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I was talking to my beautiful, confident niece Sarah about all this fear stuff earlier and she told me that she suffered anxiety so bad by the 8th grade that she was having a hard time falling asleep, it took her 3 hours every night to fall asleep. Her mother took her to a mediation classes and she learned how to meditate. After that she could sleep. But she told me she still suffers from this fear thing I was talking about but she has learned to privatize it. I was not privatizing it at all. Everyone knew I was scared to death
My two girls rode in their first Hunt today. They were late getting back and I said to everyone that came in "Have you seen two little girls one on a Pinto and the other on Bay?" "Oh yeah, they are at the ditch." I went out there and helped get Dyer (Emma's horse) through it. Anyway, the girls had a blast and I was dieing having to sit there and wait and watch all these horses come in and everyone laughing and talking about the jumps and how much fun it was. Passing the torch to your daughter is hard.
Judith hung on the car window with her head in the car talking in soft tones over the running engine. She told us about her new husband and how he ignored her. How he was hanging around that other women who worked here and did we notice that or was she just paranoid and crazy? We both admitted that we did notice but please don't say we did cause we didn't want to get in the middle of it! Notice? The whole place is talking about it. I am so glad it is not about me. Been there, hurt that.
My friend bought an Inn in Kennebunkport, a Bed and Breakfast. I go down and sleep in a Bed and help her with the Breakfast. We served food to couples from Hoboken and Dallas. Most of them seem to be around thirty something. The men have goatees and women have bad clothes. They must have pretty good jobs, doing what I can’t imagine, to afford these vacations. We seem old to them and they think our lives are over. Except for the serving them the breakfast part. It’s interesting to watch them move about in their world, different from mine.
Tonight I met the guy who is making this documentary on Elvis that I am in. Tomorrow I’ll go up to Freeport to play a part in this film. I play the part of a groupie, dressed in capris, high heels, scarf, and a very tight shirt with a push up bra from Victoria Secrets. Because my breasts are larger then the rest of me I get asked to do this type of thing. I love getting all dressed up in sleazy clothes and playing the part of a smutty broad. I am a smutty broad, that must be why.
Back hurts from walking around in heels all day. Not only did I play the bimbo girlfriend in the movie but I also was photographing the parts I wasn’t in. We danced in the junkyard to really great music. My dog, Murphy, ran around in circles excited by the beat. After I danced, I photographed the singers and rode up and down the highway in a 1976 blue Cadillac. Hauling an 80-200 2.8 on an F5 around with four inch spike heels is a recipe for pain. Tonight I watched television upside down while bent backwards over the exercise ball.
My back hurts and my stomach. Hurts to stand, sit, or lie down. What are we supposed to do with our lives when we are in pain? I can’t just stop working or making dinner for the kids or going to their games and sitting on that hard bleacher. Oh yes, I can not sit on the bleacher. Couldn’t possibly sit there with this back. I have to have a special chair to sit in, and it hurts to get out of it and pack it up in its little case and walk to the car. Sometimes I cry inside.
Sitting back in the chair watching TV, his legs spread apart into a split lap, holding his coffee cup between them. His eyes went from the TV to the cup, TV to the cup then just focused on the color of the coffee with cream. He thinks this: The coffee is the exact color of my thighs. My September tan has reached the color of a perfect cup of coffee. Oh, but for how long? If only I could keep my color like my coffee I would be happy forever. Leave me alone with my skin and my morning coffee.
Watching my young daughter ride out of the ring without a ribbon, again, I think about how the judges don't see what a wonderful rider she is. They don't see how hard she has worked all summer at the barn to trade for lessons. The hours she has spent exercising other people's horses for them and all the time she has spent perfecting her seat. They look right past how much she loves that horse, and the fun she has riding with her friends. All they ever see is a very old, cheap, tired, paint horse. I hate those judges.
Over and over in my mind the scenario goes. Meeting him with the new, way young girl friend. Maybe out at a very expensive restaurant in town. The perfect situation would place me with a tall handsome man preferable a few years younger then him. I would be rested and look peaceful and content. He would introduce me to the girl friend and I would say Yes I know of you, I was the women he was sleeping with when he met you. But best to not say anything. Just to smile and say Hello and pretend I didn't care.
Sunny Tuesday morning and I don’t know what’s going on, or what’s going on hasn’t gone on yet. Drinking my Earl Grey tea, checking my e-mail, kids at school laughing with their friends between classes. Don’t remember what the problem was with my life. Don’t remember the fears I had although I know I had some. Worried about money maybe or deadlines, or boyfriend’s girlfriends. Worried about vacuuming and cleaning the bathroom or what to have for dinner. Concerned my website sucked and I would never work again. I went over to the school and heard crying in the hallways.
So now what’s going on? What if we didn’t have a TV, or a radio? Would all those people be alive again if we couldn’t watch it twenty-four seven? No, they still would be all dead and buried in rubble. Still all the world would be grieving, crying, screaming for answers. How many gods are there and how many answers to the question of why? It is all a dream that we never wake up from until we are dead. Flag waving, more killing, a never-ending struggle for who is right. I fear people who know they are right.
Was trying to fix the door to my old Buick with a sharp rusty drill bit, I slipped and somehow ended up with this hole in my lip. Not a big deal until I find out the last tetanus shot I had was in '89. There is a tetanus shortage, my Dr. didn't have any so I had to go to the emergency room and get a shot. I think I am watching too much TV. This whole thing is just making me sick, grew a canker on the tip of my tongue so it's hard to eat or talk.
The whole country is standing outside tonight with candles lit. I live out on a farm and went out with a candle and it was just me and the billions of stars and my one little candle. Cry was all that could be done. All I could and can manage. Why wasn't I on one of those planes or in those buildings? Why am I so lucky? None of my children were killed, not my mother or my brother or my best friend. What makes me so damn special? I can only cry very loud and pray that hearts heal.
This morning I woke up my fifteen-year-old son and he scolded me for waking him out of a dream. What were you dreaming? I was at a campground and there were all these terrorist and one had an American flag on his cap. We were pretending we were British but they found out we were American and I had to fight them. I punched one and kicked him and knocked him down and the others came at me and I ran. They caught up and I fought them. I fought them all and beat them down until they were dead.
She hated the man so much that it made the skin shrink near the back of her neck when she thought of him. He was a gnarled reminder of every man she had ever fallen for, every man that had ever tricked her or beaten her till she was dead. In her mind she rehearsed the scenario, the play where she would play the strong women, the scene where she would run into him and he would ask her out. She hated him so much but still didn’t know if she was strong enough in real life to say No.
He saw her at a party years ago. He remembers asking someone, can’t remember who, if she was attached. That someone said Yes. Again he sees her at housewarming in the Spring. Asks someone again, this time they say No. He hangs around her close enough to smell her hair. She pays no attention to him aside from a slight glance she might have given a bug. He listens and smells and his cock grows harder with every word she speaks. I don’t want to know her; he says to himself, I don’t want to have an affair with her.
He wonders how knowing her would ruin his love for her. Not love, but desire. He desired her. He lusted after her skin, only wanting to be close to her naked and smell her skin close up. He knew that if he spoke to her and started some sort of dialog that it would only end up worse then this. Worse then just standing close and listening. He knew that this was the best it was ever going to get. How could he sleep with her without her ever knowing him? Without him ever having to reveal his nasty self.
I hate my wife. There, I said it. I watch her in the morning getting everyone ready for school, making breakfast and ordering everyone around like a sergeant. She is so bossy and right about everything. Why did I marry this witch? I used to think she was beautiful; she was beautiful. She tricked me. She is no longer beautiful, she looks like General Patton. I’d rather sleep with General Patton, his skin would be softer. I thought I could teach her about sex and about loving someone. I’m going to walk out of this house and never come back.
I’m not going home. I will stay in this office with my phone and my ear speaker thingy on my head. Talking about stuff I know about. Talking all day about stuff that any idiot would know after saying it everyday for 13 years. Oh, how important I feel cause I know these things other people don’t. People here think I am smart and pay me lots of money. At home they think I am lazy and stupid. My wife scolds me when I pour the orange juice for too long into the glass and it spills over the side.
He watched his secretary write in her notebook, shorthand. How does she do that? How do secretaries know about that? Do they go to a school for that? No matter how fast he talks she just writes and writes and never asks him to slow down. He is her boss. He loves that concept. Maybe she would even get under his desk and take his penis out of his pants and hold it in her hot little hands. Would she keep those glasses on and that pencil behind her ear? He would so love that. Bummer, nowadays that wasn’t allowed.
He had no control over his cock. That seemed odd to him. A piece of his body had its own brain and he could not control it. His most private of parts had its own mind with no conscience, no guilt, no morals at all, really no mind at all, just a long straight body with no arms, no legs and no brain. Acting on its own will about everything, but attached to him, who did have a brain, and arms and legs to go places. Where could he go with a hard dick sticking out in front of him?
If I was older then 9 like if I was say 15 and all grown up then would I understand things? Would I know why girls act the way they do. Would I understand why my Daddy doesn’t kiss me goodnight and why my Mommy likes other men and sometimes other children more then me. When I grow up I am going to tell all the little kids all the stuff I don’t know. I am going to go around to all the classrooms and stand up in front and draw diagrams on the board explaining all of these things.
She screamed as loud as she could, she thinks, maybe she didn’t scream loud enough. She thought she had fought back as hard as she could, she wondered about that also. She must have, what else would she be doing? She said No a million times and fought and kicked and screamed. One man held her down on her stomach and the other sodomized her until he came in her rear end. Then the other guy did the same. She can’t remember if she was still screaming by then or just laying there like a dead person. Dead forever now.
This drunken woman would not leave him alone. She wanted a ride home. He knew the type. The type that wanted him to ask her to sleep with him just so she could say Oh No, I have plans, I have to go home. As if if she didn’t have plans she might, knowing full well she never would cause he was a local poor boy and she was a fancy smancy college girl. He was nothing to her; people like him did errands for her family. Just being in the bar was a risky roughing it night for her.
The ferry horn blows from the dock in that white room with the bed too low for the view, up on my elbows I see wind twisting on the water. You’re all dressed in the chair at the end of the bed, a face so tight with going, so far gone. I just stare at the wind water changing shades, still here staring. Who’s this man that remains in this room? Your body, your face, take it all with you when you go. I’d rather be alone with the wind that’s there than with you when you’re so far gone.
Memories drip like velvet acid down my throat into a sore heart. I try not to drive by or stop. Sometimes the car is just there and I am there staring at the door. Strangers live there. Trying not to look but unable to stop looking like an accident at it I stare trying to keep the thoughts in my head, on my skull, nowhere. Trying to keep then nowhere where they will seep down from my heart into my limps and all my pores. There isn’t a place on my mind or in my body that hasn’t already succumbed.
Fogged from the night before she woke up on the screen porch still in her clothes. She could hear the voices behind the door before she could make out the colors of blue and checked red. A policeman and her friend Meredith, what do they want? What are you guys doing here so early. Come with us Miss there is a phone call in town for you. Ah? Phone? There was no phone in the small cabin, she wasn’t used to having a phone call. Why would someone be calling me? No way Jose, I am not going into town.
“We’ll take you in,” Mr. policeman said with his big hands resting on all the black gear on his hips. He didn’t look at her, he looked at his dirty boots. “Take me in? I didn’t do anything.” She snapped at him with a wrinkled brow trying to remember what she had done last night. “You didn’t do anything Miss, you have to return a call. You can use the phone at the Mayors office.” The Mayor’s office? Rocky owned the stable in town. He had a phone and a bunch of horses. Rocky was the Mayor of Grand Lake.
She looked over at her friend, “What’s this all about?” Meredith looked pale and confused, but she always looked that way, she was hung over also. “Just get in the car and lets go to Rockys, you need to call home.” “Home? Oh man, they found me… shoot… they must be really desperate to send you guys all the way out here.” She climbed into the back of the cruiser. Meredith and Mr. Policeman bent into the front. She fell back against the seat and said, “I hope its not bad news, I haven’t brushed my teeth.” And she laughed.
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