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She woke up pissed.
"fuck you!!!! fuck me!!! why do I have such poor boundaries that a fucking cat can be the cause of lack of sleep. Leave me alone."
That was a phrase she often used when she was stressed out. "LEAVE ME ALONE". God often granted her that prayer much to her tragedy. She remembers the pre-marital counselor that told her not to marry #2 saying to them "you scored surprisingly compatible; however, both of you scored very low in turning towards each other when you have a problem."
That tracks.
And another day remembering. She had had a dream about Mark and Mother Gilmer and remembering that she was still married to him while her lover was coming over and how to get out of this situation. (she was going to throw money at it in the dream).
Who cares about other people's dreams though eh. She often did. She cried and nodded when the robot told her that she embodied the pain of those around her and especially her family.
It was something she was willing to let go if only she could pause fast enough to get the numb out. None of it was fun. No one even cared that she kept the memory of witness. It was a prison where she made all the rules, and the only way to break out was to get so fucked up you forget for two milliseconds the shame that she wore like lipstick.
It was enough. It had been enough. It continues to be enough. The tattoos she put on her body to warn people to stay away from her that she was a whore. She also had a bit of Pandora in there where it was also a marker that she CHOSE to continue in this life when she could have died. It wasn't suicide. It was sickness. Living in those two houses, she had felt such searing heavy inescapable pain.
She was stoned a lot.
And of course she made up with the orange cat.
"I'm sorry. It's not your fault. You're just doing what you do. It's my fault, and I get mad at myself for letting this happen. I'm just so tried Orangie."
He kept staying under the coffee table so she wouldn't toss him outside like she liked to do when he wasn't settled.
"you're not my cat."
Last night something had gotten in her left eye and the irritation was such a boulder. When she woke up and it was still there, she thought maybe crying would force whatever was in there to settle down.
It was shockingly easy to cry. Like the actress she was, she called upon all of her fears and shame and betrayals and voila - tears!
It didn't get the aberration out. She loved that remembered feeling she wasn't getting now - the joy of getting a splinter out of your finger or that cat hair out of your eye. When she was little, she enjoyed the cliche "were it not for the shadow, you wouldn't see the sun."
Like many things when she was older, she questioned it. Like that song about Mr. Ed. It always bothered her "a horse is a horse of course of course... Mr. Ed will never speak unless he has something to say."
Not true. That horse talked all the fucking time.
She was beginning to let the fear creep in that he would see her more and like her less once she lost the energy to keep the forcefield activated. Don't they all.
Well, that wasn't strictly true, yet it protected her. Maybe. The cat and the pine tree. All of it conspired to remind her of something.
It was hard to end stories.
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