| | It always goes like this.
"So you want to be a writer?"
"Yes, but I would like to eat so..."
"Just marry rich."
I am not going to say how that makes me feel. Instead I'll say what it makes me think of.
It makes me think of that scene in Beauty and the Beast where Beast wants to do something nice for Belle, so he takes her to this obscure wing of his mansion, where he pushes aside curtains to reveal this big, beautiful library, the shelves, stories high of stories. "I've never seen so many books in my life," she says.
"Do you like it?"
"It's wonderful!"
"Then it's yours."
And you know what she says? Simply, "thank you so much!"
When I think of it, I like her a tiny bit less.
Every time I'm taken here, back to this scene inside my head, upon this same kind of conversation, the pause of my initial response is like a white bedsheet whipped out in the air to be laid down smooth. Quick answers that are required of small talk are a distraction when I’m still trying to figure out the real one. Maybe I can't think through things fast enough, or maybe some things are just forever pending, changing colors as they go. To pin things down prematurely for the sake of articulation seems hollow. I can't explain it but I'm desperate to find meaning in everything. Clear the weeds, dig a hole and plant until something grows. But then I look around and it's like, why don't we all have dirty cuticles?
I'll spend life watering, regardless of whether or not I can help it, regardless of whether or not I'm meant to be here to see it germinate.
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| | Posted 7/7/2009 9:02 PM - 14 Views
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