This is my “reading” view, here where I am house sitting: look how gorgeous:
I miss it already.
It is part of my nature that I start to mourn that which I have not lost while I have it … or, worse, mourn that which I will never have, never had a chance of having, as if, somehow, I ought to have had it and am entitled to feel bad about its loss – that which I never had.
A little crazy, I know. I am. And, honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Today, I had – briefly – to leave this house and return to my regular haunt to retrieve an outfit for tomorrow’s New York jaunt. While driving, I was having conversations with imaginary people: these people are part of some stories I’m writing (multiple projects) and too – as is usually the case – in part – people from the past, from real life. I came upon a discovery whilst working on a monologue for one of the characters and – well – here’s the monologue. (ish – it will, no doubt, morph and change a million times before landing in one of the pieces for which it is intended)
“For years, Richard, you’ve made me feel less than – guilty – because I get depressed and you don’t; as if somehow that was proof that you were sane and I was not. I let you make me feel bad – no – wait – not your fault – not blaming you. But now, since – well, since it was so easy for you to turn me into a villain because I stood up and needed to be me; so easy for you to open up a catalogue of horrific spins on stories about me that once were endearing; so easy for you to flip a switch on me, the way I’d seen you do on so many others who dared to say no to you, disagree with you, question you; only then did I finally get it. Yes, I am depressed. Often. Sad. Often. And no, you are not. But here’s why: I get sad and disappointed and shocked by the ways in which people betray and lie and cause pain and do bad because I believe – truly and honestly and completely believe to the core of me – that people are actually good and loving and kind and full of light – and so, when they don’t act from that place, when the good and the light and the kindness and the love are subsumed in greed or cruelty or selfishness or any of the other million things – when someone opens fire on a room full of children or flies a plane into a skyscraper or bombs a country or drowns a child or lies about me – I am always surprised. I am always hurt. I am always, always, ALWAYS fooled. And that, my dear Richard, causes me to be sad. Not that I am fooled, I am glad I still believe – I don’t want to live if I stop believing. But you, on the other hand, you expect the worst, you don’t believe in love and light and kindness; you think everyone operates from selfishness and duplicity and you believe no one can be trusted and you think it is fine to be mean to anyone who does not agree with you or bow to you or do as you wish; and now that I am that person, now that I have dared to say to you “Why?” – it has given you permission to make me into something else and pretend I was always that, and at the same time, claim you are some sort of victim who has been disappointed in love – but you never loved me. You loved your story of me, and once I wouldn’t read the lines you’d written for me, I was no longer useful, and rather than bother to actually see me who I am – you just did a rewrite. And you call me a liar? I would rather have been me, and been depressed because life is sometimes sad and hard than be you, and this cold person who can never be surprised by the sorrow and cruelty of people because that is your bottom line; that’s what you see. What a sorry man you are, to never have trusted anyone enough to love them; and how sad I am for you that all the years I tried to be that someone, tried to be your story, tried to believe in and reach the light and love and kindness in you – which, by the way, I still believe is there – how sad that you have turned it into this. And yes, I think, it does depress me quite a bit.”