No Way To Get Along

All right:
One…
                   Two…
Three touches on the door knob,
Turn the light
On, off, on, off, on.
Annd unlock, lock, and unlock the door.





There; much better.
Ok… let’s see…
There’s that Italian place over in downtown that just opened up; that might be nice. Oh, but… the cheese.
So much cheese.
God only knows what kind of bacteria are swimming around in mozzarella… and the sauce.
Just… sitting there in the pot all day, simmering, stewing, bubbling, with who knows how many different spoons dipping in and out of  it.
Ugh, what if one of them was  a tasting spoon?
What if it was the same tasting spoon?
Oh, God,
What if I was went back there and I saw that?
Just layers
Upon layers of filmy,
Crusty tomato sauce caked on top of one another…



I wonder what that’d taste like?

*shudder*


Ok, so, no Italian food.






Um… oh, the sandwich place, what its name? “Dan’s Subs”! Yeah! That’d be perfect!
Go in, get  one with some cold cuts and spicy mustard, maybe a little bit of lettuce and some tomato…
But, that place is like a BREEDING GROUND for germs though.
Between the old people and the kids that come in from Little League games…
not to mention the families. With the kids never shutting up, the wife complaining about some woman the husband has never met, the husband pretending he’s interested when he’s busy cutting his eyes at the different women in the restaurant.

Wonder if  he’d look at me.

Nah, he’d glance, but he wouldn’t stare.
What’s to look at?


But… what if he did?

What if he watched me the whole time he was trying to eat?

What if he let out a little moan as he watched me lick the salt from the kettle chips off my fingers?


What if he waited until I went to leave and followed me out to my car?

What if he followed me to the bathroom?

Would he rape me?

Would I rape him?


What if I raped his wife?


Oh! OH God! That’s- that’s terrible.

Ugh.
I’m not a rapist. Am I? Nonononono, I’m not. Definitely not. I have a wrist brace for carpal tunnel, how could I be a rapist?

Maybe that’s the exact sort of thought rapists have before they start going out and raping people.

Ugh, oh, that’s not right… oh, why can’t Dr. Hudson give me something stronger?

“Don’t want to throw your system out of whack,” she says.

Dammit, my system is already in “whack.”

What the hell do you think I’m paying $300 an hour for?
My HEALTH?


… well, actually, I am…

But that’s not the point.

Heh, oh good, now I’m thinking of the Ramones.

Just put me in a wheelchair, get me to the show
Hurry hurry hurry, before I go loco
I can't control my fingers, I can't control my toes
Oh no no no no no

Why is that stuck in my brain, but I have to have little notes all over my desk to remember how to log-in to the network at work?

Probably because the password system doesn’t have a catchy melody…

What was I thinking about?

Something about… sandwiches?

Oh, right, Don’s. And me being a God-damned rapist in wait.

Ok, ok, I know what I’ll do.

If I get the urge to rape somebody while I’m eating, I’ll just take my free hand and start drumming on the table. Yeah, I’ll take my fingers and I’ll drum “Wipeout” or something.

That works prefect!

No, no… “Rituals are not your friend, Meredith. Just talk your anxieties out. Once you start explaining them to yourself, you’ll see that there’s no reason for you to feel stressed or worried.”

Sure, easy for her to say. No one’s ever heard of a therapist raping a man at a sandwich shop. How would she like it if I listed her as an accomplice, once I got arrested? “Oh no officer,” I’ll tell them, “it’s my therapist’s fault. I tried to have myself committed, but she wouldn’t hear of it. What’s her name? Why, it’s Andrea Hudson. That’s A-N-D-R-”


Fuck it; if I start wanting to rape some middle-aged loser, I’ll just do the drumming thing.

Great.

Fantastic.

So, now, just gotta go get my shoes and-


Wait.


I wonder if that one guy still works there.

The weasely-looking one.

Eric.


Ugh, Eric…


Greasy haired bastard. Who needs that much pomade, or grease, or whatever the hell it is he uses?

And the way he doesn’t say anything, just stares like he’s never seen a woman in his life… well, outside of what he finds online, anyways.  He just looks like he’s sticky.  With that pale, knock-kneed body, the black fingernail polish, the little cross bracelets. He probably wishes he were that bald guy from Judas Priest or Marilyn Manson. Ew, Eric would be even worse with a bald head. His skull is probably all lumpy like an old cabbage or something. And he’s a mouth breather…


The fuck am I doing?

What is this?

I’m going to let the off chance I might have to deal with someone I had an unpleasant encounter with maybe two times, if that, scare me off from somewhere I’d like to go eat?

That’s absurd.

No, better yet, that’s horse shit. I’m gonna go get my shoes on. Now, what should I we-


Well, maybe it’s not so crazy.


I mean, a place like that probably pays just enough for its employees to live on. Economy like it is, jobs are hard to come by, especially ones like that. And it’s not like a social butterfly such as Eric is going to be getting out of that line of work anytime soon. Even with some… questionable habits, you probably have to want to be fired to get fired.

So what though? If he is there, no need to get upset. Just order your food, sit with your back to the counter, don’t acknowledge him like you did last time.

But what if I miss something important? What if he picks up a knife and comes screaming at me? what if he’s got a gun and planned to kill me the next time he saw me? Should I bring a gun? Oh, I don’t have a gun… I could probably get one pretty quick though. I mean, all those drug dealers and meth makers have them, and I’m sure they didn’t wait three days.

Yeah, that would be fine. I’d have the gun on me, just in case.

What if I have to kill him?

What would happen if we both pulled our guns on each other at the same time?

Would we just have a stand-off?

Would we just start spraying bullets everywhere?

Oh God,
What if we killed other people accidently?

What if I accidently killed a family?


What if I killed the rapist husband, killed Eric, and then had sex with the dead husband?


*gag*

Oh Jesus, Jesus, Jesus… I need to call Dr. Hudson…
Oh, of course I get her voice mail.

Just my luck.

Oh… I think I really might need to be committed.


Yup, that’s it.

I’m going to her office tomorrow and tell her
“Dr. Hudson, I want to be committed to an institution. There’s no talking me out of it, this is what I want. This is not a ‘cry for help,’ a ‘plea for attention,’ or any of that other stuff like I’ve done before. I really and truly want to be committed.”

… but I know what she’ll do.

She’ll give me that “aw, you poor thing” smile, and just say something that’s helpful and condescending. “Meredith,” she’ll say in that calm little monotone, “you do realize this is the exact same speech you gave me after you spent the weekend crying over the coworker you had a crush on announcing his engagement party to everybody? Remember? You kept telling me you were going to ‘just give it another week’ time and time again, even after I told you it could do you some good to explore some relationships? Let me guess: listened to the Smiths a lot and ate nothing but Taco Bell and Ben & Jerry’s while you just ‘liked’ a bunch of things all weekend, right?”

Damn… why does that woman have to be so good at her job?

Ok, so… no sandwiches, no Italian… what else did I say no to?

No “authentic” Mexican food, no hamburgers, no barbeque places, no vegetarian restaurants,  no-

BAH!

This is so stupid!

What am I getting so upset over?

Hypotheticals? Possibilities? Things that have the freakiest of freak chances of happening?

And I’m treating it like Nostradamus is whispering in my ear or something.

I’m just not going to deal with it anymore.

It’s time to have a spine and just power my way through this!

Joan of Arc, don’t fail me now!


I’m going to go out…
And…
And…


And get a frozen dinner to bring back and eat here!