Again, I wonder if by letting Mother Theresa talk me out of crying, RAPE! In order for her to save face on campus…have I not by process of not elimination caused many injustices to occur?
Nearly 50% of Peace Corps sexual assault victims don’t report the crimes against them. Women who are raped and become pregnant are told that the Peace Corps will not pay for an abortion due to federal regulations. The young women who choose to spend two years of their lives doing humanitarian work deserve better than to be abandoned after a rape.
Or, if I look at the glass half full…at least the Peace Corps passed me by and AmeriCorps stuck me in there pocket…
The old Chevy Malibu isn’t like he used to be. Back when my grand-daddy drove it, the thing purred like a kitten on cat dope!
Now, since he’s died and willed it to me and I’ve managed to confuse changing oil for looking at the dipstick and misjudge the check engine light for ‘its okay, Ambien, check, the engine is fine and so are the lights!’
About four months ago, I had toyed with the idea of getting rid of Edward the Malibu. The rambling Ambien thoughts came out in this conversation as did my still disproportioned ideas of well feed, well breed and well, get her wed already!
Kate,” what are you doing?”
Ambien on Ambien, “looking up cars and trucks. Also getting an estimate on how much I could sell my car for.”
Kate teased with a cynical remark, “Alright. So, what is the big deal on finding a car? Is it because you’re mother said so? Do you really want to deal with a car payment?”
Ambien dosed down on dialogue, “I’ve been wanting a new car, I didn’t want my grandpas. I hate driving automatics. I always just wanted to keep driving Mummy’s or Daddy’s car.”
Kate, “You need to get that check engine light to go away.”
Me, “It goes away sometimes. The car is old but I think I can get a lot of money for it. The light isn’t a big deal…it only comes on when I put gas in it. Do you think I should check the trunk? See if something’s wrong with the tires?”
Anyway, the story goes like this.
My thinking was if I didn’t put gas in the car and brought to the professional I found online. Someone that would take care of that tiny detail within the interior…The ambience of rotten fast food, smoke and cum stains. I could ride it over to a dealership before it needed gas and the light wouldn’t come back on. I’d be riding it on empty, essentially. I’d walk in hand them my keys, tell them what I wanted and drive out that day in a slightly used ’08 Jeep Wrangler or something.
When Kate woke up from my stated state of confusion: I learned many adult things and was not pleased. How was I to know dealerships will clean the car after they buy it off you? How would I know that going from a Malibu to a 4X4 or a cute little SUV wouldn’t mean I couldn’t get an even trade? No, I didn’t want car payments and no I didn’t have money to put down.
I was getting pissed off. As I always did at my vulnerability to stupid acts.
Most of the time I end up dumb founded by Ambien Grace, a UNH graduate and professional in the art of mistaken miscues.
My parting thought to Kate? After I get the new car or truck…I wanna go to grad school. if i dont get in then ill be looking for a teaching job for a year at a boarding school like my old highschool or tilton and proctor id stay in the area. then apply to grad school and try and stay close…just sayin’.
‘Grad school i dont know where ill end up…for all i know i could end up at mass instatute of art! If this had been my first sentence in applying for grad school do ‘ya think I could get in?’
I get a 3 month supply of pills. However, I usually take them all in the first month and have to beg my Daddy to give me some more of the hidden back up pills. What would I do then? School or pills, difficult choice to make.
The pills and the schooling and volunteering and the tarnishing of my good name has allowed for my demons to rear their ugly ex-girlfriend head. If I had a voodoo doll of Penny and Kate and every other female that didn’t give me their undivided attention there would be no room at the Ambien Grace Inn.
Sometimes, like today, I just drive and drive and drive and pop sedatives. There’s a street to the right as you turn left on old Boyce road. None of you know where I’m talking about. It is a dead end road near my once dead end job at Ma and Pa Kennels. It is deserted and wooded and easy enough for me to find my way around the paper bag the fills my head with empty thoughts. The last time I had been to my secret place:
Nobody had ever gotten that close with me, as Kate had. She made my body feel amazing. I can still feel the essence of her fingers in me and her shoulder and head on my stomach pulling your finger in and out of me. I had almost had the orgasm. The orgasm that only I can give myself, the overpowering feeling that someone else could care for me that much spars with my hatred for the woman.
Sitting with Beckett Couvillion the third who is now panting because of my mixed baggage of emotions, I whisper to him, ‘oh and I’m wet just rethinking about that day!’
He doesn’t understand nor do I.
We all know what needs to be done with hatred and sex taking up room in the passenger seat. But certainly the least I can do is take Beckett for a walk after the pleasuring in public.
Okay, back with you, usually my arousal point takes no time at all when I’m out in communal places.
As Beckett and I meander down the railroad tracks that haven’t seen a box car in years, I fumble with my camera. I think of my art and where it hasn’t gone. Grad school may not be in the cards. My mother did my work for me in college. Thank fuckin’ ChristMother Theresa works at UNH. If she hadn’t I’d of had no one to tutor me through basic English 101. She did the heavy stuff. The essays, the analysis, the artist’s renditions. I just signed my name.
Pulling Beckett’s well pedicured mane to my face I tell him,
“A lot of smart famous people are dyslexic. It doesn’t mean you’re dumb just you need to learn a different way. Honestly, Beckett, I have to Google words just to know what you’re saying ha-ha!”
No photos have been taken. No long walk for the dog. I get winded easily; too much backside in the stride.
So, I’ll head back to the above ground dungeon called home and lie. Theresa always gives composition projects for me to keep me out of trouble. Specific photos and specific genres. Granted she is a professor of speech pathology but she still guides my every artistic move. She will receive the forever lie, nope nothing out there today that caught my attention. I’ll try again tomorrow.
I wonder if I could take her to grad school with me. I could just introduce her as my girlfriend
If I had a dime for every moment in my life where I sat in my attic far away from the sea…and wondered, ‘when is my ship gonna come in?’
I’d still be in the attic wondering aimlessly and without dimes.
Ambien Grace & Beckett Couvillion the third