Showing posts with label serial killer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label serial killer. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Right in the Middle!

A good week to everybody and an even greater start to a new month to all. To all, I say, because I feel rather excluded from the group right now. I have little to write this week because the little that was there before has been pushed to a far corner somewhere in the back of my head because of that person that calls herself my girlfriend. Does it make sense that someone would travel in the middle of a blizzard to New York of all places and not deem it fit to let one know she’s safely arrived and is warmly ensconced between sheet and duvet?

What haven’t I sent? Text and BB messages, and calls which actually go through to the very annoying mechanical voice message asking me to leave yet another bloody message! How many more should I leave before it makes any effing difference? I swear, the worst place to be in anything at all is to be in the middle, not knowing where you stand. Isn’t that what got the traveller in trouble with the satyr in Aesop’s fables, blowing his freezing hands warm and his hot porridge cool with the same breath? Probably why God hinted that He’d rather we belong to the extremities of heat or cold rather than be trapped in the wilderness of the lukewarm. Two possibilities are raging in my head.

The first, she could be in trouble. Oh, that she landed safely I am in no doubt; she, to my relief sent me a text informing she’d finally landed in NY after hours and hours of delay owing to an impending blizzard. After that her tracks went cold save for the little relief provided by the comforting ringing of her mobile phone. My mind is solely, well partly on that road from the airport to her hotel and the haunting possibility that anything could happen from accidents to breakdowns and being trapped and frozen, to falling prey to those sinister predators lurking under their favourite shroud; cold and darkness. It doesn’t help that I am currently reading Paul Young’s The Shack , a book about a man coping with the murder of his six year old daughter by a serial killer.

The second is the hopeful possibility that (too angry to even call her name) is simply too irresponsible to understand the need to inform loved ones waiting with bated breath for news of her safe arrival so I can give her a treatment worse than that blizzard she’s running from! This is the same person that almost took my ear off right in the middle of the night worrying about her hotel booking and flight details only just the day before. Bloody hell! You see what I mean about being in the middle? Here I am worrying about whatever mishap may have befallen her when she could well be snoring away in her warm bed, blissfully unaware that she may have kept people in waiting in limbo. Or I could be ranting and raving about what sadistic screws I’ll be working in her soul when I find her so she understands what she’s put me through, when she could be trapped in some ditch somewhere. Middle, no absolutes, no certainties, just nowhere and yet spread thinly everywhere! Which kin’ wahala be dis eh?!

God, I pray you keep her safe so I can volunteer to be your rod of chastisement upon her sou- She just answered the phone! See? What did I tell you earlier?! She was flippin’ asleep! She answered with that throaty sexy – She had the temerity to answer me with a very groggy “Hey baby”! Can you imagine? Just come back first, and you’ll see what I’ll do to you! I’m going apply that rod of… correction to you until you beg for mercy – I hope. Nonsense! Thanks guys for lending me a listening ear jare! Let me go and put my house in order as I ponder the difference between this and dealing with a runaway thirteen year old child. Have a great week everyone! As for you, Frieda, come here, I’m not done with you yet!