The Other Side of the Linoleum

What is it I want to say? Well, dear, how in the world am I supposed to know that? It's not like I can read your mind or anything, is it? And there you go again, trying to sound so tragic, such the orphan author. All right! That's it! I've had enough of you criticizing every little thing that I say! You are so sure that everything you say is correct, written on some stone tablet in some God forsaken middle eastern country! I know why, too. You say these things because you lack imagination! You lack my soul! Lack creativity! And it pisses you off so severely that you've denounced it all together! Yes, that's it exactly. There you sit, so cozy in your leather chair with your leather books and your leather paper weight! Sipping your cognac or your tea or your bourbon or whatever the hell it is that you are constantly sipping on! Your seater and your shoes and your pompous Brittish ass! I didn't ask you to criticize everything I say! I never sought your opinion on anything! Yet you consistantly force it on me; the rape of confidence... that's your crime!

Well now. Now that you've gotten that bit of teenage agnst out of your system, we can move on. My dear, I'm only here to keep you in check, you see. I'm only here to challenge you and not let you get away with the ridiculous. You love him, don't you? Answer me quickly, for the longer you think about it, the farther from the truth your answer will be. But I don't know... isn't that sufficient? No... the lack of knowledge is never 'sufficient' as an excuse. Know thyself, child. But how does one know? Surely a week cannot tell the tales of a heart! I care a great deal for him, yes, but love? How incredibly scary a word... a concept. I haven't felt that way... really in three years now. How could I love him? It's impossible! Utterly ridiculous! Our bliss has only enjoyed a life span of three days! But even before then, dear... you felt things for him. I was with another at the time! My loyalty was for him. I'm not talking about loyalty, damn you silly girl. I'm not talking about anything remotely that simple at all! Do you think you need a lifetime for love? How long a waiting period do you require before you "know"? I don't know! How am I, a silly little girl, supposed to know anything at all? My lot in life is to sit and smile and look cute for old uncles to pinch my cheeks and call me "kiddo." To be adored by all and loved by none. To give of myself so much that there is nothing of "me" left at all. How can I be with him and keep my sanity? He makes me utterly delirious... I can't think, can't move, can't speak... only feel, only fly... and eventually only fall. He seems to know the things to say to my heart that make my mind take a vacation. But things are spinning so fast... I'm on a carosel that has overthrown its operator and continues to spin and spin and spin at its own hellish pace. Is it even possible, anymore, to slow it down? Or if attempted, would it not slow at all, but jerk to a complete stop, propelling its frightened passengers off into the crowd of those who innocently pass by?


tea I take it and run. It, you say? What is "it"? Stop being ambiguous and get to the point. There you go, always trying to surround yourself with that aire of mystery; shourd yourself with tragic. But I see through you. Maybe they all do. What a horror! How clever you thought you were, how so very ingenious and smart! And to think, all this time, you were the only one who saw the mask on your own face! How absolutely comic. Well, we've quite come off the subject, haven't we? Very well, let's continue. What is it, dear, that you are "taking" and "running" with? I take the slightest bit of hope, the tiniest bit of... of what? Amiability? Care? Kindness? Affection? Or perhaps a conglomerate of them all. At first glance, at the first time it rears its shy little head... I snatch it, steal it, clutch it blindly to my heart and run away with it madly. Running, demanding of it, a constant bombardment until finally it turns into a snarling dog or perhaps just a tired old and beaten turtle retreating into its own shell. Or maybe it meets my demands, and by doing so ensures its own death as I throw it to the ground and squash it like a cow ant, ever persistant, until finally dead. Well then. Don't I know someone overly fond of analogy? Tell me, my dear girl, did you find this technique useful as a child? Did people generally have a difficult time understanding you? Or maybe your mummy or your nanny explained the concepts of love to you by referring to the birds and the bees! It certainly seems so, doesn't it? If I'm going to listen to this gibberish any longer, you must speak more eloquently! What a wonderful vocabulary we have in the English language, yet you seem to successfully ignore a great deal of it by referring to complex issues in terms of animals! Tea? Yes, thank you. Sugar? Two, please. Milk? None, thank you.

scones What is it I want to say? Well, dear, how in the world am I supposed to know that? It's not like I can read your mind or anything, is it? And there you go again, trying to sound so tragic, such the orphan author. All right! That's it! I've had enough of you criticizing every little thing that I say! You are so sure that everything you say is correct, written on some stone tablet in some God forsaken middle eastern country! I know why, too. You say these things because you lack imagination! You lack my soul! Lack creativity! And it pisses you off so severely that you've denounced it all together! Yes, that's it exactly. There you sit, so cozy in your leather chair with your leather books and your leather paper weight! Sipping your cognac or your tea or your bourbon or whatever the hell it is that you are constantly sipping on! Your seater and your shoes and your pompous Brittish ass! I didn't ask you to criticize everything I say! I never sought your opinion on anything! Yet you consistantly force it on me; the rape of confidence... that's your crime! Well now. Now that you've gotten that bit of teenage agnst out of your system, we can move on. My dear, I'm only here to keep you in check, you see. I'm only here to challenge you and not let you get away with the ridiculous. You love him, don't you? Answer me quickly, for the longer you think about it, the farther from the truth your answer will be. But I don't know... isn't that sufficient? No... the lack of knowledge is never 'sufficient' as an excuse. Know thyself, child. But how does one know? Surely a week cannot tell the tales of a heart! I care a great deal for him, yes, but love? How incredibly scary a word... a concept. I haven't felt that way... really in three years now. How could I love him? It's impossible! Utterly ridiculous! Our bliss has only enjoyed a life span of three days! But even before then, dear... you felt things for him. I was with another at the time! My loyalty was for him. I'm not talking about loyalty, damn you silly girl. I'm not talking about anything remotely that simple at all! Do you think you need a lifetime for love? How long a waiting period do you require before you "know"? I don't know! How am I, a silly little girl, supposed to know anything at all? My lot in life is to sit and smile and look cute for old uncles to pinch my cheeks and call me "kiddo." To be adored by all and loved by none. To give of myself so much that there is nothing of "me" left at all. How can I be with him and keep my sanity? He makes me utterly delirious... I can't think, can't move, can't speak... only feel, only fly... and eventually only fall. He seems to know the things to say to my heart that make my mind take a vacation. But things are spinning so fast... I'm on a carosel that has overthrown its operator and continues to spin and spin and spin at its own hellish pace. Is it even possible, anymore, to slow it down? Or if attempted, would it not slow at all, but jerk to a complete stop, propelling its frightened passengers off into the crowd of those who innocently pass by?