god was sitting in the bathtub. all morning, apparently.

When i found her, she was halfway through her book, and there were lily pads of wax on the water where her candles had burned for a few hours, running over the edges of the tub. She was wearing glasses, which always eeks me out a little, since she's god and all. Her hair was dry, and blonde again in lazy curls almost to her shoulder. There were remnants of some bubbles clinging to her breasts, barely out of the water.
She knows i don't prefer blondes, too.
i watched her from the door for a few minutes, until i was rewarded with one of her half-smiles, then i turned to leave her to her book. i'm liberal, but not rude. i could wait to use the room.

"Hey" she said as i turned. '"I lied to you," she said, not even looking over her book.

i had to pause at that. The weight of those words are colossal as it is, but to hear it first thing in the morning, and from your girlfriend - and from god?

"How is that even possible?" i asked. i'd like to say i paused for effect, but i didnae. i was actually kinda stunned. Again.
i seem to stay like that these days, like clouds pregnant with rain, but no storm.

She shifted a bit in the tub, leaning to the side, dropping the book to the bathmat. "Well, technically...", she paused, tracing rivulets on the book cover like some coy princess asking for a pony. It was very unbecoming.
'It's... complicated.'
i stayed just outside the doorframe. The AC kicked in as the iTunes downstairs cycled into 'Porcelain', by the Yeah Yeah Yeah's.

"Yeah, i hear most lies end up like that" is all i could muster. i had a head full of sharp things, but none of them belonged here, now.

"...But they start simple?" she offered. She had changed her voice on purpose, and it only annoyed me that much more.

"i didnae say that." i was firm. Confused. My morning synapses shuffled like a hobo.

"You didn't have to" she countered. She was on her game this morning. i had to wonder if she'd been thinking about it, but then i remembered: 'god'.
What the fuck was going on here...

i spoke to the door. "Hey, i'm writing this, don't put words in my mouth."

"Wasn't your mouth," she volleyed. "It was your hands."
i was avoiding looking at her on purpose, but i could hear her splash a little as she shifted in the tub again. i could smell the water: Lavender and vanilla. Gardenia? Dammit.
She absently brushed the remnants of soapy glaciers from the hair at her mons. i was distracted, thinking of down, or sleeping in soft spring moss...

"Words in my hands." i repeated absently. "i could stand a little more of that from you, actually."

She brought her hands to her belly, cupping it over the waterline. Maddening.

But she kept talking to me with out looking at me, like i was living in her belly button.
"It's complicated because all of my words here are yours, so it looks, or seems, like you lied to yourself."

Again, what the fuck?

"- oh, which never happens..." i blurted. i had to.

"Hey, if you're gonna be a dick about this-" she was quick on the return. This could not be good was all i could muster. That, and the continuing scroll of what the fuck scrolling across the teleprompter of my id.

But i turned to the door. "If i'm gonna be a dick? Did you not just tell me 'i lied to you' instead of 'good morning'? i think i've had just about enough emotional Jenga without you adding to it," i unloaded on her.
But she was poised to catch it, so i kept on. "i mean, what is it about me that makes you, and the hers, think that it's somehow OK to back-rationalize kicking me around your ungrounded landscapes like -"

"Oh, fuck you, you live in metaphor." She interrupted me with that indignity that only naked women can muster.

"i fucking well have to, don't i? look what i have to work with." We stayed like that, both watching the water, feeling the words sink into it. The music cycled some Sunny Day Real Estate. 'The Blankets Were The Stars'. Nice Sunday morning music, but i made a mental note to punch my iTunes for the 3 millionth time this month.

She moved to sit up in the tub, and i reached for her a towel.

"You have zero concept of what you're doing, or where you're sending us" i offered.

Words and towel. She took both without looking.

"Not that you're not used to any of that, but - " she smirked. "I don't have to, I'm god, remember?"

A smirking god is nothing anyone ever prays for. Ever.

i stayed on target tho. "Oh, that's such a fucking cop-out. Either above the laws or outside of it, and that makes it better if you happen to trample something while your loveboots are colouring outside the lines. As long at the picture gets made, it doesnae matter, right? Love is not a colour."

She stood without looking at me, still. Seeing her standing in the tub, rubbing herself dry on my towel, i wondered how long it'd keep the smell of her, the soaps, the sunshine that god always seems to put in my nose, my mouth. There was one tiny part of one of my pillows that still smelled like Sarah on some nights, but it faded a little more each time i'd catch it, pulling part of me with it.

She stopped to step out of the tub, ignoring my hand. "Wait, are you talking about me here, or you?"

i did not need this god right now. "Don't talk to me like me" i said, holding an edge of the towel.

"Then don't listen to me like your fucking iTunes" she said, trailing me by the towel away from the water.

Happy Mother's Day, Momma. i miss you somethin terrible.

and as much as i hate to admit it, apparently nothing is sacred.


'i am like a martian/with no earth to attack'