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those birds were vividly loud today.
it was a Monday.
a cold one. she almost thought of turning on the heat.
fuck it she turned on both the heat and the electric mattress pad.
the cats were in love with the thing, and that pleased her
especially since Dobby's brush with eye death. that had been harrowing.
besides, she remembered Leon's declarative statement: "I just turn on the heat on. what's a few hundred bucks. I don't like to be cold."
she knew it was stupid. well, stupid she was then.
in the old days - when she went to a tall building overlooking San Francisco and lake Merritt - she would have called in sick today. made up something with her brother. but now she'd just field the phone.
it was something she was grateful for - to not be in Oakland. she says it a lot.
but it's getting to where she can't remember if she's lived here two or three years - if this will be the third time she's put the tree out. yes it would be.
she remembers the mick jagger line she always throws "when you're old. when you're old. nobody will know."
and she recalls the shroom trip from her brothers all the time now - that empty feeling of just circling inside your head unable to communicate with others. and that feeling that she fucking hates, "it would be nice if he were here."
but maybe she'd try to turn it
something like: it was so great to have had these nigh six months of experiences.
she wasn't there yet.
she was more at the place of acknowledging that she wasn't going on bumble anymore and just looking around and hoping. it was just not where she was at. she should be over him. she should be over this. she should recognize that she's old and the clock is ticking.
it had been fun to eat pizza and ice cream yesterday. it was as if the fat jab was water. but it was great. it helped her remember what that was like. so many days of monotony - not eating or drinking and hoping to lose the depression tell.
the heating and air man passed her on her mourning walk. she noticed that she chose the sunny side of the street today instead of the shady side.
he wasn't coming back. he wasn't going to have a eureka. he was flirting with a new crew and regaling with stories as he wows superiors on the swan song of his career while loving Jim jarmusch
and he wasn't hers to do anything except what she chose to do with the memories. she could repeat some more writings. try and covey that woods story she kept stewing about. she could write four thousand more words about how sad and unjust it was that he's gone and all she got was six cats to grow boundaries with
or not
but for now. for this moment.
she got to be alone. she had begged for it four years ago.
she got it.
she could write about him all she wanted. she could not write about him. she could look at bumble. she could not look at bumble. she could associate the plexiglass daisy that wobbled when she typed fervently with him or just call it a daisy.
so many choices. life was full of them.
if she ever got the chance to be with him again. one thing she vowed: to say yes to all his strange little spontaneous offers.
yes instead of "maybe when I'm safe"
and the woods.
may as well try that again.
her dj-ing songs she didn't want to hear but that she thought he would think she was cool for playing.
ever the right temperature eh oy vey
and they got out at Allison lake and wondered if they should go a different way this time.
"I'm sorry. am I talking too much?"
He smiled slightly and looked her way, "I don't come out here to talk to myself."
she put that in the "like" column. yes!
she had told this before.
as she had said.
and she shut the window as soon as she opened it - definitely not seventy yet. the chair her sister had bought her at the home goods flurry was speaking, yet kristen owned wd-40 in every domicile she dwelled in.
it was just the will to juice the squeak.
the inertia.
he wasn't coming back.
he wasn't going to see the dying but so much healthier tomato plant. nor the healthy Thai basil. he wasn't going to tap on the glass to announce his arrival carrying a bag full of goodies - that she would exchange when he left.
he wasn't going to one day reach for her arm and lead her into his. he wasn't going to gently kiss her in the morning. he wasn't going to take her camping in Alabama on the home from the slave museum he so wanted her to see. he wasn't going to go to a shitty pub in the suburbs of marietta because the steakhouse was closed for halloween . he wasn't going to a concert with her that they both agreed was kind of meh but the world would declare spectacular. she wasn't going to sleep in a hotel bed he had purchased with points that overlooked fitzgeraldian lights in Atlanta and walk through robot dogs delivering food on the way to the good pub.
he wasn't going to randomly text her and fill her with the juice that must be like heroin.
hope
he wasn't going to tease her about something or test her or challenge her or give her notes. he wasn't going to decide on Thursday that he was coming to see her.
ever
he was gone.
she didn't yet believe it, but she was ridiculously in denial.
it helped get through the days.
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