Oh, the day off. As once quoted, the best invention since man created the atrocity known as “work”.
Every day off, I perform the same routine; get up, go for a three-mile run, shower, dress, go to the diner down the street for the best pancakes and sausage in the whole world, take a drive around town, have the best buffalo chicken ever at another restaurant, then depending on if Lizzie is working or not I'll call her, she'll come over, we'll watch a movie or something, hang around, I'll make dinner, then we'll either shag or she'll head home and I'll go to sleep relaxed and ready for the grueling work day ahead. If she is working, I'll usually just go to a club, have a beer or two, drive home (yeah, yeah, don't drink and drive, but I'm barely even buzzed off two beers so it's not a freakin' problem), hang out, go to sleep.
I imagine right about now you're all asking yourselves, “Jesus Christ, does this guy have any other friends besides his thirty-something-year-old partner?” Well, kids, I don't know if you've gathered this by now, but I fucking hate people. Besides, all the people I consider friends all moved out of the city once they graduated high school, and rarely do they come home for a visit. I still keep in contact with them, but I'm lucky if I see them once a year.
Somebody may also assume that I would be chummy with the other people in my department, and while that may be true for most people, I don't really regard people where I work as friends. In fact, the department I work with, I tend to just regard them from behind bulletproof one-way looking glass, if you know what I mean. It is my belief that they're all fucking psychos.
Lizzie's psycho too, don't get me wrong. Hell, she set me up with this fucking thing, didn't she? Hell, I remember when I came into the office one day and found my computer on. At first I thought someone had been snooping through my work (and looking through my non-work files...oh what, like you've never looked shit up at work?) and I panicked. Then when I got closer and saw what was set up, I just got confused. Lizzie was at her desk, which coincidentally is on the other side of mine, and when I saw that coy little smile on her face I knew she had been behind it.
Here is the conversation that followed:
Strahm (me): Lizzie?
S: Were you on my computer?
S: I'll take that as an yes. And...what the hell is this?
L: Your blog.
L: Your blog. I created a blog for you.
S:...Why did you make me a blog?
L: Because I think it would be good for you.
L: Strahm, you don't see a shrink. You don't talk about anything to anyone, not even me, and whenever someone tries to get to know you, your increasing level of stubbornness and just being a regular hot-head prevents them from doing so. So, you know...if you won't talk to anyone here, I figured you'd get it out on a blog.
S: So...you made me a blog...based on the assumption that I would spill all of my deepest darkest secrets and my life on it...for my use...for the whole world to see on the internet?
L: Pretty much.
And that's pretty much the whole conversation. I kind of blew up at her for another five minutes and then didn't bother with this thing for two months, despite her nagging me endlessly. It was when she told me she wouldn't give me sex ever again that I finally broke down and started using it, though I think I've used this more to describe my casework than I do update my own life.
I don't think there's really any other point to it. My childhood's nowhere near traumatic enough to warrant me pouring my heart out. My parents were good, we weren't poor, I had a full belly every night, and I did fairly well in school. Aside from twelve years of insomnia from living in the back-ass of nowhere, and the fact that girls didn't date me in high school, I've had a pretty good life.
Alright, well, I'm getting off track. The day off was fine, back to the case tomorrow...hope we've got a lead to work off of by now...