Who More Foolish than I?

So pleasant and so stupid.  

The levied criticism tonight.  A night like no other, and hopefully never again.  Hopefully.  But hard to see how you misfired so dramatically, how you failed to notice the tell-tales until it was far too late, and failed to get rid of that last opened beer that - Chekhov-esq - to put the final stake into the mix.  The need to videotape.  The need to shelter the child from the blows.  The screams that were no doubt heard throughout the lake.  To be passed off as a nightmare, and the piss on the couch as AA’s.

But underlying the excessive mess (excessiveness, ha) are the daggers thrown, that come from a real source.  Missing intimacy.  Feeling as though you don’t care.  The “tips” she’s learned in the past two days, not sure what the lasting impression given was, but perhaps a fatal one.

The screams and the blows were new - the “I don’t care about your needs” comments, the selfish stuff, I get.  As much as I try, the Plaskett stuff and the Black Tot combined with the family all a bit much.  But just as things seemed to be going well, getting through the most hectic part of the summer… cannot say I was expecting this.  A further insight into human behavior and experience.  Imagining actually feeling threatened, or worrying about this happening again, over and over, and not being able to do anything about it.

Tonight, hopefully, the first and last of it.  How quickly the sobering up occurs.  It is 2:37 and I can’t see sleep coming until the sunrise.  Which should be nice from this bunkhouse on Caribou.  More memories.  Oh me.  Oh life.  Of the questions of these recurring.  The main question is, what’s next?