I was hoping that you would know better
Today was an interesting Saturday.
Last night, I saw the Neo-Futurist play "Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind." Back on my old stomping grounds, I brought my friend Kate (who I confide in but I trust less and less with each passing day, with each tiny betrayal) and saw Lori (my old friend who was supposed to be away). I received cold receptions from both ends. I pretended not to notice. I went down to the green room to see Ashley before the show and Mark ferried me out, the suffocating room filled with activity.
Later, when Ashley or at least someone should have been down there, I walked down the cold hard steps into emptiness. It was like they'd left forever. It was a more profound leaving; it was a slow moving. There was still water bottles, make up, shoes. The lights were on, bright. I stood in the doorway, suddenly missing them. All of them, each and every one. Just as I began to love them, each and every one, they vanished off to their own separate places, like smoke disappears in air. But there's always something smoldering somewhere. I feel the burn.
This morning, this afternoon, this night was like a flashback to my childhood when I cowered in the corner with the dog and whispered, "It's all right, it's all right. Don't be afraid," trying to soothe him when I was really trying to assuage my own fears. For a couple hours after his outburst, once the swelling had gone down, the odious rumblings began. After Josh throws a tantrum (for it can only aptly be described as such), my parents and I fight. We feel so stifled, so subordinate to him that once he leaves, our anger bubbles, explodes, in fiery pools and fitful starts. Sparks of anger, of snarky comments, rude things we'll take back later once we can see straight.
And we drink life like champagne.
Last night, I saw the Neo-Futurist play "Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind." Back on my old stomping grounds, I brought my friend Kate (who I confide in but I trust less and less with each passing day, with each tiny betrayal) and saw Lori (my old friend who was supposed to be away). I received cold receptions from both ends. I pretended not to notice. I went down to the green room to see Ashley before the show and Mark ferried me out, the suffocating room filled with activity.
Later, when Ashley or at least someone should have been down there, I walked down the cold hard steps into emptiness. It was like they'd left forever. It was a more profound leaving; it was a slow moving. There was still water bottles, make up, shoes. The lights were on, bright. I stood in the doorway, suddenly missing them. All of them, each and every one. Just as I began to love them, each and every one, they vanished off to their own separate places, like smoke disappears in air. But there's always something smoldering somewhere. I feel the burn.
This morning, this afternoon, this night was like a flashback to my childhood when I cowered in the corner with the dog and whispered, "It's all right, it's all right. Don't be afraid," trying to soothe him when I was really trying to assuage my own fears. For a couple hours after his outburst, once the swelling had gone down, the odious rumblings began. After Josh throws a tantrum (for it can only aptly be described as such), my parents and I fight. We feel so stifled, so subordinate to him that once he leaves, our anger bubbles, explodes, in fiery pools and fitful starts. Sparks of anger, of snarky comments, rude things we'll take back later once we can see straight.
And we drink life like champagne.
posted by Alana at 10:00 PM
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