September 15, 2009

I try to identify the source of my anxiety in what we have, this incalculable thing that has sprung up between us.

Maybe it is the calibre of his words? Yes, his words are his ammunition, and I am slain.

No. That doesn’t work. Let’s try again.

His words are the sun. I am blinded. I am burnt. I am… nicely tanned and it’s time to turn over?

No, no, no!

This is it, the source of my anguish. His words, his words, they crash into me, they cudgel, they caress me, they craze me, they coerce me. I feel helpless, hapless, hurt. I’m overwhelmed, blissfully so, and I can’t fight back because he has everything, and I have nothing. The words are his, never mine, given but not received. They turn me on, they arouse me, they pull me in, I drown in them, but they are never mine.

Au contraire. My words, mine, les miens, are nothing, become meaningless and empty in response, because of, in reaction to. His. I’m left verbally naked.

And craving more. Words.


And while we’re at it…

November 23, 2007

Dear Self-Centred Egotistical Pricks,

Get over yourselves.

Sincerely determined to remain free of you,


P.S.  You weren’t that good in the first place.

Let Him Eat It

November 15, 2007

Sometimes things work out for some people.

I know this guy who got really lucky, all of a sudden. He spent a long time feeling kind of deprived, you know? Like he wasn’t getting exactly what he wanted. Sure, he had some good things. Some stuff in his life was going well. He had a good enough job, a new enough car, a pretty enough wife who was willing to bake for him, smart enough kids, and a big enough house. Not so bad, right? Like for the rest of us, though, there were some things that were missing in his life, from his point of view. He had a sweet tooth, for example. And even though there was food on the table every day, there was rarely any dessert. And when there was, it was usually apple pie. I mean, who doesn’t like apple pie, right? Well, he liked it well enough… but he wanted it with ice cream. And sometimes, he wanted it with chocolate ripple ice cream. Most people wouldn’t even want apple pie with anything other than vanilla ice cream, but this guy had a real taste for chocolate ripple. Lots of times, he didn’t even want apple pie at all. He wanted tiramisu. He wanted molten lava cake. He wanted raspberry gelato. He wanted a variety of desserts, and he wanted them when he wanted them. Gradually, he wanted those desserts so much that apple pie just became completely unsatisfying to him. He decided he’d rather go without dessert than to keep eating plain old apple pie.

Now, personally, I don’t get it. If I can’t have crème brulée, I’m okay with a slice of pie.

He wanted exotic desserts in unusual combinations so much that he started visiting different restaurants instead of staying and eating his meals at home. He was surprised at how difficult it was to find desserts that were truly interesting. He was worried, too, that if he ate out too often, his wife’s feelings might be hurt. She knew her apple pie wasn’t enough for him, but he didn’t want to shove it in her face, so to speak. One day, though, he walked into a cute little neighbourhood café that he hadn’t noticed before, and he was shocked to see every one of his favourite desserts on the menu, and others he hadn’t tried, but that sounded absolutely delicious to him. He began to eat there regularly, no longer even making an effort to eat pie at home.

His wife, who had always been willing to bake at least a little, as long as he asked for nothing but apple pie, began to realize that he wasn’t asking for any dessert at home anymore. She could have been angry. She could have told him not to bother coming home at all, to stay at the cute little café. Instead, though, she decided to learn to prepare some new and different desserts, to tempt him to return home. Her recipes weren’t very creative at first, but she did serve him chocolate ripple ice cream. Gradually, she took more and more of his suggestions, and began to bake him any cake he requested.

The man was beside himself with joy. Not only was he getting the desserts he wanted at home, but she agreed that he could continue to frequent the café from time to time, since there were exotic combinations there that she was unwilling to try in her own kitchen. The man ate and ate and ate at home, and sometimes, after eating one delicious dessert at home, he would go out and have another even better one at the café.

He got fat. Of course he got fat… he was eating more dessert than any man of his acquaintance, and such good dessert, too. But he was happy, delirious in his joy and the satisfaction of his sweet tooth. He had his cake and he ate it, too.

Don’t you just hate him?