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February had not been going like she had hoped.
Perhaps she already knew that you can't put an end on something just because the calendar says "done".
Oh of course she knew that, but she had to try. She had drunk wine for the first time in a while last night - switching up the ole hootch.
And of course she texted the object of her orbit.
She even said "let's talk about how this all went and maybe we can keep the same things from happening again and again."
When she was sober, she fucking laughed.
but not really. She screamed/said "god I'm so fucking dumb. I'm so fucking stupid." over and over. Pleading for him to pity her - to understand - to talk.
When it was all dead.
She just couldn't seem to understand. That poor dead horse had so many bookmarks kicked into it. Her relationship. She derisively snorted. What fucking relationship. She had been in a mirage thinking she was being loved when she was just television.
It was a gorgeous looking day, and she was hella proud of herself for taking out the trash and putting the pine scented liner back in. She wasn't sure she'd be able to take a bath today, but shit the day was young.
She hadn't opened the door to the room where they fucked except to wash that one towel that she cried at when she saw the blue gel toothpaste mark. She was going to have to deal with it all eventually.
Today, she was going to try to put different clothes on and go to her pizza place to get some semblance of connection to this town. It made her daunted. She felt like the gravity knob on life had been turned up to 11. She wondered what it would be like if she didn't take her meds. fuck.
It was hard to understand again. Very few people cured cancer for a living or helped the homeless or picked up trash, but she was having a hard time justifying her existence again. How did the others do it.
oh well. the orange cat was calling her.
time to put some food out.
more more more.
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