a venial offense. - latest additions

and all we do is circle it

and all we do is circle it

Eventually she gets restless, and lonely, wishing she hadn't sent the girl away. Whatever her name was. She feels bad about that too. Be that as it may, she can't help flirting with the girl at the desk as she leaves. Mom, on her lucid days, hated flirts, drunks, and drug users. On less lucid days, Mom talked to saints. And Jesus. And Mary (both of them). When Joan of Arc did that, she became a national hero, and then a heretic. Alcohol makes her have thoughts like this. Depressing. She should have remembered that she quit drinking for a reason.

and i found out where my edge is.

and i found out where my edge is.

She feels bad about making the girl leave, and for even picking her up in general. This is neither the time nor the place for this shit. Alone, in a strange city, slowly losing her grip on her grief, that is. Her throat is dry and her eyes are burning, and the drink is catching up with her now. She goes to get a soda from the vending machine, and staggers back to her room. This is exactly the kind of shit her mother hated. She worried about her little girl all the time, she said. Are you eating enough? Sleeping enough? And how's that boyfriend of yours?

well i know it's just a spring haze.

well i know it's just a spring haze.

In New Orleans, she blows two hundred on a hotel room and entirely too much on drugs. In the French Quarter she meets a girl and brings her back to her hotel room, and they drink and trip and fuck until morning, which is when she tells the girl to leave.

and if omens are a godsend.

and if omens are a godsend.

Her mother had a job before she stopped taking her medicine. She never needed to buy anything but food and medicine, and she had always wondered where her mother's money went. Her mom had put it all away for her, and suddenly she had almost eleven thousand dollars in her account. Which was a great deal more than the twenty-two that was there last week.

to advance or not to advance.

to advance or not to advance.

Leaving. Two miles down the road, there's a six-car pile-up, because no one can drive in the rain. Another two miles and twenty-six minutes later, her car breaks down. She puts a white plastic bag in the driver's side window and catches a bus to her apartment. Packs a bag. Catches another bus. And another. And another. To the train station. Picks a train heading east and gets on.

in the last extremity.

in the last extremity.

There's nothing too spectacular about the oldest stones in the cemetary. Just the age that they show. And the fact that it's right here that she finally starts to cry.

empty like the tuileries.

empty like the tuileries.

She decides to leave when she finds an empty grave. Then again, if you're going to die, why not do it in a graveyard? She wants to go back to that old house she can only remember vaguely. It wasn't a remarkable one. It's only what happened in it that made it important. Sure, Mom was schizo, but Dad killed himself. Something happened in that house. Everything changed after that. If she finds it, maybe she'll remember.

even still you're calling me.

even still you're calling me.

Every statue in this place looks so down. She looks like she's ready to jump. Then again, right now she feels like she could jump too. It's funny how she never thought she'd miss her mom. Funny in a way that makes her want to vomit.

i hear you laughing.

i hear you laughing.

When she was a kid, she wanted to know what it was like to be dead. She got down on the ground and looked, and realized there was even less space between her and hundreds of dead bodies. The concept of a coffin hadn't meant much to her then. She'd seen too many zombie movies.

the only sound moscow burning.

the only sound moscow burning.

Her mother never forgave her for that. Then again, that was only a venial offense compared to some of the other things she had done or said. Now that her mother was gone, there was nothing keeping her here. Nothing but a gravestone, anyway.