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She's not writing you because she wants to really. She's writing you because she's almost mind-numbingly bored. There is nothing but waiting to do, and her mind has no near stranger nipping at her feeds.
She loves the character-building aspects of it: now, she would have to be alone.
again.
a while.
She had just finished eating butterbeans, corn, and tomatoes she had gotten off the side of the road. She was going to be honest. She suspected the tomatoes were not really that home grown. They were too perfect, too big, too tame. She liked her southern home-grown tomatoes to startle her with their vivid flavor.
She had been wrong yesterday.
Upon sidling up to the dental desk, she was turned away.
She mocked herself. Who needed to spend almost a thousand dollars to fix a minimally chipped tooth? apparently her vanity and her bank account dictated it. It felt stupid as she knew her problems went much deeper than a tiny chip in a big tooth, yet she was going to start there.
The watermelon on her kitchen counter was from the famous watermelon city of Cordele. She was excited for this sixth or seventh venture. The boy asked if she needed help picking one out.
"aren't they all the same anyway?"
"yeah, but people seem to like when they think one's special."
She felt sluggish, tired, ugly, fat today and had to remind herself how hot and precious she thought she was just six days ago. It's all external in/validation. She waited and waited for her interest to be aroused by something more than 'he likes me. phew."
Her training was deep and hard.
"I know that you're growing your hair out because you think that men like it, but you looked so cute with short hair."
It amused her to imagine growing her hair out to please a man's desire for long hair. She only was going through the awkward motions because on the rare times she looked in the mirror, she recognized herself more with long hair.
She got scared and had the thought that she hopes he does cancel. then, she could go into a sad sack. It was annoying all the time and investment when often nothing was produced, yet welcome to fucking life.
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