Gillian Welch is on the short list of women I sometimes fantasize about sharing a
trailer with somewhere near Roxboro, North Carolina, probably have one of those
vintage tables in the kitchen, wake up naked together on the weekends and not
even think about putting on clothes
until 2 in the afternoon, maybe, cooking pancakes with chopped walnuts
in them bamas and drinking like four French presses of coffee, not doing shit,
talking about Mary Oliver poetry and how great creeping phlox is and wondering
if there were any new collections of VHS tapes at the Goodwill to dig through
to add to the collection, even though we hadn’t hooked the VCR back up since I
had them both in the middle in the room trying to do some VHS mixtapes with an
old computer monitor. But then these fantasies always get fucked up because usually
I’m laying on the couch reading an old magazine or some shit, and she walks
through from the back bedroom to the kitchen, and I notice her really really
nice full-color plant tattoo from her left shoulder all the way down to her
elbow, like $1200 worth of tattoo, and I start to lay there on that couch in my
fantastical mind, thinking about all the vehicles I bought that cost less than
that (most of them, to be honest), or how much I could use that $1200 not in
fantasy mind life but to pay off medical debt that just keeps trickling along
in the real life, on the wrong side of the fantasy. Sometimes I just wake up
from the fantasy and realize I’m zoning out while at work, in front of a
computer screen, pretending to do shit that matters my whole goddamned wasted
life. Other times I was half asleep, and I pick up my iphone to check my IG
notifications. But sometimes I just get mad in the fantasy, at Gillian Lucinda
Welch Williams Jr. there, except I don’t say nothing, because lolol I hadn’t
worked in my fantasy in 9 months, and she pays all the bills. But I’m gonna log
into OKCupid after she goes to bed tonight, and flirt with women that don’t
exist on multiple levels.
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