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'Twas a day.
She wonders if daft punk got their name because some British person hurled an insult, "ya daft punk ya!"
Wow. a huge maple leaf just fell. shit was getting real.
there was something about Lumpkin street in Athens she kept recalling as she drove by. she loved the green fairy lights in the art academic office. she loved the normal colored fairy lights in the large facing window of the art deco - with a Sylvia Plath looking girl in the window - Lyons apartments - and passing her mother's dorm Myers. It stirred up something in her, and it was still rumbling.
there was going to be a members' only rummage sale today at the historic society. she fantasized about flaking on her volunteer commitment but fuck it. She had gotten in bed at 8 last night but would have gone at 7. It wasn't like she was above having some wine (so much classier) and watching a cool French new wave flick or a Peruvian summer family saga, but again no. She sighed when she got into the sheets - even though they still had that annoying sand feel. fuck. and of course she read and processed for a bit.
let's be real.
all she input was you.
and how bizarre it was when you adjust the variable in the model: dude doesn't love you.
sure y'all, she had thought it a million trillion times, but it had always been, "no girl, he's just behind a wall. he told you so. remember? that's his avoidant shit from his troubled brilliant mother and stern amazing father...just wait a little longer."
now she was drained.
it was rather confusing of course.
who the fuck drives two hours each way in less than eighteen to see some fucking
interesting distraction
She'd drive forty-five minutes max.
and
who the fuck goes, "oh an invitation to her family's Christmas from my lite macon lady friend. hmm. what the fuck else am I doing?"
and goes? but somebody does.
he had.
and she had to sit in her shit.
sit in it for seven months and counting - drawing pictures on her playpen walls with it
trying every fucking way on the fucking train that her brain could get her to say it wasn't so.
twitching the corpse...
"no, he had loved me inside."
"girl no."
he hadn't.
and she was on a fucking mission of hate to all situationship bullshit - the one who cares less always saying "let's just call it 'living in the now' ".
but being honest
she can read her writing hugely. god so many fucking words.
she can remember that part of her that was like "I know he loves me. I know it."
she can also hear that part - see that part that wrote incessantly - even here, "something's up. this doesn't feel right. I can't put my finger on it, but it seems the end result of all our exhaustive research:
he doesn't love you." present tense.
there had been no tender look, no soft non-sexual touch, no laying on his chest, no spooning, no morning ''hey'', no kiss on the forehead, no small of the back touch, no hand holding, no "god, who are you."....sure, at the start, there was fervent mechanical lust and speedy open mouthed grasping. In fact, she was wrong when she chanted to herself coming back from the pizza shop in wilmington, "he doesn't like you. he doesn't like you. he doesn't like you."
"he liked me fine. he didn't love me one bit."
and clues are so mother fucking expensive to buy.
maybe she'd play a little music. that had been some trick that therapist she liked sue Johnson had said: a way to get out of the mindhell is to change the song.
wow.
she had just not input the correct theory.
now that that was done.
it hurt like a spaced air lock.
and she still loved him
and she was also happy as the gods on Olympus (were they happy?) that she could finally put this fucking puzzle - she had done in red ink - to fucking rest. the clues are corrected.
let's roll.
some die.
--
she was leaving Athens at the converted church. Lance was saying goodbye from his 55-th birthday bash. she was sad. Later he texted her, "you know. I don't even know if I could fall in love at this age. It feels impossible to imagine."
"well, you fucking do old man. you fucking do. by the way, I love that thing your kid does where he stays in the car until the song is over - loyal to the song."
"yeah, he's a cool kid."
"I used to do that. Thanks again for inviting me. 'twas epic."
...
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