Knights in ghetto armor

Because it was the coldest day of the season, my car battery decided to die. It started this morning, never giving the hint that something was wrong, never giving the inclination that trouble was brewing.

When I went to my car after my two groups at Whitehall Yearling High School, bzzzt, thanks for playing, it was dead. I went back to the OWE room and asked one of the teachers if she had jumper cables. Before I could say any more, two of the boys from the group were getting their coats, and Mrs. Smith was going out to her car to get the cables. Ricky and Chris were already on the move, but Chris stopped to ask me in the condescending 'girls don't know about cars' way, "Did you leave your lights on?"

"No, Chris, I didn't even /have/ my lights on."

Anyway, Chris proceeds to push my car-in-neutral across the WYHS parking lot toward the student lot, where Ricky brought his car over and jumped my battery. YAY! Then I was off to Reynoldsburg Junior High School for Divorce Group. After group, of course, it was dead again. Yay. This time, though, I called AAA instead of bugging teachers, because I don't know them as well. I got another jump, went to Auto Zone, and got a brand-spanking-new battery that a man installed for me in the frigid air, while I stood in the warmer foyer talking to my girl on the phone.

Yay. Of course, that was an hour when I was planning to read for school. Poo. Now I have more to read tonight. And laundry to do, in the freezing cold weather. Ick!

But when Ricky and Chris were helping me out today, I couldn't help but think what great guys they are, even though people don't think so. You see, OWE stands for Occupational Worker Experience, and it's the program that gives kids who would drop out of school credits for having a job. And so they're the often ignored at WYHS, the looked down upon. They are counting down the days (62) until graduation just like all of the other seniors, but no one really cares about them.

The day I was supposed to meet Ricky, the first day of his group, he was being taken away in handcuffs for fighting a kid, and when the kid had fallen down nearly unconscious, Ricky had kicked him square in the face, breaking his nose. This same boy went out in the cold to drive his car over and jump my battery. Chris, who makes gay jokes to get under my skin, pushed my car halfway across a high school. All he said was, "Wow, that was quite a workout."

Thanks, Ricky and Chris. I think I will bring them something next Wednesday, a candy bar or something, for taking the time and doing that for me. Sure, I could have called AAA there, too, but they wanted to do it. And it was /cold/. And even though the WYHS administration doesn't think they're worth the paper their diplomas will be printed on, I do. Thanks, guys.

Would you lock the door? I think the Boogeyman draws near.

I've your smile locked in my heart
I sleep better when you're here

My father asked me, on the phone this evening, if I still tell A. that I love him. This dialogue came about somewhere in the conversation wherein I said that I couldn't wait to be done school and be able to leave Ohio because there isn't anything keeping me here. I said no, of course. I can't remember the last time I did tell him that. July, I'm sure.

I'm wondering, still, an hour later, why I am still perpetually having this conversation. As if it isn't awkward enough to be living with my ex, I need to rehash this situation over and over and over with assorted family members. I'm sure it doesn't help that I /do/ live with the ex... I guess that gives them hope for some sort of reunion. But I mean, really, we had /just/ finished a little chat on how I couldn't wait to get the divorce stuff done. What is up with that? Ugh.

Apparently, my grandparents have decided that I'm mad at them because in the 1.5 hours I was home last weekend, I didn't stop by to visit them. Nevermind that we picked my dad up, went out to lunch, ran an errand with Dad, dropped him off, and had to leave. Nevermind that I didn't want to bring Jennifer into the Lion's Den that is Grandma's house. Nevermind that I will be home in March. Obviously I am "mad at them." Whatever. I wanted to scream, "You know, Rick was in Boston visiting Mindy for Valentine's Day and he didn't even tell anyone so he didn't have to come home!" That's not fair, though, so I didn't, although it's true. Which means he is once again attributed Golden Boy status. Why do I care?

In less than 2 weeks the day will pass that would have marked 6 years that A. and I were together. Six years. My goodness, but I haven't done /anything/ for 6 years. College was 4, and that was probably my biggest accomplishment. In some ways, it feels like 60 years, and in others, like no time at all.

How is it that these conversations with my family can make melancholia loom over me like this? I am fighting this one hardcore, though. I mean, if I stand outside of myself, I see that my family is just clueless. I tried. I told my father, "Actually, Dad, every single person I see tells me how good I look, how happy I look." He said, "I said you looked good!" I said, "No, you made fun of my hair." He said, "It's just a little... short."

But for probably the first time in my life, there isn't a single thing anyone in my family can say that can sway me. I am, arguably, totally happy with myself right now. (Unless you count end-of-the-program school angst, and Ohio angst, and not-divorced-yet angst.) I am completely and totally free at this very moment, looking like I want to look, dating who I want to date, studying what I'm passionate about, planning to move back to my home, and loving every minute of it.

I will not let 5 minutes of a chat with my father erase what I wrote just two days ago about the wonderment I lived through last weekend. I will not let yet another ignorant question about a "possible Jude and A. reconciliation" disempower me. No. I won't.

I am fanatically in love with a girl. I tell /her/ that I love her daily, several times daily, in fact. Just telling her makes my heart pound and race, makes my skin tingle, makes my fingers twitch to hold her. Sorry, Dad.

Oh, and remember in November, when you asked me if A. and I were still having sex? ..... *evil grin*