from winter 2025
a person gets hit by a bus on the corner of my street. it’s 830p. i didn’t see it happen but stood out on my deck and watched them get into an ambulance with a big, white bandage wrapped around their head. watched them sit themselves on the stretcher. a wheelbarrow is tipped over there on the grass that i don’t recall seeing before. i’m left to wonder if the person was pushing it when they got hit. the whole thing doesn’t make a ton of sense, i tell my dog. buses are so easy to see coming, and why would someone be out with a wheelbarrow at this hour?
i’ve been sleeping better since returning from vietnam, but the hours i’m keeping are strange. i wake up around 5a and wait for the sun to rise. i love watching it come up over the lake. it’s really, very beautiful every time. then i make some decaf and go for a walk with the dog. whatever happens next is none of my business. i’m a single woman who lives alone and has no children. i do exactly what i want and nothing i don’t.
come to think of it, the way i’ve been living the last few months has put into perspective how much time i spent doing things i didn’t want to the last handful of years. i don’t rush anywhere, which has made me realize i was rushing all of the time before. if someone asks me to do something i don’t want to, i say no. it’s all sort of a blur, this consciousness.
that said, i’m lonely and bored, so continue to entertain men i’m not sold on. it’s an impulse. i just go with it. i let them kiss me sometimes, but don’t enjoy it. intimacy feels dangerous. i’m up for being amused but don’t want to be close to anyone. i guess i would say dating has become like watching television. for fun.
some of them have taken to reading this (hi guys… and… sorry). they tell me what they think. i feel trapped for a moment when they bring it up. guilty, even. then i feel a sweet sort of surrender. let them see me, i think to myself. even when i hate being exposed.
one of them is articulate in his analysis. he asks questions, saying it’s obvious i’m still in love with my ex. he wonders how much of this is true. he expresses concern for becoming part of the story.
“what if i don’t want to be one of your french girls?” he asks.
“i don’t name names,” i say.
“it’s a small town, halee,” he says.
“up to you my friend,” i say.
he asks what would happen if i was dating someone and you came along and decided you want to fuck me. would i let it happen? i say i haven’t been in that scenario yet, that i’m not sure. i tell him i think you’re caught up in a “good boyfriend” act with your other girlfriend right now, so it’s probably not an immediate concern. he changes the subject, asks me about vietnam.
“enjoying your writings,” another guy texts me.
“oh boy,” i respond.
he says something about me exhuming, shedding the past. he relates it to his songwriting.
he doesn’t ask questions. he describes the work as honest and kinky. he says the good girl stuff gets him thick.
“lol,” i respond.
–
current
“don’t play cards with satan,” daniel johnston sings. “he’ll deal you an awful hand.”
you came along and decided you wanted to fuck me and so we fucked.
you betray another woman. i betray myself. the sex is stronger and messier than ever before. i choke on you over and over and over again. you talk me through it.
“who’s daddy’s little slut?”
“i am.”
“say please fuck me, daddy.”
“please fuck me, daddy.”
i dream about it sometimes, the fucking. your blue eyes and long arms come for me in my sleep. you tell me things you’d never say in the waking world. secrets revealed. i learn so much. a gap is bridged, there in the restlessness i’ve come to lay with.
i wake up in states of duress. i wake up angry or sad. sometimes, i wake up laughing. ha ha ha. how funny.
i’ve been saying this – i’m keeping strange hours again. sometimes i fall asleep at 10p, and others i’m up until 3 or 4. sometimes i wake up at 4 and sometimes i wake up at 9. some might say it’s dysregulation but i’d call it a breakthrough. stories swirl in my head all of the time. i can’t get them out fast enough.
and, you know, i sleep alone now. but that’s for another time.
j- paints her bedroom two shades of pink. she wears her expensive vintage pajamas and a robe while she does it. she’s perfect. i make more jokes about our grey gardens lifestyle. i say we need to find some cats. the smell of the fumes float to where i sleep in the guest room. it’s because i have a window open and all of that toxic air wants to go out it. i get up and stand in the sun and do chinese morning exercises.
i’m behind on a few things but don’t worry about it. back to not giving a damn. but this time it’s different. that blurry consciousness becomes crystal clear. heartbreak will do that to a person. cut through all the nonsense until all you have left is a mind that sees only what it needs and nothing it doesn’t.
i made a fire last night. i burned something important. i looked up at the stars and prayed.
“please,” i said to that infinity. “watch over me.”
