Full moon madness

In the ten years I've been working domestic violence, I don't even need a full hand to count the number of times the work has made me cry. It just doesn't happen.

But it did yesterday.

Usually Sundays are quiet. I get a lot of homework done, and I get caught up on TV shows, watching them online. Yesterday, though, I don't think the phone left my ear for more than ten minutes at a time during most of the eight-hour shift.

The full moon brings out the sweetly crazy, and the absolutely psychotic. I talked to more people who were actually in crisis than I usually do, and I heard stories that were more violent and brutal than usual.

During one, I just wanted to put the phone down and weep. What this woman had been through, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Not on anyone. I had to help her, give her hope and a place to stay.

I drove home in a daze, started dinner, and opened a beer. I felt more exhausted than if I had spent the afternoon in the field, hoeing rows. The water was boiling for corn, I leaned against the fridge, slid to the floor, and started crying.

For a moment I wondered, is this it? Have I reached the end and shouldn't do this anymore? I finally decided it was ok.

Who else was going to cry for her?

I activated the voice recognition dial program on my cell phone. I say who I want to call, and an automated voice will repeat back what it thinks I said. "Do you want to call [so-and-so]?"

The computerized voice sounds just like the midget on Twin Peaks! It is simultaneously hilarious and creepy.