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It cracks her up how she turns to this void as a sort of lifeline - even when she doesn't feel the burning call of brilliance. She sometimes would even start to write in her diary in the third person. It was a fun exercise this. Well, "fun" wouldn't be the word. It was her sapphic message in a bottle.
She straightened the post-it note she had hauled all the way from California from the podcast with the mystic when he suggested to Mayim Bailik a mantra that might be of use to everyone: "I Can Handle This." Narcissi had underlined every word.
The orange cat was asleep on the sofa, and she whinged greatly about how to take care of them - or more accurately how to make sure they were OK but not have to really do anything that committed her to longevity. She was on another of those thoughts that she'd have to be brave enough to off herself when the time came. And again, and again, it perplexed her how others could just continue this life with better hobbies. She was just happy she sort of slept better last night with only one wake-up.
She needed to play that guitar and start actually having some sort of a life. It was getting ridiculous; however, she was also sure that some levee would break and she'd be forced into something.
The orange cat mewed and asked to go outside. It was such a relief to have the responsibility gone. It troubled her that she wasn't going to be able to be strong enough to care for it, but she'd try to handle it.
She spent the morning perusing airbnb listings wondering which the perfect one would be to house whatever she was looking for. She was afraid to ask him if he liked her and afraid to ask him if he still looked for better girls. She was afraid to ask if he still wanted to go with her in two weeks. It was exhausting. The reasoning, of course, was that she didn't want to know the answers because she sort of suspected this is what would be said:
"I show up. You treat me like I'm the most amazing person and pay for most things. I get to fuck you and leave. Throughout the week, I get to call you when I want to, and you always pick up - or I decide not to. You never nag me. It's working for me, but of course I'm still looking."
And she looks at the pressed daisy she made when she was more mysterious and thus desirable. It's not quite perfect, but she allows it to be displayed.
"You know how when you're a smoker, and you're a half pack a day and then all of the sudden you're a pack a day - and that indicates something is wrong?"
He nods vacantly.
"that's how I feel with you. I know there's something off, and I know that I'm grasping at you like a hoyden, but I don't know how I can stop. I don't know how I can just not care about you. My sister wants me to play hard to get, but I fucking hate that. I'm not hard to get when I want something - quite the opposite."
"I like that you don't bother me much, and I don't think you're too annoying."
"Yes, but I want to 'bother' you all the time. I want to text you thoughts I have and things I see and share my worries and triumphs with you."
"Oh yeah. I don't care about that shit."
"I know."
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