A "Midsomer" Night's Dream... and a Loaded Gun!

"Happiness is a Warm Gun"... That's the song to which lyrics, playing in my head, I woke up this morning, feeling restless and weary. I could almost hear Tori Amos's voice in my head, lushly, passionately and soothingly repeating, over and over again:

Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun
Mother Superior jump the gun.

Happiness is a warm gun
(bang, bang, shoot shoot)
Happiness is a warm gun
When I hold you in my arms
And I feel my finger on your trigger
I know nobody can do me no harm
Because happiness is a warm gun.
Yes it is. 

It was kind of unnerving to have this song in my mind, while taking a shower and getting ready to face the day, as, for one thing, yesterday was the 30th anniversary of John Lennon's assassination, and, secondly, it felt a bit too close to home for comfort. Hadn't my happiness unexpectedly turned into a loaded gun, that threatened to shoot down both me and the men in my life, causing us all more pain and heartache then we'd ever expected to find? I don't mean to sound grim or over dramatic, but I was starting to feel like everything was falling apart, fast, and too many things, things that I had no control over, were happening simultaneously.

Michael was angry at me for spending yesterday afternoon with Seth, and for accepting (though technically it was Miss Munro who accepted for me) Mason's dinner invitation, and for starting that job in the first place, and... I don't know, he was just angry and no matter what I said, nothing seemed to make things better. I was trying to be empathic and try walking in his shoes at the moment, but it still made me feel... hurt, for the lack of a better word, that he had so little faith in me and in us, that Seth made him feel so insecure. Or at least that's what it looked like from the side, and I did not like it the slightest little bit. What was worse, though, was the fact that he wasn't the only one acting all "macho" and "possessive" on me...

Seth, in his own weird way, was giving me the same treatment, asking me questions about me, and Michael, and our marriage, and sneakily bringing in every possible good memory that we had together, as if thinking that if he reminded me how in love we used to be, I would suddenly have an... epiphany, or something, dump my husband and jump right back into his arms.

Which was not going to happen, but try to hint that to Seth and he started acting all defensive and hurt on me, and, for the better or worse of it, I could not stand the thought of causing him any pain. Even after he'd broken my heart in the worst ways possible. Talk about double standards!

The other problem, and I have no idea when he managed to turn into a problem as well, was Mason Blackwood who, evidently, thought it appropriate to send me a bucket of roses, red, white and yellow, that were too many to count, and way too expensive to not bring out the jealous steak in Michael. As if that wasn't enough, I had no idea what excuse to give for Mr. Blackwood's (unwanted) generosity... I'd only seen him once, and the bigger part of the time I'd been busy either staring at Seth, or listening to Miss Picksby turn a misplaced letter into the next world crisis...

Speaking about Miss Picksby, I have to say that she made true on her threat to write a letter of complaint, and send it to the mayor. Then, when in a day ("The only acceptable time for a well mannered man to reply to a lady's note!", as she so Austen-ly put it) she didn't get a response, she wrote another one... Then another one, and so on, until I started wandering when the mayor is going to get enough of her and have Scotland Yard arrest her. Or, admittedly, at least try to take her to jail... Something suggested to me that Miss Picksby was a vigilant (jokingly said, of course) who would be much harder to catch, then one would suspect! Have you seen the show "Midsomer Murders"? If you have, then you've probably noticed how the innocently looking old ladies there have the strange habit of turning out to be the "bad guy", or "killer", or however you wish to call them.

Yes, I could definitely picture Miss Picksby as the main suspect in a "Midsomer Murders" episode! Can't you?

Putting all of the above said to the side, and ignoring the thoughts running through my head, I could say that I had a pretty boring and regular morning. Got up, made coffee, found a good rug cleaning London company to take care of yet another one of Bast's messes (I'm starting to think that me and Michael have turned that cat into a spoiled and frivolous monster!), having a half an hour chat over the phone with Monica, then reading a new author and novel Seth bought (no, I didn't tell Michael that) for me yesterday - Lane Robins' "Maledicte". I wish I could say I didn't like the book, or that Seth had gotten my taste all wrong, but neither of them would be true. The book was perfect and Seth had proven (deliberately) that he still knew me well enough to pick books for me from the book-store. Point taken, but that didn't change anything...

As if summoned by my thoughts, or by a cosmic joke that I didn't dare think too hard about, my cellphone rang... And I knew it was Seth even before I checked the display.

Seth Mortigton, it said, while ringing again and again. He was persistent, I had to give him that. Stubborn, even. I let out a sigh and pressed the "Answer" button. I didn't have a choice, but to talk to him, right?

Strangely, that explanation didn't ring true even in my ears.