I think most of my Sitting Ducks scenarios have less to do with spontaneous violence and more to do with my sense of crime and punishment. When I had that particular thought, I was thinking of this morning, when I got to the baby's house to find her utterly ruined... All of my hard nannying work flushed down the toilet. She was a mass of tantrums and power games, and the day was not made any better by her mother's early homecoming. Baby Mama stayed but couldn't let me go, as she was on call for the afternoon. Result: wailing, uncontrollable Pea. Awesome.
I felt that this was my just punishment for two crimes:
1. Thinking I actually deserved a Christmas break in the first place.
2. Sleeping in Davis Square last night.
Don't ask me how they connect to my horrific day with Pea, because the many strands of logic are likely to entangle and strangle me. And then you'd never get to hear about me going on interviews (eventually) and getting a new, fantastic, soul-warming, career-starting job (never).
When, oh when, will I believe in my heart of hearts that I've been punished enough?
Although, having said such a dramatic thing, I have to inform you that the Big U was nigh gentlemanly last night. No moment stood out as a particularly terrifying scene. In fact, there were a few nice ones. Imagine your favorite JoBiv, newly showered, cuddled in his flannel robe and her own pj pants and a big fleece blanket, foretelling the plot twist on a particular episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation. Or imagine it's 3am, Jo and U swivel in their weird sleepy water ballet, trying to find a comfortable position for continued snoozing. His hand somehow glides over my hair, sweeping it back and resting softly at the base of my scalp. I kiss the soft skin on the inside of his forearm. So sleepy.
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