110918 fatigue tries to pry my eyeballs out with tiny squirrel hands ---- working together, the squirrels beckon to each other: one stood on the railing amd one ran jerkily up the concret stairs with an enormous pithy walnut husk in its mouth. they seemed to be gesturing to each other with their spastic little heads. she watched them for a while longer and then let the flimsy white curtain (is there another word for the thin curtain) slip through her hand, smooth as a lover’s bare shoulder well, she said. i guess i’ve got to start my day. but what does that even mean? ---- somewhere else in the hotel, finally, a human noise--someone else was taking a shower. the angry sound of water forced through pipes. ---- ok we’ll come back to her. i think i’ll just prattle for a while because i’m stuck with her and mil;lie’s already taking her shower and i don’t have much time because i slept in for five minutes. THAT’S HOW CLOSE TO THE LINE WE’RE RUNNING THINGS HERE, FOLKS. ---- a helicopter chopped up the sky outside. it came alarmigly close to the parking lot. damn. that’s maybe not good. instantly she felt hunted. they were looking for her, she knew it. no, that’s ridiculous. she backed away from the window ---- ok we’ll come back to her. i’m just so tired. not really. just tired. though yes, really, really tired, i’m not groggy. yet. i wonder how poisoned i am by fatigue every day> I wonder what megan would be accomplishing if she could get a solid night’s sleep. i wonder if she exaggerates how little she sleeps. wouldn’t she be like dead by now if it was really only two or three hours a night? surely it just feels like that but isn’t, at least some nights. ---- she actually got a decent amount of sleep last night for a change. she was actually not too groggy. she glanced at the dresser. glanced at the suitcase, resting quietly on (that little fold out rack you can put a suitcase on). was this the time? the highway noise was still out there. he wasn’t back yet but he could be any minute. she wanted him to come back. didn’t she? she would miss him of course. it was an impossible idea. wouldn’t she? wasn’t it? ---- ok we’ll come back to her ---- somewhere in the hotel, someone’s shower stops abruptly. a squeal, a hiss, and then silence again. ---- ok we’ll come back to her. my thoughts keep getting on a charter yacht and trolling slowly out between the slips towards the breakwater. they’re headed for the hillocks of blue water beyond. out there where there is no protection. out there where there is uncertainty, and certain death. out there where when the sun goes down, you are truly alone. ---- that wouldn’t make sense. she wouldn’t be able to handle that. would she? what would she even do? where would she even go? she didn’t have the car. she would have to just-- she glanced at the dresser. glanced at the suitcase. ---- ok we’ll come back to her. someone flushed a toilet somewhere, and more water disappears and goes somewhere else. an astonishing amount of water runs away in the morning of an anonymous hotel in the middle of a stubbly cornfield runs away. runs away. it’s like a garish echo. almost comical. astonishing. runs away. she glanced at the dresser. found socks. found shoes under the bed. her black boots. sat on the edge of the bed and pulled them on. they still felt good. like coming home to an old couch. ---- ok we’ll come back to her. la la la la la la la it’s nighttime in my little screen. it’s blackish with orderly rows of squiggly little stars. ---- back to the window. the helicopter noise is still there. but it’s getting more faint. isn’t it? the last star leftover from nighttime is almost watercolored out of existence by an eggy wash of sunrise. ---- we’ll come back to her. she’s ok. she can wait. she’ll still be there. standing there by the window waiting as patiently as a DOS prompt on an old computer. back when computers waited for you instead of the other way around. ---- she was free to go any time she wanted. wasn’t she? it’s not like she was anyone’s slave. the word echoed with comical brutishness in her mind. like a volleyball match played between rhinos using a brick as a ball. slave. runs away. runs away. she pulled open the top dresser drawer. she opened the suitcase on top of its little cot. looked back and forth. suddenly there were clothes in her hands, and suddenly she was putting the clothes into the suitcase, not neatly, just heaping them in there like someone in a hurry in a movie. ---- ok we’ll come back to her. this is, what is this, is this like a *strategy* or something? I’m scared. I’m a little scared for herl for me, for all of us. for the goddamned squirrels. they’re so vulnerable. how many squirrels have to die at the hands of the angry automobile god for the rest of them to be able to go about their nutty little lives, unseen, in the ditches, in the copses, in the spaces between the neighborhoods? how many fucking squirrels are there, really? ---- she remembered when he ran over one. well not quite over. it was a rainy day and they were going down a steep hill towards the outskirts of another town. there was traffic oncoming. the squirrel was doing that dance--back and forth--starting, stopping--wait, this way? no that way! no--and he couldn’t stop in time, surely, he couldn’t just slow down, there were cars right up behind him. there was a truck coming the other way. she gripped his arm harder and drew in breath. she knew he would think she was being silly. just plain dumb. it’s a squirrel for gods sake he would probably be thinking if he was thinking about it at all. she thought maybe it had made it, like maybe the two rows of tires had been on either side of it and it would be able to pass underneath unscathed. she dared to look back. no. no, it hadn’t made it. but it wasn’t a squished lump in the street. it was far worse. it was twitching. the tail twitched like a musician’s twisted impulse. a conductor badly conducting a wretched cartoon symphony. it was trying to get up, to move, to turn, but it couldn’t. she looked back ahead, at the highway ahead and felt like a hollewed out sack with sawdust for a heart. he was staring straight ahead and she didn’t know what he was thinking, if he was thinking anything at all. for the longest time they drove on. she stared out the right side window. he took a drink of coffee every now and then. he fiddled with the radio. ----- ok we’ll come back to her --- did he finally say something? Did he touch her arm? did he make some observation about something passing by the windows? did they pull into another hotel? did he make love to her and did it make her feel better? she honestly couldn’t remember. she felt like a murderer as she stomped shut the lid of the suitcase, stomped on it like someone in a movie, to get it to close, with little corners of underwear sticking out. she managed to get the clasps to close. ---- ok we’ll come back to her