So my holiday weekend was eventful, and not in a good, "had a barbeque with friends" kind of way. I got to that spot again, the place that I hate but seem to always end up in, where I'm caring for a previously kind and loving significant other who has become psychotic/blind drunk/completely high, and is threatening me implicitly or explicitly with death or bodily harm. This time I did a little better job of taking care of myself. I mean, after he spilled beer all over the apartment, fell and hit his head more than a few times, called me a "puta" 50 times and worst of all, HURT MY CAT, I realized that he needed to leave my apartment, pronto. Of course, it took me an hour after that decision to actually get him out the apartment door, and then there was the cab drive from hell where he kept arguing with the driver and giving him directions (wrong, directions) but eventually I got him dropped off at his apartment. Of course, he was a little confused when I didn't climb out of the cab with him and instead sped away into the rain. I actually had to yell at the cab driver, GO, now, drive! go! just like in the movies. Mucho excitement.
Donch'a hate it when that happens.
Then he actually apologized the next day, which was a first for me. Usually I get scoffed at.