December 4, 2021.
December?!. Already?. F-k!. Back, again. All smiles. Not. For a brief while, I reverted right backwards into a deep, dark hole, and old-fashioned, maudlin, faded pen and ink. Vampire-style. Took all that I already didn't have left to wrench myself together sufficiently to put myself back towards the daylight. Fall finally showed up, feeling feisty, defiant and determined to be late, like an obnoxious, drunk uncle stumbling in to an extended family gathering. As for festive celebrations, Thanksgiving most definitely wasn't on my immediate radar. I prefer my turkey a la basic bitch, “Lean Cuisine” style, anytime that I choose. Need not be November for gooey gravy. Anyways, let's rapid recap/rewind my sketchy narrative for a bit, shall we?. So, somewhere in the midst of consulting my achingly expensive attorney back at the end of October, he firmly counseled my re-calling a DA's office. Hang up the damned extortionist rates, expensive call with him, and file those reports/documentation already. That's what he said. Lady who cautiously answered my tired ass voice, directed me back towards my immediately contacting law enforcement. Long sigh. Not loving this long-time. Nope. New rollercoaster, with no rainbow shimmering on the horizon. Nor, diamond encrusted fairytale endings. My newly-found life in the daylight now immediately found itself being temporarily suspended. Here we go, again. You'd think, if you didn't know me any differently (which, you don't) that I somehow like the way that this hurts. It'd been nearly a hot minute since I'd had law enforcement standing staunchly in my kitchen. Or, so I'd thought. Oddly, that was most recently back in July. Yet, here's a Sheriff's Deputy in my modest apartment, within 10 minutes or less of my initial call. Not sure how that all really happened. Or, if I'm meant to have particular sentiments during those unreal moments. A technicolor brand of tachycardia, mixed with a particular variant of PTSD. Utterly charming and captivating. For my part, somewhere within the depths of my fight or flight self-awareness, I was instantly leaving, and my hand probably should have alread been firmly clenched on the door handle, in anticipation of a hasty exit, on my part. Instead, I reverted to facts and not fuckery mode, referencing my earlier experiences, as I presented my most immediate situation as cogently as I possibly could to the somewhat impatient, overworked and underpaid Deputy. It's not like that I needed this in my life. Yet, as I mentioned before, here I still was, being a sleuth. Still. Same Deputy woke me out of a hazy, dishevelled doze early the following morning to advise of an impending arrest warrant service attempt about to go down in a neighboring city. Good Morning. Have a Nice Day. You're welcome, M'am.