keep an eye on the door. And that's where I was, rolling silverware into flimsy napkins, when somebody touched me on the shoulder.

I have to admit, Charles is getting much better at sneaking up on people.

Our conversation:

Me: Don't you have another resturaunt you could go to?
Charles: I'm not here to eat. Have you seen Anya?
Me: Not since yesterday. Why?
Charles: She's missing.
Me: What?
Charles: Her mother called the cops a couple hours ago. Did anything happen last night?
Me: No, things were fine.

Ok, so that was a total lie. Last night was kind of rocky, actually. But it wasn't from anything I thought that the Cool Coat Club would be interested in. Anya and I got into a fight. And I'll tell you right now, fighting with a ten year old is the most exasperating thing ever. The whole thing wavered between yelling, a crying fit, an almost clever guilt trip, and a long period where she didn't say a thing and just stared at me.

Her problem was that she held me responsible for being 'hunted' (that was her term). She didn't want me to sit her anymore. I didn't have anything to say to that.

Well, I had plenty of things to say to that. I just didn't say them. When I get particularly emotional, I can't form my thoughts into word. Mostly I just sat there staring at her as she raged at me. About half an hour after she stalked into her room, I started talking to the spot where she was about how I knew I was responsible but I deeply cared about her and was going to do everything I could to keep her safe even though I had no idea how to do that.

This isn't because of my weird mood, by the way. I've always done this. It got me in trouble way too many times in my childhood.

So, when I left this morning she was still angry at me and didn't say a word. And I still couldn't manage to say anything. And now she's missing.

I should mention that I do care. The responsibility and the fear and all of that is still running around my head. I'm just taking it remarkably calmly. I almost made a joke about it, but figured that it was in poor taste. I'm doing everything I can to find her. So are the noctis. And really, that's all we can do.

And on a side note, my work is a brain killer. It's my frontrunner guess for why I'm so odd.

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