|
Now, there were officially no bright red flowers on her geranium. She barely looked at the Norfolk pine betraying tree. The rain had stopped for a day or two. Her throat was sore, and she was grateful it wasn't fire and drought like in her old land.
Floods, she could deal with.
Instead of writing a cover letter for a job she didn't really want nor would she get, she decided to go for a short walk around the pyrrhic victory lap. She decided to cut it shorter than she could. Her throat was sore, and she hadn't received even a tiny jolt of people juice today. As she proceeded onto the way, she saw four deer and their mother leaping across the road lead by one of the babies. It made her heart soar like a little girl to see them - so pure - so dear.
The woman in her sank her heart knowing the danger these dear creatures were in. It was a fucking neighborhood for Christ's sake with humans and cars and guns. She crossed herself like the catholic she wasn't and prayed fervently for them then continued walking as they drifted out of sight. She kept looking back wanting to love them. She hung her head in despair. Why couldn't they live in the same land as her? Why would someone see them and immediately reach for their gun? why would a gorgeous wolf not be remiss in using the bullets in their teeth? Why did that bother her? Why did she want all of it to live? You'd laugh at her, but even writing that made her cry like really. She grabbed the ball from the boy who would never love her maybe and stared out the window holding it and bemoaning humanity.
Everyone's got something dear.
She had devolved into something that seemed silly - someone who was paranoid and reliving everything she did and said. Fuck, it impressed her that she even gave a shit. It had been decades. To protect herself, she cloaked herself in doubt and distrust and worst case scenarios. Many of her friends would claim she attracted such stuff by thinking it, yet better to not look like
the fool.
she remembers when she was so pre-broken and writing these insane missives using tarot cards as structure. The Fool is tarot card zero. It's like being 'woke' something that sounds both ways - it's derided and it's glorified. In order to try something new, the knapsack had to be put on the shoulder and the first step out of the shire taken.
She hadn't liked her writing for months. Nothing zinged. She felt off balance. She drank a lot of water and was hungry all the time and sleeping was something she had to fight for - wanting to sleep all the time and laying down wide awake.
Something always came around. The doldrums kind of was familiar. She plays it all in her head like a pleasant prelude. She revels in the ambiguity.
"I sometimes wonder if I should just give up and cut my hair short forever."
"what's the big deal anyway? why does it matter to have it long?"
"Oh, I just want to look in the mirror and see me."
"like hair is so important."
"what's the most important thing?"
"love"
"what a stock answer."
"if you loved yourself..."
"throw that at me one more time, and I'll cut you...."
She didn't know what to say, and she knew this would suck too.
Walkman was doing his rounds, and that sort of comforted her - the routine.
She just wanted to feel good again without anyone else giving her any jolts.
"wouldn't that be nice huh? to not need anyone. why else would you be on planet earth except to be with other people - stop fighting it. it's ok to want the jolts."
"are the baby deer going to be ok? and their mother?"
She loves that her brother cried at "Bambi" and definitely doesn't like hunting.
"when you ate that kung pao pork, you paid someone to kill a smart amazing pig."
"they're not all smart. I bet there are some dumb pigs."
"we're apex predators. stop fighting it."
She wrestles with thinking always that it should be another way. The shroom trip mocks her again: you've made all this up - isn't that bonkers.
Would the deer starve or be hunted or frolic...
She wondered when she'd forget about them.
|
