It Has Ended

And for once it's all my fault.  Let me explain the last few weeks as best I can remember:

I lost my very good job (35 a year) helpdesk, without a degree.  I was told that any certifications I would need would be paid for.  So I dropped out of school once again, figuring it would only be a semester.  What a great idea that was.  What they really meant when they hired me was that I would learn everything on the job, and that any certifications or training that really mattered or could be traced would not be paid by them, or even recognized unless I had either a degree or an MCSE.

Granted, I learned a lot in that position, but it can't be tracked, no certs, no nothing.  I was the last one to come on to the team, so of course when cuts were made, I was the first to go.

I still remember that day, told that I was being let go because of cutbacks, and then to make matters worse, having to call my very ill girlfriend to not only pick me up, but to also bring a suitcase with her. She had that plague that was going around this winter.

I was in tears, not only because of the decent position I was in, but because I had to wake her up and make her drive a few miles while she was ill.  And of course it was a rainy day.

That night the bed was wet with tears and rain.  I hadn't told her that I dropped out of school, thinking that if I did our relationship would be over.  Tanya would not know until shortly.

I lost my job on Tuesday.  On Thursday I got drunk because I had lost my good job, and was trying to both hide my lie of being in school, and realising that I didn't have enough money to take her out for Valentine's Day.  I bought her (fake) roses, bought her chocolates, fake (I thought) champagne, and a bottle of wine.  It was our third V-day together, and I wanted to go with a bang with what I could.  

That night I thought the champagne was non-alcoholic when it really wasn't.  Not only did it make me not complacent, but I probably ruined what should have been the best day of Tanya's life, the day I that even though I lied about my studies, I was going to promise her the most from myself.  I wasn't going to propose (as I was not about to graduate), but promised more, and was not only going to tell Tanya the truth but why I had been hiding it.  Between not charging my phone that morning when I was going to tell her, she had already found out from my father.  I was going to tell her that morning.  

So now I'm out and another man is in.  Tanya will always hold a special place in my heart.  We'll never be together again, especially  due to recent revelations.  It's weird, when my last gf Amy left me, I knew exactly she who she would go to.  Same with Tanya.  

Oh well, it was my fault.  If I could have done it differently I would have, but it's too late now.

As for the collar bone

It's probably the most boring story I could ever tell.  I went out across the Mississippi River one night with my girlfriend.  She and I were having lots of fun until someone arrived.

Both of us avoided him (he was her ex-boyfriend and unstable to boot).  I knew that with a sociopath in the room, it was my time to head out of there.  But, as it happens, I had to use the men's room.  So I took care of myself, opened the door, and to my surprise I was immediately punched in the jaw by some weasely looking man ten years older than me.

I walked up to Tanya (my girlfriend) holding my jaw.  She asked what happened and I said "Well, a friend of ours just acosted me in the men's room".  The most seriously she had ever looked at me, she said, "I'm going to teach that f*cker a lesson."

"No!", I cried, and began pulling her towards me.  Tanya would not budge.  Holding her arm, and coming close to Tommy I unleashed all my rage, all that he had thrust upon me, upon Tanya. Fight after unrequited fight.

He threw me to the ground and I heard a familiar wet snap.  My collar bone had been broken and there was nothing I could do but lie there, using my left hand to try and free myself.

Finally I was free, minus my glasses, but free.  Whimpering, and in total dissarray, the police showed up.  Fine with me, I only defended myself, right?

Right?

Police brutality never ends, especially for the innocent.  Three small-town officers were up my throat within a few minutes.  Me being a bit emotional, all I could think of was to call my parents; my father especially because he was a lawyer (though only practising in New York and New Jersey).  Dad said he couldn't help me because he was not learned in napoleanic code, and as i started begging and crying, the impolite police officer's took me in.

I knew my Miranda Rights and accepted them, but the brutality did not stop.  With an obvious droop, and a consitent pain in my right shoulder, the tall skinny officer took me not to a hospital, but chose to ignore the problem, though the pain from an unwarrented injury was obvious.

The one officer who actually did recognize me, though I would not have expected it that night, was the one who fingerprinted me years ago for the United States Merchant Marine Academey.

To be continued tomorrow:

217

It has been way too long since I posted here.  Since last August I've been included in a wonderful, yet flawed, company.  I stopped writting about my studies, which I feel is a huge mistake, although my grades couldn't be better.  I should begin to work my homework with you, my sparse, audience.  

Not much has happenend since I posted last.  I broke my collar bone a few weeks before my birthday.  Since then, I have been on my guard watching out for the one who did it (perhaps so guarded that my girlfriend, his last, has come to comptempt me).

The pain I went through with a broken collar bone was nothing compared to what I did to myself a couple of weeks after the event.  I called in sick one friday and while making some coffee I stubbed my toe.

Only I thought I did.  As I walked past a problematic couch, I knew something was wrong.  Falling to the floor I immediately remembered my Eagle Scout training.  I grabbed a clean sock (as I was falling, mind you), and put pressure on my foot.  

Thankfully I didn't get an infection, or need stiches.  I couldn't afford either.

I kept it as clean as a foot could be for three weeks, wrapping it twice a day.  Because, you know, it's a freaking foot.  Nothing more dangerous to get infected.

All wound up fine, and I must say, it's an awesome scar.  So much better than the lump I've got on my collar bone.