You came into my room last night, stripped off my clothes and stood at the foot of my bed, stared at my naked body until I felt ashamed. But just when the weight of your glare became too much to bear you took your own clothes off in one rushed swoop, crawled on top of me and looked perplexedly into my face before starting anew. I fell asleep just long enough to push the hair from your eyes, and even in dreams wondered Now what? What the fuck does this mean?
Friday afternoon my boyfriend's office nearly burned down with him in it, and all I could think upon waking this morning was there goes my quiet time, those few short afternoon hours when I am home and he is not, when the only sound that can be heard is the mewling of a sleepy kitten and the rustling of turning pages. Now I am envisioning late nights at my own office, and isn't that awful? That I would rather linger in this place that I hate than return to the maelstrom of my apartment? I'm hiding and hopping on planes, hoping for who knows what other than anything but here.
A new fiscal year and my itinerary is set; once again I'll spend it bicoastal. I wonder when it was that my travels became less running to and more running from, when my greatest fear became my greatest hope, visions of fireballs dancing across the sky. I take no pleasure in traveling any longer, no matter how much quiet time my travels afford. I do not know whence the change came, nor how I will handle it hence. Then again, the weight of all I do not know is crushing.
I cannot admit I have a problem when my problem is keeping me alive, warm bourbon to numb my sore throat, a glass of wine to quell this cough, a cold beer for my still swollen ankle, and a brand new bottle of vodka for my broken heart. Elixirs and tonics that do the trick, and though they may create more problems than they fix for now my medicine cabinet is full. I feel sluggish and weak, and until someone convinces me otherwise I can be found cowering in the corner with my booze and my dark and dirty thoughts, pondering what the fuck this all means, and why the fuck I'm still here.
I wish my office would nearly burn down.
ReplyDeleteyou could always set it on fire.
ReplyDeletedo it.
Don't tempt me. You know I like setting things on fire.
ReplyDeleteWhy are you here? Well, where else would you be?
ReplyDeleteThis moment of random, albiet confusing, profundity has been brought to you by the letter "Q" and Ramen noodles.
Scooch over. You seem to have found *my* corner. 'sokay, there's room for more than one here.
ReplyDeletemisery loves company i hear.
ReplyDeleteWhatever the reason, I am very glad you're here.
ReplyDeleteJennie, set fire to my office, too.
You think Abigail would let me use her torch?
ReplyDeleteI'm late to the party but of course you can use my torch.
ReplyDeleteWhy does that sound like a euphemism?
Also, chin up, Kat. We come soon.
Once, one evening, I actually returned to the office to escape the maelstrom, and by once I mean yesterday. My mental valetudinarianism is questionable. Hi.
ReplyDeleteHi. My office is giving me a tummy ache.
ReplyDelete