Monday, May 15, 2006


I'm wearing one of my favourite dresses today, black and floaty-ish, with a bit of lace at the bosom, not that I have much of one, and sleeves to the crooks of my arms. All sleeves have to reach this minimum, which makes it hard in the heat of summer, when all I want is a strapless something or tank top. Even these sleeves have to be watched, they ride up constantly. I have to monitor each gesture, keep my arms quiet. The scars are thick purple stripes. I didn't even notice them forming.

I was wearing a strapless little dress at home yesterday, doing the dishes, stereo on. Alone. It felt really good. Then I heard my boyfriend's voice coming up the stairs, there were other male voices with him. The dealer? That was the only other person to come up the stairs. Excited, I threw open the door. The police were there, with my boyfriend in handcuffs. He has gotten very (too much in my opinion) daring with his shoplifting, bringing home whole frozen pizzas and 2L cartons of milk etc. big stuff. That was the first thing I thought. the second was my bare arms, I slunk into my room for a shirt to pull on, and while in there I tried to hide all the spoons and fits and empty papers. I started to shake. I do this at bad times. I always look guilty when I'm not necessarily guilty of anything.

It was the same police who had broken up the fight between my boyfriend and the guy who stole my laptop. They didn't believe my boyfriend had given them his real name (which he had). They wanted proof. He had his wallet stollen so he has no photo ID. They wouldn't believe the receipts, bills, personal letters, hospital cards etc. that he had at home. They wanted to take him to the station. It was all very pathetic. The police looked the same age as us. Young and cute. I couldn't believe I was in this situation with them looking down on me, like some piece of trash.

The strange thing is, the police did a similar thing to me last year, bursting into my house in the middle of the night, shining a flashlight in my face and accusing me of stealing my car! They were doing 'random checks' and it was parked outside my house. What made them suspicious was my screwed up ignition that was hanging out, half-fixed looking, but working. It was a beautiful 80s mercedes, and it was definately not stolen. Two months or so later they called me to say I could have it back, but I had to come and get it from the middle of nowhere, of course I didn't have any transport to get it, and I had cancelled my insurance and everything, thinking I'd never see it again. I ended up selling it to a guy who worked at the pound where they'd taken it. It just seemed easier at the time.


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