Okay, I’ve got another one for you: Illustrious Co-worker, aka My Freakin’ Hero, mentioned in passing this morning about getting a passport. Naturally, since I thought the most exotic locale she’d ever visited was Myrtle Beach, I asked where she went that she needed a passport. She described going on a church mission trip overseas, being on a plane for two days and not understanding any of the people when she got there. But she has absolutely no idea where she went. She couldn’t even tell me which continent, although I doubt she could name a continent anyway. The girl has otherwise barely left east Tennessee in her life and yet her destination for a two-day plane trip ten years ago cannot be recalled. The hell?
And while I was typing the above paragraph, she was telling me about getting raped when she was 19 (It’s a good, productive work environment around here). She doesn’t recall the incident (I’m no psychologist, but I believe her horrible memory is a result of learning to suppress all this stuff), but she was found semi-conscious in a car in somebody’s driveway. All she remembers is seeing several guys standing over her drinking beer and then her mother and the cops after they found her. Last thing she remembers from before that is her friend giving her a ride home from school, the same friend who is now in prison for murder. Yeah.
And before she told me all this, she called an ex-boyfriend up on the phone because he owns a car lot and she’s in the market for a new car. They had the kind of pleasant conversation two people might have who go way back but haven’t spoken for a while. ICW says he’s a real nice guy, the kind of guy who just gives and gives and gives, but he kind of annoyed her, so it didn’t work out. Oh, and she got pregnant when they were together but he had already had a vasectomy so he kicked her up and down the stairs and she miscarried. And that’s also why she can’t have kids ever again. Nice guy, though.
I’m sorry, but I had to share. She just tells me these things with almost no prompting whatsoever and I don’t really know where to go with it. In fact, I often wonder if I’m hearing correctly with some of this stuff. And you’re not even getting the gory details she always includes despite what I can only assume is my obvious discomfort. I guess she just needs somebody to listen. That’s good, because I sure don’t have much to say.