Rough night. Again.

Rough night Wednesday.

I went to a community meeting for a couple of hours and left her alone. Because of a previous incident where I came home to one of the burners on the gas stove all lit up with nothing on it, I don't allow her to cook when I'm not there. I don't really leave her alone much anymore either but I needed to get out and I really wanted to go to the meeting.

When I got home, she was watching tv and I caught a faint whiff of something burning. I smell something burning, I said. I do too, she replied and I didn't think much more of it. Later when I went into the kitchen, a noticed a new stick of butter had been opened and a good portion of the paper around it had been burned off.

I called her into the kitchen and asked how the paper on the butter got burned. She became enraged, ran into her room and, slammed the door. I don't remember exactly what she said but it had a lot of "sick of this fucking shit" and "sick of all this fucking drama" and 'it's always fucking drama around here" which, as I write now, makes me chuckle. It's actually pretty peaceful in the house; boring, as far as she's concerned. She is all the drama I have in my life now. The rest of it is all dull: work, house, the occasional night out. She is all the drama I have and precisely the kind I can do without.