Sunday Scribblings: Hospital

Sunday Scribblings #82 - Hospital

Sunday Scribblings: What’s your sign?

What’s your sign?

Cancer. Yeah, that’s right, it means that my birthday is some time around now. In fact, it is today.

Tell you the truth, I have not been looking forward to my birthday. Over the last week, it was all a bit much. But then I had a good time last night, the sun is shining, the first batch of muffins I made for this afternoon smell absolutely delicious, I am listening to the omnibus edition of The Archers, and I have the feeling this is going to be a good day.

So I am writing my own horoscope for today: You will have a lovely time with your family and friends this afternoon, they will be in raptures about the muffins you made, and tonight you will go for a delicious dinner. The thunderstorms predicted for the late afternoon are going to rage elsewhere. You are going to have a fantastic time, and you deserve it, too.

Sunday Scribblings: I have a secret

I have a secret

As far as my family and friends are concerned, Karena is somebody I met at the grief-counseling self-help group - I only ever went there once so I can say that I tried it. None of the people closest to me know that He’s not dead. Of course, pretending does not make my life easier. Then again, the distress it causes me helps to maintain the image of grieving widow.

Still, carrying this secret around with me, having no one I can talk to about it - it is getting harder. But I mustn’t allow myself to give into the urge to talk - every additional person who knows would be a danger to Him. And, I suspect, telling anyone would put them in danger, too. I mean, He has not disappeared for nothing, has He?

Sunday Scribblings: Eccentricity

Eccentricity

I have been called eccentric a few times. I don’t agree. Different, maybe, but eccentric is a little strong. Eccentric means huge colourful glasses and flying hair for me, and my glasses are the small, black-rimmed variety and my hair only flies when it is windy outside and I did not tie it up in a ponytail. I always do that, though.

I would agree to weird. I have quoted Radiohead’s Creep more than once myself. The feeling that I don’t belong here - wherever here may be at the time - is taking hold of me on a regular basis. It has gotten worse since His disappearance, too. The one place I never felt I didn’t belong was by his side.

Sunday Scribblings: Town & Country

This week’s prompt is not for me, apparently. I can’t come up with anything that would be worth anyone’s while.

Sunday Scribblings: Simple

Simple

Here’s the thing about Karena - I don’t know what she is really after. I’m assuming it is His whereabouts because that’s all I want to know. But they might have sent her for something else entirely. They must know that I am as clueless about what He did as were the people He spied upon, so it couldn’t be any information I have. Maybe Karena is here to make sure that anything I stumble upon can be analyzed by them, in case it has a meaning I am unaware of. I can’t take anything at face value. There might be a huge revelation just around the corner and I wouldn’t even see it. So I’m trying to do nothing Karena hasn’t witnessed me doing yet. I’m keeping things simple.

Sunday Scribblings: Masks

Masks
Karena - I doubt that it is even her real name - became the person I needed her to be around me when they sent her. They know their business and especially how to keep their undercover agents under cover. It is part of the job description for an agent to be whoever they need to be around their targeted audience, and they’d better be good at it if they want to survive.
Which, of course, got me thinking about the masks He used to wear, and if He wore one when He was with me. I don’t think He did; but when you become the perfect person to cater for another persons needs all the time, can you stop doing it when you come home at night? He came as close to my perfect man as any real human being ever could - He was Mr. Perfect from the very beginning. Or was that only His professional skills kicking in in sensing my needs and exploring my expectations quickly, to which He adapted accordingly?
I wish I could ask Karena these questions. They were colleagues, I suppose, she must have known Him. If I talked to her about my worries, though, I would have to let down my cover. As far as Karena is concerned, I am the ignorant, mad-with-grief widow of a criminal psychology professor who was so high in demand that he traveled from one case to the next. That is the mask I hide behind when I am with her.

Sunday Scribblings: Second Chance

Second Chance

There is, of course, a reason why I am so desperate to find him. Other than that he is the love of my life, I mean. We had a fight the night he disappeared, an entirely unnecessary one. I started it because I had had a bad day at work. Instead of making the evening extra nice in order to compensate for my nightmare in the office, I bitched about the state of his desk - a sure thing to make him mad. Soon we were shouting at each other, and because I did not stop nagging, he left in a foul mood. He never came home.

I know what you think now. She has driven him out of the house with her childish behaviour. That is not the case, though. He disappeared completely, there is no way this was a spur of the moment thing. Also, he would not have left without a word like that if I had really driven him away. He would have let me know that I ruined it. So with the benefit of hindsight, I want to turn back the clock, get a second chance to make our last night together the best we ever had. Because he still would have disappeared sooner or later, they would have made sure of that. The thing is, our fight gave them the perfect alibi.

Sunday Scribblings: Wings

Wings

One of the games we used to play was asking someone if they’d rather have wings or be able to become invisible. My answer was always the same: I’d have wings. I imagined spreading them and soaring into the sky, circling high above, feeling the wind in my feathers - the idea alone made me happy.

Not anymore. I bet if I unexpectedly grew wings, they would follow me with helicopters. They are following me everywhere, and I would give anything in the world to disappear off their radar and become invisible. Anything, even my wings.

Sunday Scribblings: Secrete Identity

Secrete Identity

He is still alive. He built up another identity, faked his own death and lives a new life now. They are looking for him, so he had to settle down in another city, maybe even in another country. He knows they are watching me, that is why he has made no attempt at contacting me yet. But he will, once they have given up. That will probably take a while, so in the meantime there is nothing for me to do but play the devastated widow. I is not a difficult role for me to play. Facing life without him, even though I know he is out there somewhere, I find that so hard I wish I could fast forward to the day he reveals his secrete identity to me.