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She woke up going "whoa, I was pretty pissed at my dad. Is that always underneath? have I been this angry the entire time and thought I was over it?"
It just triggered because she wanted to blame something
something
something
on why she was where she was.
The hornet or wasp nest was getting a bit bigger, but she had put away the poison to kill them under her sink a while ago. You're welcome wasps.
She wondered what she would do now that all the avenues were done. She had spent six months trying the case and the verdict was in:
he liked you a little bit but wasn't really interested any more and then when you flooded it with emotion, he was like yay validation - she nuts. done. case closed. go home. enjoy your life. you tried kid. you tried really really hard.
You couldn't win. It was tacked against you from the very beginning. "I know right? I said over and over again how I should have been an abortion. there's nothing I got out of this so far... god that sucks to think. it hurts to think that in my entire life, I've done nothing but try to be good enough that my family would look at me - for even a second - and see something besides whatever they see that causes me to not feel seen."
and she can go over it four thousand million times. Maybe one more will be fun. a lark.
the ole root of the tree
let's get our shovels and dig!
"wait, you'll do it with me. I don't have to pay you? you'll just dig until we find something?"
"fuck yeah. you're fun. now. we can make a new cliche - instead of paint drying, I can say 'lady, I'd dig fruitless holes with you I like you so much.'"
"ah, you too think I'm just mulling and can't get over it - what is it technically called ruminating."
laughter. "It's adorable that you're so mean to yourself. everyone loves it. keep doing it. it doesn't get boring in the slightest."
"but, I've tried everything else. I've tried so much therapy. I've tried pills. I've tried pot. I've tried booze. I've tried yoga. I've tried meditation. I've tried walking. I've tried marrying someone I didn't love. I've tried."
"OK, Ok. you've tried. come on then, let's dig in there and kvetch some more. What could it hurt? get in there and tear down your family - show them who they had in their midst."
"I feel like you're making deep fun of me, but fuck it. it's better than being alone I guess."
"that's the spirit."
She fed the cats on fine china plates because she was tired of sacrificing all the paper plates, and it had gotten messy. Besides, it was kind of fucking eccentric to feed cats off of plates that cost a little under $100 to replace. She had bought them in Oakland when she had been madly rebuilding her life and taking a note from when Andrew did it - giving herself the best - or rather exactly what she wanted instead of always saying she didn't deserve it.
It cost a lot. but she ended up with a nice goofy comforter that needed cleaning and some cool plates she fed cats off of, a dish towel, and a shower curtain.
"Is this really about your family?"
"in a way. I can connect anything. they all have very nice homes that seem proper. I'm always this bohemian camper I guess. The only time I make a home usually is when there's someone else looking - a hubby I guess. "
"why am I even here? It doesn't seem like we are digging at all. We're resting on our shovels and talking about the weather."
"It is going to rain today. OK. OK. I feel like a dumbass, but recent events have made me realize some poor programming that I had hoped was long gone is still in there. two huge things that I saw: the minute I start the feeling of maybe accepting love, I undermine the fuck out of it and the countdown begins in my head of when they'll ... get tired of even using my body and walk away fast. the second is that I have massive trouble if I think by me saying what I want, I'll disappoint you. I don't know. something like that. and then my mind goes. how could this have happened? where did this come from? I had it so much better than so many people so I should just please. Instead, I just sit in my house frozen."
"this might be the most boring piece of writing you've ever done. congrats."
"I want to bore. good."
"are you done? can we go now? is this finished?"
She indicated with her hand, "fucking leave. you always do."
"that's my 54 year old hag! there she is. the whining clinging baby."
"will you ever shut up."
"If I did, you'd fuck up and start to think maybe someone might like you. and then they'd hurt you and you wouldn't be warned. I'm good for you stupid."
Her head hurt. She watched Orangie out the window in the second to the longest day of the year digging his own hole and shitting in it. There was nothing to do but maybe finish the mystery book she had been reading for a year.
He was gone. He was right to go. He had the right to go. But it wasn't hers to pronounce. It still hurt like a senseless death, but there was at least no more maybe left in her.
Maybe she'd eat frozen tart yogurt today, take a walk in a different place, She could always go back to volunteering to clean cat pee at the shelter. That was actually useful.
she wished she had a playmate. Even when she was little, people would think because she had brothers and sisters that she had a playmate, but how many fourteen year old girls and sixteen year old boys really enjoy hanging out with a three-year-old. Answer? She was the burden to have to babysit. It was a fucked fucked fucked fucked up family too. all of it hidden.
still.
could she get out of that basement ever though - maybe free the outhouse hole gimp and mercifully kill the chained up immortal father?
she would need your support. and she wasn't going to ask.
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