Two weeks ago, I had a Scarlett O'Hara moment.
There's a moment in "GWTW" where the starving, desperate ( but still rather attractive!starvation is inconvenient but GREAT for the cheekbones) Scarlett, sees a dying radish in her garden, and, because she is starving, she drops to her knees, pulls it up, gnaws on it desperately, and is promptly sick.
After collapsing gracefully for a moment, Scarlett manages to scramble to her feet. Holding the radish aloft [or maybe she didn't. I forget. But she should have], she pulls herself up with last ditch resolution and proclaims "As God is my witness, I'll never go hungry AGAYN!!"
She didn't. Go hungry again, that is. Also, she snogged Clark Gable. Temporarily, but what the hell. A killer snog is a killer snog.
-Where we we? Oh. Right. Two week ago I re-enacted that scene. Except rather than being in the ruins of a magnificent Southern plantation, as Scarlett was, I was in a suburban kitchen. With my mom. And an avocado green toaster. -Also, I didn't have a radish. And frankly,I couldn't interrupt the ORIGINAL scene's intense emotional choreography, by having to stop and root around in the fridge to find an appropriate prop vegetable. Because "As Gawd is mah WITNESS--hold on,, hold on--no wait, that's a rutabaga- Mom, do we have any turnips? no? Oh, cool, thanks, Mom, I'll use that..wait. Mom, THAT turnip is made of papier mache. That's a DECORATIVE turnip. Thanks though. - Okay. I'll use lettuce.-"Ah'll NEVAH go hungray"...wait, this lettuce is gross-feel that- does that feel slimy to you?-oh, wait.-" Agayn!"-You know what? Let's try this again with the fake turnip. No, I don't know what you did with it. It's in the drawer. No, the other drawer. The...you, know, the "rubber bands and wine corks" drawer. No, that's not MY sock. I don't know how it got there. I KNOW it's the junk drawer. I KNOW it's not your sock. -Well, because you only wear really girly socks. With like, fruit patterns. -Oh, the ones you're wearing have veggies on them? Can I see? Oh my God, there's a TURNIP on your sock! Talk about synchonicity! -Where was I? Damn."
Okay. Perhaps the precise translation of the scene was lost, but trust me, the emostional GIST was there. Yes, gist. "Gist". It means um...wait. It means, I don't know, it means, well, "GIST". As in, "core". Or, "essence." Oh, God, I don't know.- Hand me that papier mache turnip, wouldja?
Let's start again. Everybody? Just breathe. Great. Okay, people! People? Everyone?- Take two.
TAKE TWO
Two weeks ago, I made a firm, out-loud commitment [in the kitchen, with my Mom] to be successful; to concentrate on achievements rather than suffering, and to be successful. -What? -Oh. Well, yes. I hAD just come out of a six month depression in which I bought enough self help books to build a small country house out of. Your point being..? -Anyway, ALL of those books boil down to a few tropes. [Isn't the word "trope" awesome? Doesn't it sound like the name of a garden gnome?"Yes, the one in the red hat is "Trope. Isn't that cute? The one next to him, with the leer, is Gerund."] -One major trope being, "When you make a strong enough commitment, the Universe will hear you, and your life will become filled with coincidence and miracles.
And I'll be goddamned if they weren't RIGHT.
Except Wayne Dyer. I fucking HATE Wayne Dyer. -Don't try that as an affirmation, by the way. It doesn't work. GOOD affirmations are like "I am now expanding into prosperity, love and happiness", NOT "Jesus, I fucking HATE Wayne Dyer." Another good affirmation not to use is, "Baby, do these jeans make my ass look fat?" Because there's always the chance that he'll respond "No. The jeans are fine. It's your ASS that makes your ass look fat."--Also, try not to change your affirmations. "I love myself" is good. "I love myself, which is kind of stupid when you think about what a loser I am."is not so hot.
Try to phrase everything in the AFFIRMATIVE. "I am not a loser" is not affirmative. "I am a loser but I'm really good at it cuz I've been loser for twenty years" is MUCH better.-Wait.
Okay. Let's try this one more time. People? Is everybody back from lunch? No? Where's Tiffany? Oh. Okay. We'll wait.
Hi Tiffany. Welcome back. -Okay people. Everyone's here. Let's do take three. last one: we're losing the community center at 7 for the Hadassah Seniors Swim and Pinochle meet. Let's GO!
TAKE THREE
Two weeks ago, I made a commitment to be positive. In the kitchen. With my mother. {And someday I will learn how to positive OUT of the kitchen with my mom. Baby steps, people. Baby steps.]
And suddenly, it was like my own personal Universe [EVERYONE lives in his or her own personal Universe. Don't kid yourself.] shifted on its axis, one eight of a tenth of a hundredth degree...But sometimes that's enough. Suddenly "coincidences" were mounting up like the droppings of a frightened rabbit. WEIRD coincidences. Specific enough to be spooky, but random enough to make me think that if I DO have a guardian angel, he or she is on nitrous.* Here is an example:
I have trouble sleeping and eating right now: bad news is that insomnia SUCKS; good news is that I'm TINY. [Well, tiny-ISH. Tinier than usual. Tinier than last month. Okay, tinier than Fatty Arbuckle. Sheesh.] I slept briefly, and had a dream where I was running for taxicabs in NYC, and when I'd get into one, I'd say "Take me to the Village", but I'd always wind up on West 83rd street and Central Park West. I'd get out of the cab and run a few blocks, then jump into another cab. Etc. Till I woke up exHAUSted. -Yes, there is a point here. Hold your horses, Chief.
The point being, my Mom then walkid in, sat and my bed, and announced, I just had the weirdest dream." Now, my Mom is NOT a "telling your dreams" sort of person. She's a complete WASP down the blonde pageboy and cashmere. So she IS a "gives you a quelling stare when you start to tell YOUR dreams"sort of person. So that was surprising enough. It was when she launched into the actual dream. that hair on my forearms went up. She started "I dreamt I was in NYC. I hAD to get to West 83rd Street and Central Park West, so I kept hailing cabs. But they kept taking me to the Village, and I would jump out, run, hail another cab..."
Yes. I know. Spooky.
The whole two weeks have been like that. Have you ever gotten a :mention someone's name and they appear" streak? Even if the person in question is someone you haven't een since third grade? You'll be saying "Yeah, I dated this great drummer in the 90's, his name was Bob" **, and you'll walk out the door -and straight into Bob. Who's not looking so good these days, actually. --These past two weeks have been like THAT feeling, but better and on anabolic steroids. It just keeps getting weirder. MUCH MUCH better. But also much much weirder.
Ooops. Is that the time? Man, the techniques of "breaking the fourth wall with the reader" and "stream of consciousness, sort of" are TIRING. Don't you think so?-What are you looking at me like that for?-Is it the jeans? Do they make me look fat? Do they make me look like--oh, I don't know- WAYNE DYER, perhaps? That would suck. I kind of hate Wayne Dyer. Now I hate self-help books, too. AND James Joyce's "Ulysses." -Was it Samuel Beckett that wrote about turnips so often in plays? Beckett was James Joyce's literary secretary, did you know that? Also, his wife Nora, shares a birthday with the lovely and headstrong and fictional Scarlett o'Hara. -I think that's true. If it isn't, it should be.
Now we've come full circle. Okay, everyone, good work today! Good work!! Now gather up your stuff, cus here come the Haddassah ladies, and they're wearing swimsuits. Everyone? People!
Goodnight!"
And so to bed.
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