Rose Garden

It’s the scene where she gets the one piece of advice from her mother and the rest of her life will be an undoing or so she thought of everything her mother ‘gave up’ and became a martyr about. Only in the gap where they were told they could have it all, she never paid enough attention to the passage of time until it was, the proverbial, too late. And so, in a different way, she was just as miserable and unfulfilled as her mother had been so all the overcompensation had been for naught.

There were many who overcame the fucked-up-ed-ness of the 70s-80s growing up and having completely wacked out generations before you but then you are about to see some crazy shit yourself that you won’t believe or you shouldn’t but somehow you always do and even if it is a complete surprise, it never surprises you that whatever is happening is happening.

That is how that unrolled, one big jump ship from one to the next and that’s how everybody lived like there was no tomorrow but there was a huge stack of todays and yesterday has a way of catching up so there were all these dreams that got pushed aside, then squandered, then just divied up between rapid lawyers, which explains all the advice to become an attorney and had she done that well everything would have been different.

Better or worse? She cannot say. She is not her mother. She refuses to write it off, yet, hoping for the pie in the sky pipe dream yet, perhaps, keeping something akin to hope alive, but why? If only because the future can be written. You have to believe that or there is no point, and if there is no point, there’s no use speculating about it. What you do then is speculate about the opposite of ‘no point,’ an infinity of points to be made, everything has meaning whether it’s chaos theory or a formula equation equalling a love poem that makes her melt and they actually stay married for the whole run.

That always amazes me. I had such poor judgement but I blame it on my nurture-nature. Didn’t have a chance in either forefront, so I am okay with not observing tradition, although I would have liked to, that sense of propriety remains.

The idea is conveying Janet who planted the Christmas tree with us — how she was, so 77 – and what that became — and what we thought our lives were going to be like since our mothers were the last generation to — when they got divorced, have no identity. She told me the story today about getting a credit line, in 1989 or so, after only having been Mrs. …. Walker.

Now it’s more likely that the woman is bilking the man and the guy’s taking care of the kids, because that’s what feminism has done for us, it’s given us the freedom to fuck up our lives equally, as we should, but we still don’t get paid the same and I don’t know that I care about anything that much anymore, it all seems so stupid, just figure out how to live a simple life somewhere and quickly.

the story line fades into the reality

this is the one who goes astray


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