Eventually I started driving to Grand Rapids where I will pretend to lose a fight to a woman who looks like a beauty pageant contestant. Someone died in the most horrible way possible. And I just go on like nothing happened? How can this be what life is? Bad shit happens and you just go to work? If nothing ever changes what’s the point?
I brought Stella to the hotel. I got her killed. If she never met me, if I had never stopped that night, she’d be fine right now. I wanted to stop somewhere and get drunk. Get high. Find some asshole and hit him in the face with a beer bottle until his face was gone. But none of that would change anything.
I’m tired of being lonely. I understand better now why women hook up with guys. At least you get to have someone next to you. All you have to do is lay there for a minute while they fuck you and for a while you get to pretend that you’re not alone.
As I was driving, I decided that magic is bullshit. I decided I would never do any magic again. All I do is ruin things for everyone else. I started to understand suicide. If you keep screwing up and everyone else pays the price and nothing ever happens to you, why wouldn’t you think about offing yourself?
But the one good thing about life on the road is that I get time to think. Magic is not the problem. People are the problem. When you get hit, your body wants to cover up. Curl up and protect yourself. It’s a real asshole move by your body because that’s the worst thing to do. When you get hit you need to lean into it. Take away the power. Swing back. You can’t fold up.
Being a sad girl and listening to acoustic covers of the Smiths and writing poems about death doesn’t stop the punches life throws at you.
Thurston hotel re-write, re-post 3 of 7