I went out tonight for a little while. I went to my friend S' house and met my friend J there and we all went down to the sculpture opening at the park where we met our friend Z, among others, and then we went to the Lucky Otter and had dinner and it was all very nice and I came along home, mellow and ready to sleep, about 9ish. Home, yes. Where the heart is. Where, when I got there, I had one dog, who looked a bit nervous, at the door to greet me and no sign of dog number two. And I use number two in all it's meanings, because dog number two, Shi'thead is I believe his name in Arabic, was hiding under M's bed since, in the hour or so since I last talked to M and M had gone off to a friend's house, he had wiggled his nemesis way under the other computer and pulled out a CD folder and destroyed it, complete with most every CD inside, across the den. Also, one of my bras, but okay, that's not a huge loss, given that my bras are all like 10 years old and decrepit.
In the CD folder, however, were a lot of irreplaceable photo CDs. And - and this is where I lost it - James McMurtry, St. Mary in the Wood and David Bowie, Hunky Dory. And the Dead and Rage Against the Machine and oh fuck, I DON'T EVEN KNOW AT THIS POINT. That's what I could identify as destroyed beyond redemption. So I dragged the evil little bastard out from under M's bed and I shoved a bunch of broken CDs under his nose and walloped his ass and screamed and so on. Useless. Do you know, I've had a copy, in one form or another, of Hunky Dory since I was 15 fucking years old? Fifteen. And now it's sitting on my dining room table with a spaniel jaw sized fucking chunk out of it. And St. Mary of the Woods is my favorite, ever, James McMurtry album and now it is gone as well. Not to mention any number of never to be seen again, never to be duplicated, family photos.
So I am angry, and tired, and I couldn't even call anyone since M has my phone, because, in a perfect case of motherhood gone terribly, terribly wrong, I have been refusing to replace his phone that he swears was stolen because he loses too many phones. I thought that him not having a phone would teach him, ha! Yeah. It's taught me quite nicely, because, when I am confronted with the thought of M out there in the terrible world, unable to make a cel phone call, I am undone, and he knows this, and that is how, somehow, M has a phone (mine) and I have nothing: no phone to call my friends and describe for them in heated terms once again the perfidy of this goddamn useless dog. All I could do was go outside and smoke two cigarettes angrily and fast. Another useful plan.
This pains me deeply. When you think about it logically, M is never anywhere where there isn't a phone, because all his friends' parents, like me, are terrified at the idea of these teenagers being even briefly phoneless, but here I am at home, utterly without phone. What if a burglar comes in? I'll have to email the cops. Pity the burglar who comes in this house tonight, though. He will not survive. At the very least I'll duct tape him to a chair and then spend a couple of hours explaining exactly what my dog and my child have done to me.