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She was going to have to buy some poison to kill a wasp's nest soon and the robot told her the wasps get really pissed so she would have to do it at night.
She didn't like killing things, but she paid other people to kill on her behalf, and it didn't seem to bother her.
Yesterday, she had figured out the reason - or a trigger - for her claustrophobia depression panic attack - it was feeling into the past and knowing you were there, but it's all dead to you now. It's probably hard to explain.
And Orangie was sick again, and she realized she really was responsible for this. It annoyed her, but still getting her period annoyed her - dealing with what is.
The anesthesia was wearing off. She had felt him today and yesterday and cried again. She had thought that was done, but fuck - maybe he was representational of
building back
what was
lost
what a dork.
what a fucking idiot.
she had texted him yesterday. she didn't know why - what stupid ass reason she made up to think it might be a good idea to do so. The thing that always got her over the rationalized hump was realizing that she was not supposed to text him - not one single pal except her wacky cousin had said "fuck it. text the shit out of him. whatever."
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After four months of mourning, she finally allowed herself
fun
even that, it was hard. it was complicated. She loved the touching the words the sex the writhing the forgetting of everything except the sensation. the duration was epic. she was getting what she had hoped was sexual healing.
She had the hardest time letting him in though. He already knew everything, but she didn't want to open the real wall. In other words, she didn't feel comfortable being herself around him - she still had to perform "cool girl" or "wise woman" or "flakey hippy" whatever the role. The thing she wanted to do the most of all was to not ever perform.
The path to that would be either sustained practice or a feeling of safety.
As if she had any business naming a path, but that's what she had researched. That's what therapists do - model someone who is safe and accepts your worst.
That hornet nest was guarded by a huge queen.
It hadn't rained in forever.
Being clear was harder.
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