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She cut the grass. It was the new laundry chore to her - something easy to get something done. and she always felt vaguely badass cutting the grass and ALWAYS thought of her stepdad saying she couldn't do it. She now got satisfaction out of a well-cut lawn - although hers was haphazard.
and fuckity-fuck she was distracted. it made her laugh. What. hard to get cunt she must appear to the one professor and an effusive flood-the-engine to another. She finally was ready to say "who are you" to the local woo-er and it just sucked. Comparing him to a man far far far more well-versed just in everything. he was younger than her too - the age she had lied about being. It didn't bother him at all, and it bothered her. She also felt like it just wasn't going to work, but she wanted him for the external validation she so understandably wanted returning to le market. the fucking market.
He had said to her during one of the long long pauses
"where have you. been all my life."
She enjoyed the compliments, yet they were so very bland and ubiquitous:
"you're beautiful"
"Hey beautiful"
"you're amazing."
rotate. rotate.
She clung more to one "you're pretty."
And that made her laugh. The fookin hilarity of it: sprung on some completely one-off Stella got her groove back thing. She just felt like she had blue balls a bit - more of a lap dance than the tango. In other words, she craved more. Maybe that's what sprung was. And she loved that feeling that the body inadvertently does - hers just morphs into perfection once it's turned on...
and seven days ago god knows what she was doing, but she had that nice rare feeling of not wanting to be anywhere else. Sure, it was scary and she put on a ton of personas, but they were all her clothes no matter what the fit. and it didn't matter anyway - what does the woman want? she wants both of it - tons of solitude and tons of intense connection.
"where have you been all my life?"
after she perfunctorily kissed him. (how many variations of the same motions can one do) she felt compelled to respond (as always):
"well, I'd say I've been fucking up a lot."
"I'm totally fine with that. You're here."
It was all very sweet, yet she felt certain he must be pushing a fantasy along with her. Blah blah. Maybe she'd make herself play the four chords on the guitar she knew today and try to remember which was the C, E, D, G
All the things she had left out. The game. The sharing of bruises. the massages, the peace. It truly felt like a respite to her. She was in that time of the month where she cried at missing tissues, yet what triggered her the most seemed to be "now what".
It also titilated her how fucking mean she could be without owning it. She was currently being a bit of a player - using someone for her own ego that she had no intention of reciprocating.
And it was so much better - even that - than being out of the ring.
Speaking of which. She wasn't sure why - how or the reason yet her wedding ring had long ago fallen (really accidentally) into the San Francisco Bay . She had platinum gold and diamond bands she had bought herself to placeholder. It felt weird to have it empty.
Now it felt correct.
now uno
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