today is not the day
She hadn’t finished her pre-winter pop quiz of reasons to kill herself when her mind drifted to nothing at all as she undressed. Then turning on the shower she again acknowledged there were insufficient points for a permanent exit today.
She blasted hot water, battling cold misery numbing her legs and back. It was a personal ugly that oozed up and around her, coloring her like a fungus, a chilling green ooze creeping over her, moving upwards, ever upwards. She knew the drill: and it was only The Preliminary Slime. Winter hadn't even started.
She lathered up carefully and searched every niche of her body. This was her daily seek and discover to find the lumps and bumps she religiously believed were festering just beneath her fingertips. She knew if there was one thing she was capable of, it was to be a great and fertile field of death.
Not today for that either. Sighing, it seemed important to get it right: to have the right reasons, concise justification to put down in a perfectly beautiful, hand written letter for her family instead of an incoherent raging mess of lunacy, although maybe that would be easier for everyone to swallow.
Aside from this one glitch, nothing was holding her back or forth or any which way. There was no love, no hate, no nothing. She lived with her dutiful husband who did not love her. Often she wondered if he even liked her. He acknowledged her space on the other side of the room, but that was it. She didn’t blame him. But she missed him. Maybe. There was something. She missed something. Vaguely.
She knew she missed herself. Her her. Her present her had become old and stodgy, wallowing in a crummy little hole of boring. She was too tired to do anything but drag around gunnysacks of grudges and grumbles and coulda beens. They resided in her emotional cape cod living room, crammed beside her flowery slipcovered, age enhanced memories of numerous paths she didn’t take but that still demanded and demanded and demanded acknowledgement and contrition.
She had become white dust, annoying, dull, needing to be addressed but not important enough to think about today. She had long ago considered an affair but it did not interest her. She didn't have the energy or interest in the complications or foolishness of:
- sex (clandestine or otherwise)
- declarations of love
- grand passion
- penises
- vaginas
- lies
- betrayals
- memorizing alibis
- the smell and viscosity of sex
- buying new makeup and underwear
She was finished with sex. All of it. The revolution was over. Everyone was dead. Or too tired.
She listened to the brainworm she had developed: an old song heard on the radio a few days back - 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover. Hearing it echoing in her brainpan, she found herself pondering a thought, a nugget, turning and inspecting it's intriguing nooks and crannys:
What happens when someone takes what little they have and slips out the back?
Jack.
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Comments
You don't need to be coy, Roy
Just listen to me:
Hop on the bus, Gus
You don't need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, Lee
And get yourself free
*bump*
thanks. I think I might have been ticked off when I started it, but you know that never lasts..the mood of starting something rarely lasts. it's just like a springboard. I'm glad you liked it.
(love the name) thank you!
Owl,
Actually I'm in a spiff mood because I finished it. When I first got it going, I was really nervous because I didn't understand it at all. This writing thing is very very mysterious, in that ideas made of real words come out. And scenarios. But then it became fun. So thank you! **
This kind of reminds me of Raymond Carver who wrote constantly about the the druggery of life or did I dream that. I always enjoyed his stories as a lessons-learned on what roads not to take. There is a lot to be gained by examining reality. He was also revealing a lot about himself through his writing -- his emotional state, his vulnerability, which makes the reader love him all the more.
Anyway, really love it. More please.
I am very flattered. And I truly appreciate the comment. I don't believe I've ever read Raymond Carver, but on your recommendation I'm going to mosey over to the library and pick him up. Many thanks!
OEsheepdog,
I will try. I think it might be time for a roadtrip for her. but we'll see if I can do it. Writing is NOT easy.
Lorianne,
I know exactly what you're talking about. Depression is such a dark, dreary abyss to be stuck in. Not so long ago, it was very real to me. Thank you for the compliment. I very much enjoyed writing it. It's nice to read that others enjoyed reading it. Thank you again.
I like. write more
Yeah, I figured I'd better let everyone know I'm okay. I know artists can be manic, I CAN be manic but this was merely my creative flight. Oh DO post your serial killer story....you're such a wonderful writer and I love that stuff. God, I read Cornwell religiously until she became redundant. Thank you so much for your kind words and support.
Mission,
I'm flattered that you liked it. You're such a damned good poet...
and you too Chuck. You're a great poet.
In fact, all of you are such good writers.
Your compliments are making me feel very good.
(maybe I'm making headway!) (yay!)
and one of my favorite songs, and these lines:
"She said why don't we both just sleep on it tonight
And I believe in the morning you'll begin to see the light
And then she kissed me and I realized she probably was right ..."
I'm happy to meet another fun seeker. (laughing...as if this struggle is what anyone in their right mind would call fun) thank you!
Lunchlady,
I'm not sure where she's going or if she's going anywhere. I THINK I might, I was thinking about this a little bit ago. But to continue a fiction is tough. I've never considered myself much of a storyteller. Thank you though.
Catwoman,
Slithering is a good word. I'm laughing now because as I see it, I barely put one foot in front of the other writing wise, so slithering suggest some fancy footwork here.
hey hey hey!
Thank you.
Penguin,
Thank you. and welcome. Oh yes...I love Paul Simon.
FemmeF,
I'm so glad you like it. It wasn't easy but it wasn't like I was writing War and Peace either. (how DO people write novels?) Putting this together was a song and dance. But a fun one.
I agree, P Simon's lyrics are nothing less than brilliant. And imagine he was a kid when he wrote it.
Placebostudman,
Yeah...after you've experienced it, you get to know the signs most of the time. Although sometimes it can sneak up on you. and you're correct about those unfamiliar with depression. They often seem surprised, amazed even, that mental illness is non discriminatory employer and can knock the cheese right out of you or anyone.
Some of the observations came from my personal experiences: not to the point of suicide but I became completely inert, indifferent and disengaged. I didn't realize it as it occured of course, but fortunately I finally got help before it got to this level of depression.
I'm glad you enjoyed it. If I can do this subject and my heroine justice, I'll continue. Onward! :)
surprisingly I continued the story. I had no idea what was going to happen, although the words "road trip" kept popping up as I considered it. I'm pleased you are enjoying it. Thank you.
Zuma,
Do not fear. I will not do dark for long. (I don't think) I don't know where this segment came from but the next is lighter. and there's hope, perhaps for fun and adventure. Thank you.