Any Port in a Storm

Being, as I am, disinclined to look for or expect the best in people, I wasn't terribly surprised to learn that before her most recent divorce - even before the soon to be ex-husband was out of prison, as it turned out - our little nurse had found her latest new man.  In a matter of weeks all the signs were there - late getting in to work, early to leave, being distracted and sloppy, personal calls taking up her every free minute, generally not carrying her weight.  Like a broken washing machine, the cycle begins, ends, and repeats.

Apart from the fact that this one is twice her age and her children don't like him - a fact that has never given her the slightest pause in the past and doubtless will not now - I know nothing about him except that he's unemployed and will surely prove to be abusive, manipulative, lazy, unfaithful and worthless.  Some women are attracted to tall, dark and handsome.  Some to money.  Some to romantic illusions and some to any port in a storm.  If it's got a broken wing or a pulse then it meets all her requirements and everything else is relegated to second or third class.  Her need overwhelms her and past experience tells me in no uncertain terms that she'll lie, cheat, steal and overlook - if not neglect - her children to satisfy it.  Her work will be set aside without a second thought, her family overlooked and exploited.   Hard as I try to tell myself that this time could be different, the truth is that we've all been down this old road with her before, not once or twice but multiple times, and we all know it's a dead end.

I don't pretend to understand what drives people to invite bad decisions in and probably my own experience makes me less tolerant than I should be but I have an urge to shake her violently, to scream, curse and slap her to her senses.  I settle for telling her no when she asks me to cover for her and when she wants to know why, I tell her I'm not obligated to explain.  She's hurt by this and I immediately feel guilty but then I overhear her asking her sister for $70 in gas money.  

Who needs $70 for gas? her sister demands sharply and turns her down cold.  The atmosphere in the office chills noticeably.

Here we go again.  

Misery is a state of mind that we make for ourselves.  $70 in gas money won't get you out.