Courtesy of Organic Armor, they’ve alot more to offer.
Here – have a bit of this and steady yourself.
Trooper was the media darling today. His phone rang off the hook as each station in turn wanted their piece of the story.
He’s pretty good at it – able to reveal what is proper and making them happy while also remaining professional. I gave him my own criticism – I know he was leaning into the radio to hear the traffic but to a novice it appears to be a slouching walk away.
It makes me so proud of him…that’s my man, I say to myself.
Of course, they’ve had about 8 fatalities in the last week and a half. Not only is there the familial drama and trauma, the emotional impact of dealing with it after the fact, and the ever-present media – no, when it’s all over they have to return and take dozens of measurements and draw page after page of accident recreation. And then there are the reports…You and I get a frisson of horror just driving past a tarped scene. Imagine having to live with it day after day, description after description, for a month.
And those images don’t just get deleted from their minds when the report is signed off on and filed away.
It’s a strange life, living with it and knowing that you will be the one to whom they turn to talk about it, the one to nod and accept that they will need something to distract them from the work for a few hours…
For what its worth, folks…slow down just a little out there. At least leave yourself some emergency maneuvering room, okay? Because even if you wreck at 50 mph and the car stops – you don’t. You’re going 50 mph, too. Your body wasn’t built for it.
Heck, I think that’s the right number…
Anyhoosker, I am all alone. Aside from the furry brats. He’s off doing that fun riot team training. It’s been quiet all day and I’ve enjoyed it until now. Work done, I can go watch TV for awhile but…I think I might just go to bed and read a bit.
I have to find a nice doctor in this town. Too many things not quite right and I’m starting to get a little concerned. Trigger finger, consistent numbness in hands, strange stuffy feeling when I bend over…
And then there is the dental appointment to make in Atlanta when we visit next month. See, I have this thing…going to see a dentist is like…going to a firing squad. Totally phobic, I have to steel my nerves and I sit there in the chair stoic, frozen and just like some frigid bride, lie back, and “think of England”. But I found this fantastic guy and a great office. He understands my issues completely. They’re very calm and quiet and patient. I always make sure I have a hair clip so that I can take it out and play with it during the procedures – anything to distract me. I don’t know what to say – I get all frantic just thinking about it.
So there is a lot of poking and prodding and expensive damned crap to come but I have to take advantage of the fact that my deductible is met. And…in truth…I think it’s all related to the boobs. Okay, not the dental visit. But the hands…so maybe I can get that corroborated and start the further agonizing process of planning for that bit of joy.
It is either surgery or a similar level of investment in corsetry.
Add in to this whole mess the fact that my hormones are on a roller coaster this week…I’m tearing up over the Geico gecko for shit’s sake. I mean, WTF?!
My sister emailed me about her job at the university in Chicago. This is a situation that she has festered in for a few years now. Before that she festered elsewhere. She is…I don’t even know how to describe her. Smart, very. But too polite and quiet. Each job has essentially found her being treated like crap for very little salary. And I feel so sorry for her. Because she spent years getting degrees and is still just a mouse in a room of cats.
And she’s asking me what to do…I shall tell you all a terrible secret – a shameful secret that I tell very few. I have literally no formal education. None. The last grade I actually remember with any clarity is 6th (bless you, Mr. Williams, wherever you are…). After the 9th, I went on to…other, more profitable, endeavors. As for 7th through 9th? I hardly recall a thing…a paper in lit class that the teacher read aloud – though thankfully anonymously…aceing cooking class while utterly “medicated”…having a panic attack at the start of a school year wherein you weren’t handed your classes on a sheet of paper like in Chicago – no, you shuttled from one table and teacher to another in a room full of kids and parents and my father – my darling father who had done rather little for me in my life till that moment – let me hide my terrified face in his jacket as he picked the courses I would never attend and select teachers whom I would never see. In that moment I forgave a decade of failure. To this very moment, my love for him blooms on that stem of kindness.
Those are the snippets that I can remember and I get these messages from a woman with her – what is it? Doctorate?- and I absolutely cannot fathom it. How can a person get so many pieces of fine paper with pretty ribbons and yet not be able to cope with office politics? All those years wasted so that you can be a glorified admin? I try hard to make the supportive noises but after all this time I am running out of platitudes.
So if we happen to meet and the talk runs to alma maters and majors, you’ll understand why I’ll excuse myself to the Ladies or refresh my drink.
A strange night…perhaps it’s just that I am so tired and full of stupid estrogen. It was a nice evening yesterday, though, as Trooper and I drove through the late night air to drop off reports at the office. An empty country road with just the dead skunks and crickets on the air…autumn is coming and, in it, I hear the words I read all those long years ago…
“Beware the autumn people. For some, autumn comes early, stays late through life where October follows September & November touches October & then istead of December & Christ’s birth, there is no Bethlehem Star, no rejoicing, but September comes again & old October & so on down the years, with no winter, spring, or revivifying summer. For these beings fall is ever the normal season, the only weather, there be no choice beyond. Where do they come from? The dust. Where do they go? the grave. Does blood stir in their veins? No: the night wind. What ticks in their head? The worm. What speaks from their mouth? The toad. What sees from their eye? The snake. What hears with their ear? The abyss betweeen the stars. They sift the human storm for souls, eat flesh of reason, fill tombs with sinners. The frenzy forth. In gust they beetle-scurry, creep, thread, filter, motion, make all moons sullen, & surely cloud all clear-run waters. The spider-web hears them, trembles – breaks. Such are the autumn people. Beware of them.”
Ray Bradbury ~ Something Wicked This Way Comes
There are a lot of “bad cop” stories in the news lately. Law Dog discusses one here. There is, as one expects, more interest in the few bad than the thousands of good stories. But for me the most important aspect is that men (and women) who are given so much power are able to think of it so casually.
No one is above the law and no officer wants to wind up in prison. What is already hell becomes an absolutely deadly nightmare. So what would possibly bring them to consider action that could lead to that? In the cases I’ve seen it relates to the ability to sweep it under the rug. And that means having supervisors who are as dirty as they are.
We can look at the story in Atlanta wherein officers entered this old lady’s home and shot her dead. And the informant was running around Atlanta, being followed by the narcotics guys, calling the feds because he knew his life was very cheap just then.
This gentleman puts a great many of such incidents in one place. Bless him for his work. Even if it brings shame to some, we cannot hide from it. We can’t shame ourselves that way – especially those involved in law enforcement. People who abuse their power should have it removed from them. There is no other way to maintain a respect for the rest, otherwise.
So it’s his “4-day” weekend and, as usual, work still interferes – though, admittedly, by choice. He worked “OT” (it’s actually a Federal traffic thing or another) Friday night 6p-6a, woke by noon and is now pulling a part time for a few hours. It’s very hard for us because the long weekends are really necessary to recharge not only his own mind and body but our relationship. Still, the money is good and offsets other expenses just now.
I try really hard to not be overly emotional when we make these decisions about the extra work. Logic dictates that the best decision is to have the money. But it sure does make me pouty. The best cure for that is labor. I did what I usually do when it’s a nice evening and he’s working – I mowed the lawn. This, friends, pisses him off mightily.
See, he takes that duty (and the requisite edging, weed eating and blowing) as his very own – an expression of his rule over his castle. So when I do it he gets all et up. This is my main reason. Ok, two reasons. I need the exercise and it allows us more time to just be together. Otherwise, he’ll be out there for three hours. On OUR time. This will leave Sunday just for the rest of our errands and fun. I think it’s worthwhile.
However, I think the neighbor kids were laughing as my ass ate my damned shorts over and over.
Oh man…the original album version is a lot better but…yeah, memories…