Willie was hangin' with the tweekers in the back parking lot last night, in the circle of lamp light smoking generics and rewiring a car stereo.
KITTY, I cried WHY FOR? DON'T I PROVIDE CATNIP ENOUGH FOR YOU?
MEOW she said and charged down the hallway like a full grown elephant. I suffered all night while she tore it up, battling the white light. This morning she is contrite, reserved, maybe filled with catlike regret. She is trying to sleep and I am gonna to go jump on the bed.
Then I am gonna to put holy water in my squirt bottle and march out to the back parking lot. Make some changes around here.
All night, when I was sleeping I was dreaming about an ex-boyfriend who I have only seen once in six years and before that it was when the cops were prying him away. Good riddance I thought. In nine months there was only one incident of abuse and that was when I hit him with a closed fist. He was insultingly unharmed, but my hand was wrapped for a week.
That's how all my abusive episodes have ended up, starting with my older brother who said he couldn't even feel it when I hit him, just to rub in that I was holding my sprained hand in tears while the sun glinted off his uninjuredness.
I think I have tried at least once to punch every boyfriend I ever kept for more then six months... not that many really, 4 or 5.
I shoulda seeked counseling.
Speaking of fighting...
(thanks Loaded Mouth)
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