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›comments[0] ›all comments ›post #950 ›bio: kristen ›perma-link ›8/2/2026 ›08:59 ›archives ›first post ›that week
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god she hoped it would rain. one day it would rain and rain and never stop, and the universe would turn to her and say, "you got what you wanted." like last night when she was reading and the orange cat she never chose was beside her and she said to it, "when I was a little girl, this is all I wanted: to feel safe and read and read and have lots of cats." the orange cat named Orangie looked at her, but she couldn't feel too close. the minute she called these cats "hers", that meant she would have to care - to claim them - to choose them - to have them under her protection. for now, she called them fosters and had tons of stalled intentions to move them away from her care. move it all away from her care. this time last week, she had been home from Athens waking up to the emptiness and wanting to fill it with anything. she was fat with chocolate chip pecan oatmeal cookies. she had meant to buy the granola at the bakery in Athens - the independent one - but the line had been too long once she changed her mind, so she had taken her three bottles of honeymeade and sourdough wheat uncut loaf and hyacinth vanilla cream croissant with latte and trudged out the door to sit in the rain and plan what to next do. she couldn't have him. he didn't want her. it wasn't that he was going "oh joy! the fucking bitch I dated a million years ago who won't leave me the fuck alone is writing me again and giving me a welcome to contact her - oh joy! now let me figure out what to text back - maybe something like 'hey girl. whattup. u n town rlly' - he would call it ironic of course." she imagined today that he had had a sleepover from the night before - that he had someone in his bed that turned him on and either didn't care or knew to act like they didn't care. or something something that she didn't know - or if she had known - she didn't know. and so now. what to do? she couldn't be one of those "Kristen and her crochet club are going on safari" or "Kristen found this group that drinks and goes to yard sales" or "Kristen is loving her new writing group. they read every Sunday at a bar then discuss. it's so cool." or "Kristen is the head volunteer at the cat club. she's really fulfilled by it." she had a plan to call an old friend today. it was her only event. she was annoyed that Lisa had said, "I'm an amazing person, and I don't really want or need a relationship. I'm fine never having one." kristen dripped with sarcasm when she texted back, "that sounds beautiful. I'm so happy for you." last weekend, she had trudged past the most hilarious sign on the uga outer campus something like "support services for overflow" - basically a bunch of guys standing on a loading dock from her observation - with a bunch of old furniture. but she had been in his town. the most elegant stalking she could ever imagine built by a lie "I'm just going to go back and re-claim the town for myself. I'm not going to even contact him, and then I'll feel stronger afterwards." before noel. before tasting the fucking apple, she had been bored and her biggest problem was how to reclaim her body from being fucked by someone she didn't love but she was so lonely she traded pretend for pretend. so many callbacks last week last year childhood. all of it was bullshit. she was a fool. she could cry again over the truth. he was intrigued. he bit. she let him see her weak and not powerful with the family - with the stepfather "loser" and he had believed it. and he had believed she was he hadn't passed any test she shouldn't have been testing him. but she tested all of them. everyone. you had to have logic - a showing of your math whatever it did her a - as they say - fat lot of good all the whatever she felt about whatever as she tapped her keyboard watched her salmon pink geraniums that likely needed some more water gazed at the still alive peace lily the plexiglass mother death daisy the gifted split pair baseball in the yellow cup with the hairline crack pawpadz foto from the New York Christmas card the Manuel bravo Alvarez postcard from the Getty and twenty plus years ago - the foto of the woman with a hairy bush and armpits and bare breasted photographed free laying in the sun. the breeze card from the Atlanta metro. the Spock "nothing is logical" figurine the paper with "I can handle this" to try all of it to try to let her remember that she oh and the wallpaper - the screensaver of the maple tree in wilmington off the balcony she had stayed at three times - the excellent clawfoot tub with plenty of hot water and the window looking at treetops and the balcony where she had sung and danced and silent disco-ed and scared him where she probably lost him but he had said he cared. he had kissed her on the landing. she had wept the entire way home. he had to have noticed. he joked about it being too soon to joke that she bets she wished they had rendezvous-ed in Augusta so this could be over sooner. and she didn't stay to eat chili and watch a movie because she didn't know how to be cool at all. she was a mess and was afraid she would drive him further away so she drove home from athens wondering if she'd ever be home... she remembered him coming back from Detroit, doing laundry at her house, "did you know that the 'dry more' feature is actually useful - a lady I was staying with once said something like 'you're too low class to know but the more dry is the right setting'." "I never use the more dry. I always time it." "well, I don't think your 'more dry' works" "Tony says he's going to not replace this washer dryer set when I leave. he says they're too much trouble." "he should charge you less rent then, "noel smiled at her, "what do you want to do today." -- she almost swooned with the touching of it like little icarus maybe that would be her next name. Ikra. a woman had been named that when she was in graduate school to get her master's of counseling. fucking kristen fucking bitterly laughs all the stupid shit she used to hope about and stuff. another day being with her head and watching sci-fi reading mysteries observing shit writing shit taking care of cats. he didn't want her. he had once. she could cry cry cry and gnash gnash gnash sure. but it didn't change anything even the correct text even the correct text read, he'd go besides, unlike Lisa, she was still bleeding. and had a cat to brush. it was so very easy to make them happy. shit, she might even give them all a can of wet divided of course. and it probably wasn't going to rain. her friend probably was going to make her feel safe. they were probably going to share the weather. and then she'd still think mother of all gods and all things holy she missed that fucking apple. that taste. the thing about the music was that it was what she had said about Andrew, "well, he was ADJACENT to what I liked - but if I had investigated further, I would realize the new order songs he liked were the ones I thought were cheesy - and the like - and I would have just known - we don't work. I mean, Brittany, I'm the girl that used to think when I was hot and young and in wilmington I should have a t-shirt made - it was always about the t-shirts: 'replacements, u2, van Morrison, cure, dinosaur jr, tori Amos. - u can be ignorant, but if you dislike them, move on...' I mean I forget the exact bands now, but you know..." let's all raise a drink to the queen of ... never getting over it "but Maude, the kids don't drink these days." "well good for them, but don't they dehydrate." "they take their pain dry." and she imagined him dancing that time he talked about to ce lo's "crazy" and wiggling his butt and the next day asking the line producers "wow that was a great night. do you remember me dancing to..." "to crazy, yeah, that was wild."
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