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garbage day was on Fridays. she didn't put hers out very often as she wasn't so trash generate-y - especially now that the booze was abated. the thirst to drown the mistakes.
she sat on her sofa and watched squirrels with a cat sleeping on her lap and thought this is her life and it might be miss habersham but so fucking be it - she wasn't going to be the activity goer this late in her life. she'd walk in nature. she's go to historic homes. she's see ancient things. that was her stuff.
when she had first moved here, she had gone on the macon macabre tour - it was about all the wacky things. that was when she learned that the town was plotted on the same city plan as Babylon. she didn't verify but just accepted it as true because it made living here better somewhat.
she didn't like walking on Fridays because it smelled and she was sensitive to smell.
it felt like she could just go to wilmington and have a beer and a place to stay and peace and time out - but everything else was different - and wilmington cost money and she knew that maybe its powers waned if she kept using it or moved there.
but she was running out of tolerance for solitude. the cats would be dealt with. for now, she wondered why she worshipped being coupled so much while she simultaneously adored being alone and unwatched.
she immediately thought of being in the pool at her grandmother's apartment going "look at me! watch this! did you see that!" to her mother. "it was every child's memory, but my mother was very focused - very excelled at tuning out - me. I could say her name countless times and she'd remain unfazed."
blaming everything on the mother. yawn.
but canoeing at moonlight, going to festivals, whooping it up on an October evening with Guinness and whiskey and scary movies - the classics of course
better done with a companion.
can only be done with someone mutually admired
long wait
sometimes time's up
then the days have become waiting rooms.
bingo
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