Scully Is Always Right
We keep meaning to get on the road, travel to our next destination, wherever that is. Or at least leave the room, go walking through the red and gold trees of Bloomington. Fresh air and all that. But we can’t seem to move from this motel room, this bed.
Thank God Bloomington has a wide variety of delivery restaurants. Chinese, pizza, Thai. Last night we even ordered in Ethiopian food-spicy stews of lentils and chickpeas on spongy injera bread. I attempted to be romantic and feed her a bite, but Scully started laughing and ended up with brown lentils all over her t-shirt. Oh well. I get extra credit for effort.
I guess we’re exhausted on pretty much every level. It’s nice to stop and breathe for a second, take stock of everything that’s happened lately. It’s a lot.
We don’t know what to think, to be honest.
“What now?” she asked last night, after she’d de-lentiled herself.
“What do you mean?”
“What do we believe?” She was frowning, little lines cut into her skin.
“I don’t know,” I said. I took a breath. “What if we just decide to live our lives and see what happens? Not obsess over 2012. It might happen or it might not. Colonization could come tomorrow or never. But to live with the shadow of it hanging over us isn’t a great way to live.”
“I know...I know,” she said. “I just can’t help but think.”
“Well, stop,” I said. “Slow that alien brain of yours down.”
“You’re the one with the alien brain,” she said, and swatted me with the pillow. “And you were born with it. It wasn’t acquired.”
“We’re both aliens,” I said. We laughed. “Admit it. DNA aside, we’re not normal at all.”
“I know you always fantasized about making it with an alien,” she whispered in my ear, her fingers starting to do things to me that were illegal in several states.
“A female alien,” I corrected.
“How do you know they’re female?”
“They have breasts, “ I said. “Don’t you know anything?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I know a lot of things, Mulder...”
And then she showed me. Sure enough, she was right.
She's always right.
Thank God Bloomington has a wide variety of delivery restaurants. Chinese, pizza, Thai. Last night we even ordered in Ethiopian food-spicy stews of lentils and chickpeas on spongy injera bread. I attempted to be romantic and feed her a bite, but Scully started laughing and ended up with brown lentils all over her t-shirt. Oh well. I get extra credit for effort.
I guess we’re exhausted on pretty much every level. It’s nice to stop and breathe for a second, take stock of everything that’s happened lately. It’s a lot.
We don’t know what to think, to be honest.
“What now?” she asked last night, after she’d de-lentiled herself.
“What do you mean?”
“What do we believe?” She was frowning, little lines cut into her skin.
“I don’t know,” I said. I took a breath. “What if we just decide to live our lives and see what happens? Not obsess over 2012. It might happen or it might not. Colonization could come tomorrow or never. But to live with the shadow of it hanging over us isn’t a great way to live.”
“I know...I know,” she said. “I just can’t help but think.”
“Well, stop,” I said. “Slow that alien brain of yours down.”
“You’re the one with the alien brain,” she said, and swatted me with the pillow. “And you were born with it. It wasn’t acquired.”
“We’re both aliens,” I said. We laughed. “Admit it. DNA aside, we’re not normal at all.”
“I know you always fantasized about making it with an alien,” she whispered in my ear, her fingers starting to do things to me that were illegal in several states.
“A female alien,” I corrected.
“How do you know they’re female?”
“They have breasts, “ I said. “Don’t you know anything?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I know a lot of things, Mulder...”
And then she showed me. Sure enough, she was right.
She's always right.