She felt as though she were allowed to behave according to her mood even if that behavior didn’t precisely align with her more reserved and generally responsible character. She considered her moods as simply expressions of certain wants, and any discrepancy was about the things she wanted and what she wanted didn’t make up who she was. The trouble mostly came in being and getting fucked, because, as we all know, no one paid much attention to the small ways in which her mood would change her behavior. Nobody cared if she wanted to sulk and spend the night on the couch with a beer or if she wanted to rile everyone up and talk a bunch. Nobody ever gave a shit then. But fucking, yes, people cared about that one.
The great thing about animals is that they never talk but are always behaving. All the time, squirrels are jittery and nervous. Anyone at all is a total badass in the mind of a squirrel, even a really short jerk. Plants are a whole different story. Plants respond all too immediately and the relationship is one of silent codependence. I was a plant once. This ensured a prolonged and inevitable death and fulfilled entirely the requirements of my resentment.
Ejaculation requires the dimming of knowledge. Consciousness reasserts in the recognition of ejaculate outside of the body, which demands of us wiping. Not a cleansing but a removal, a putting aside of the confrontation. In this way we know that our essential action is a clearing away, and that the essential object of desire has always been the towel. The towel gets tossed to a floor, kicked further into bed sheets, shoved between the bed and the wall. Only with great effort is the towel washed, folded, placed in a pile of other such towels, all of whom wait silently in the dark for us to find ourselves, to take us away.