From the “no rest for the wicked” files (hmm, a new blog category? Can has!), I escaped work at a reasonable hour last night. To the point that I felt like I was ducking out early. How sad is that? With the AT&T Edge network having committed suicide for the short term, I realized after I left that I couldn’t even check e-mail outside the building.
Awww. So sad.
I have a few places to which I escape that no one can find me. Unless they are invited. Which is rare. But it happens. Otherwise, they’d have to do some serious detective work, because I have a habit of parking far, far away from my destination spots. (In the name of exercise, but you know, I still don’t want to be found too easily.)
So, “Hamlet 2”? I picked it because it was the first movie showing upon arrival at the theater. If you don’t see it, don’t worry about it. Rent it so you can pause it to go kill yourself between scenes.
Anyway, I was in my “happy place” (a physical one this time) when I was jarred out of my “ha ha — nobody knows where I escape to!” dream. I was taking a walk and lo and behold, I saw my mother and her derelict-of-the-month-club representative. Lord.
I blew past them like I didn’t see them. She didn’t turn around, but the dude practically stared me down, so I can only presume she pointed me out. Fuq.
So I did what any other person in the situation would do — no, not gone up to chat but instead ducked into the first-available labrynth parking garage with hopes that it dumped out somewhere familiar. God damn it, it didn’t. I couldn’t even find a stairwell. I ran up three levels — on the parking ramp — till I found a stairwell that could spring me out of that horribly hot hell.
Once I was outside, I realized I was about a quarter-mile from my car. And I learned how runners start running — I realized hey, I can have the house! To myself! Sweet!!!
So, I bolted to my car. OMG, I didn’t know I had it in me. Like we say in my department, it’s amazing what we can do when properly motivated. No shit. 😉
I got home, threw some food at the cats, assembled the world’s fastest dinner and shut myself into my room in fewer than eight minutes. Yes!
But …
Yep, she came home right then, as the District clearly has a law against me ever having the house to myself.
It was 9 p.m. What fucking date ends at 9 p.m.? Oh right, the type that don’t feed you.
Anyway, I digress. I guess my secret’s out that I do not go straight home from work unless it’s past a certain hour, and now my whereabouts can be accounted for. Not cool. Must find another hidey-hole post-haste. …