I'm sorry Luce, but how do you talk this way.
Just use your own words, Moose. Tell him what you want to say.
Well Buddy, by which I mean you stupid son-of-a-bitch, do you realize what you've got here? I been stayin out of the way because, I mean look at her, but I don't think you understand the situation. I been trying to tell her you're just stringin her. She just keeps saying stuff like muse to me. Now I don't claim to know what a muse is, see, but it seems like a crap job to me. And she's all makin moon-eyes over ya and dreamin about havin your babies. The whole thing just makes me sick. She's got this crap job and she needs new glasses, she needs body work on her car, and then she tells me she's going to see you. Why? What is he gonna do different this time? She's gonna spend her money and she's gonna come back crying again. And, in case you didn't know, jackass, there's been a fair amount of that already around here. But she thinks she promised you. Before you fuckin gutted her, so I say: so fuckin what.
Moose, I know he's not going to do anything differently. He wants it like this. What I don't understand is why he won't be honest with me about it.
Does this mean your mother's right?
Hey, quiet there in the peanut gallery. Do you want him to think we're crazy or something? Besides, that could never happen.
Ok, look, here's the deal. I went to see him. Not because I thought he was going to finally tell me that he loves me. I know that he loves me. But I won't believe that I'm real to him until he says it for real. Not because I thought he was going to give me some sort of explanation. Although, why he's too stupid to realize that even if it was: hey, you know, lost a bet babe, he'd be better off telling me because not telling me is just kind of saying: hey, take it bitch. I didn't even really want to go because it's too big a risk, honestly. If I have to I can completely manufacture him, well, I think I can, anyway, but if he kills my love then I've got nothing. Then I'm back to chain smoking and waiting to die.
What is this shit!? Are you telling me that you need some man to keep from killing yourself?
Sadly, I might be telling you that. He's the only thing that's ever made me want to live. Now, granted, not lately. But I was in a kind of holding pattern. And the thing is: I did feel like I'd promised him, but I didn't really feel like I was obligated to that, you know, after, but, come on, the situation was untennable. So I went out there for me. Because if I went for him then I couldn't love him any more when he did the things that seem inevitable. Not this time. Not any more.
What I really did. I went on a journey. A journey of self-exploration.
God, that sounds hokey.
Does it sound less hokey if I call it something else?
I went on the road to find out what would happen and what I would do.
God, that sounds hokey.
Does it sound less hokey if I call it something else?
I went on the road to find out what would happen and what I would do.
