I am sitting in my very private, very lovely room, on my very lovely couch, reading my Sunday New York Times and in the background there are football pre-game shows on. I am wondering to myself how I became this person? And I am whining too.
Here’s the whine why. I want – just for a little while – someone to go out and GET ME the Sunday New York Times every week – and a Starbucks coffee treat. Now, I should NOT whine, because this morning – despite my parking lot road rage traffic issue to which I referred in my first Sunday rant (click here to see) – I did FIND a Sunday NYTimes and at Starbucks I paid for my drink with a gift card from a friend who is doing The Happiness Project and out of the blue presented me with a gift card the other day. SO I KNOW I AM LUCKY.
BUT THE FUCKING HOLIDAYS APPROACH. And I HATE the holidays.
And, too, I’m feeling a little bit lonely. Well. Maybe MORE than a little bit. And maybe not really lonely – that’s not it. See, this feeling of not lonely but lonely has been exacerbated this week by events like climbing onto a display in a department store to remove a Christmas sweatshirt from a dummy because it was the only one in my Mother’s size, and fulfilling requests from a couple of children I know for various baking chores, game attending, etc – and so filled have been my past few weeks with doing stuff for other people – that it brought to mind how many years I spent holiday seasons (and pretty much every day of my life) doing things OTHER people WANTED me to do to fulfill them and their stories – so I spent my holidays putting up trees (and taking them down) and cleaning and cooking and – well – it doesn’t matter what the list of things that filled my time is during holidays and most other days – but I was holding up OTHER PEOPLE’S DREAMS and helping OTHER PEOPLE become themselves and live for themselves – I was a support pole.
And when I needed support in return, the people for whom I had most bent and worked and – well, they pretty much fucked me over, slandered me, threw me under buses, disappeared, pretended I had never twisted myself into knots for them, etc – and this week – I saw one of them. And he pretended not to. And he broke my heart.
In fact, my heart breaks pretty much every day from that sort of thing – because it never goes away, the empty spaces I CARVED out of my heart for people who happily spit on that. And walked away. And betrayed my trust and love. And lied about it.
There is a scene in the movie version of the musical “FUNNY GIRL” in which Flo Ziegfield’s current mistress, Georgia, played by Anne Francis, tells his newest star, Fanny Brice, played by Barbra Streisand, who has just stood up to Flo and questioned his presumptive and tyrannical authority, that she – Fanny – must tell Flo when he arrives on stage to scream at and berate her that she was wrong. Fanny says to Georgia, “But I’m not wrong.” And Georgia, smiling, says, “Well then, it’s been nice knowing you.”
I get that. This week a dear friend suggested to me that I try to remedy a relationship issue by just saying I was wrong – even though I was not. That whole “would you rather be right, or happy?” Well, here’s the thing. I do miss some people who used to be in my life, but I miss the people I thought they were. I don’t miss the people they seem to have become who would judge me as they have, as “wrong” in situations where I was neither wrong nor at fault – in which, in many ways, I was wronged. Why in the world would I want to spend time with people who jumped to conclusions and formed opinions about me and spun their stories about me in which I was a villain?
So, no. I wasn’t wrong. And if you’re loving me or being around me is dependent upon me admitting to a crime I didn’t commit, I guess I’d rather live without you. Because I don’t need people who see me in ugly, negative, uninformed, not in my Light and Love ways in my life.
And I am sad that you people – and you know who you are – saw fit and see fit to treat me in that way.
And I want the Sunday New York Times and a coffee and to be loved that much – and some of you who did the awful things you did – should be the ones doing those nice things for me – and I just don’t get it.
Rant 2. Done.