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And the timing will be perfect, yet it's five days away. She poured herself a cup of tea to follow the 6am coffee. She was back to trying 3rd person in order to further her illustrious writing career. Would it be possible for her to write with interest on other subjects - perhaps work, philosophy, astrology, sports.
She could try.
But it would all be a distraction.
The rain was coming like a pregnant woman. She waited for the satisfaction of having it drink the gingko. The Norfolk Pine still fucking irritated her, and again again it was due to her own responsibility in killing something - and having it slowly die. The only thing rallying on was the Christmas Cactus and it almost wasn't fair because everyone knows they like neglect. Maybe she would bring in the peace lily and put it back in its place after her over-watering of it. She had overwatered everything inside and under-watered everything outdoors. There just had to be a metaphor in there, but she was not going to try.
It was already hard enough pretending she was smart to someone who she thought out-clever-ed her - and what a delicious feeling it was. She knows she's not as technically smart as the others, yet she's always felt she could run circles around them in the "I know what your soul carries" kind of vibe.
It didn't matter though maybe. She wondered why he even bothered to talk to her. It was rare to even speak on the phone, but since he'd been away, he called her every time he wasn't compartmentalized in the trenches. She giggled when the silences came. She giggled often at other things too. She was sure she was nervous and didn't know where she stood, yet she was getting up when the waves broke from her head games.
Up and up.
"get up. no one will ever pick you up because they're all caring about their own march."
"I just keep not understanding what's going on. I keep being confused about how to be still and simple."
"that tracks"
--
She has felt that she has not been on her game in over a month, and she knows what this coincides with. She remembered last night that he shares her secret desire to sing.
She often reminded herself that she was kind of evil and kind of broken and kind of a mess; however, she had done the proofs and ascertained that she may be slightly worthy of having someone mean it.
The trap was one created by her fucking father. She had read and heard that the male ape will do anything to insert tab a in slot b. She had long embedded the programming that her entire worth was entwined with the legs attached to the penis probing ever allways.
The first step in escaping a trap must be to realize you're in a trap. She was aware. The Wilmington shrooms had already revealed it anyway.
Was he her best friend? Would she really call Kent her best friend? He was so many folks' why not her - but it felt very dangerous to declare. (like someone could take it away.). When she thought about going to Wilmington - out in society with any social partners at all - she comforted herself that although she was hella hated in many circles (with reasonable reasons) - she was also greatly loved by people she considered the cream of the fucking crop. she did not exaggerate (much) - her friends were cool and iconic. She was probably loved in sort of secret by them, but it had been over 25 years and they were still just a beat away if she needed them.
thank you god.
the post-ILM friends were find and dandy, yet she hadn't really tried since the port city. it thrilled her that she was bothering to think about paying $1000 to remove her tramp stamp. It had been her hair shirt for quite the while. more of a whore mark.
and the new? it intrigued her that the last one didn't mind hanging out with her when she wasn't offering her body as a feast. Now all that was left was healing and balancing. The worst case for her would be to fall.
Or was it?
Always the same thing, yet said a different way.
she breathed.
so far...
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