fauxmaux

[Freud dismissed the very idea of “normality” as “an ideal fiction” and famously remarked that he hoped to transform “hysterical misery into common unhappiness.”] - http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200906/happiness/2

I checked out my nice long fingernails on Saturday [before one got destroyed by stage make-up that night.] They were the perfect length and the mysterious thing is there were no ridges. When my fingernails become marked by a lateral indent, it shows me that some incident happened on a certain day - some sort of trauma. They are like rings in a tree. My fingernails show me the past. And they were long and unmarked on Saturday. Remember thinking, "My life has been pretty much trauma-free of late! yay!"

Well, yesterday's trauma is over now. So I'm examining my fingernails. There are matching indents on my pointer fingers today. They are the most "sensitive". I wonder if I just didn't notice them on Saturday. I'll keep an eye out.

Every drunk has done "drunk dialing." Normal people drunk-dial their ex's or whomever is enabling them at the time. I do something I call "angry dialing" and the victim is usually a family member; to be precise, my mother or father. I anger-dialed my mother yesterday. And she bites back. My father, as well, acts like a human when some vicious creature is hissing at him. I was behaving like the freaked animal fighting with my kitties yesterday. Ha! These cats are teaching me so much about my animal nature. Being a sober human, I remembered yesterday's anger-call to Mom and called her today to make amends. (Excuse the AA-speak) Apology accepted. Lesson: If you are angry or crying, call Mom later. Mommy can not fix your boo-boos. You are not seven years old. Work through your anger and your tears and if you want to discuss what precipitated them with your mother, call her when you are calm. Perhaps, mother doesn't need to hear your temporary crap. Try calling her with good stuff. (Like what? hun?) That's a toughie for me, b/c my folks don't like to hear "good news" about my art. Until I call to say someone is giving me a million bucks for my art, everything arts-related will continue to inexplicably tick them off. I stick to health "good news." My ill health may be a blessing (once again) b/c I have something to discuss with mom and dad. hun.

I should try to figure out what other kinds of "good news" I can share. There's a mission. Any ideas? Love life, social life? Aaaah. I can't think of anything.........

Fun Fact: When I am crying, uncontrollably, like a child - just letting it out - I sometimes will say out loud, "Mom-mee!" ...like a child! It's very interesting. I get a boo-boo on the playground (called LIFE) and I call out to an invisible "Mommy" so she can hear me cry and make it all better.

I don't think my funny "mommy" blubbering is a "bad" thing. It's interesting. I am connecting with my inner child. Children are brilliant. I also think a good cry now and again is cleansing. Nothing changes outside of me. I still got the boo-boo and the big kid still pushed me or whatever my "complaint" may be... but a good cry can clean me on the inside. Maybe. The right brain just told me that it's selfish. Maybe that's why adults try not to cry in public. There's nothing to be fixed. The past is gone and the big kid forgot s/he bumped on the swing set. Your body is just releasing tension. Mommy can't help. You know it's gonna get better. It's over. It doesn't really "hurt". Unfortunately, many adults obsess that it's going to get worse. Which is decidedly selfish. And thus my gripe with puberty and the changes that turn all humans into blazing idiots after childhood. Obsessing about what-may-be is something post-adolescents do. It makes no sense. No one can predict the future or change the past to "make it better." Listen to what your mommy said on the playground when you were seven, "Don't worry. It'll get better." Note to self: She was using the future tense. And the future is now. You know that. You are no longer a child, which may be unfortunate but it is fact. I am an adult.

Thanks mommy. I feel better today.

"[I do know] That God quotes from 'Lord of the Rings'” - Faux Maux from "My Dear John Letter"

"Are You There God? It's me, Maureen. I'm on this site using my real name." - ibid. 1st line.

Listen God. If you exist, then you can hear me. I got a lot of questions and I don't know where to start. I understand that no one is perfect. I understand that completely. So why do people get angry and hold grudges? I never said I was perfect.* I never said I was pretty either, so those people can mock me all they want!** I'm angry God. I'm wondering if the new meds just brought me up too high too fast, because that's where the anger lives, above the soul in a place some people call Hell. And they say it's down below but I think it far far above us and it hits us like lightning or covers us in a noxious cloud. Everyone goes ka-plooey and the cynicism and vengeance begin.

Even the felines. Tommy went to say good-bye to his new girlfriend and she hissed at him. And I'm crying. I'm too high. I've never had an anxiety attack before and I'm having one now. And I already have problems with my heart, so this is retarded. Crazy meds all suck, God. I think I should be my normal imperfect self, just like everyone else I know. Imperfect. When I meet a perfect person, I'll become an atheist again. AS IF! (quote - "Clueless") Thanks for listening and hearing me cry.

*I should re-write "Adam and Eve". Good idea. Peace Be Upon You, my God.

** YOU know I'm not vain. I picked something insignificant, for the trolls, ya know. I am not bothered by the comments. It's the "idea" that someone would call a deformed person ugly! That's so wrong. Maybe morality is bullshit, tho. Maybe morality is a fucking fantasy; a game that no one truly plays. All are pretenders, liars, cheaters and thieves in the game. Hissing at one another for no reason, like the cats.

I can't believe I was in the MIDDLE of a cat fight. Insane day. I miss the humans I love. The ones to whom I must say good-bye. I know they are insane but I love them.

OK. I almost called the shrink, but I think she'd commit me. Or I think I'd ask! ha!

( the scene that I wrote the other day, MY DEAR JOHN LETTER )

And Tommy says good-bye. You can't see the sadness on his face - Flickr darkened the vid.


THIS IS A HOUSE OF LOVE

I am taking a medication that was recently profiled in the New Yorker as a neuro-enhancer.

I don't know if my neuros are enhanced. I'm old. I got what I got.

It's got a "direct" mode of action like the rest of my meds, eg. insulin.

It is wildly expensive. The drug company holds the patent. No legal generics. "Hi Canada!"

To make sure I wouldn't have a bad reaction to it, I tried it one day and got a massive headache the next day. The second time, same headache. Once I began taking it everyday, no headache.

I got a buzz for the first 5 days on the medication. Now I've adjusted.

This is approved by the FDA for narcolepsy and shift-work sleep disorders. So, no. YOU can not get a script. Unless you have a neurologist.

My insurance company approved the off-label script because I can't take "normal" anti-depressants. I seem to have consistent reactions to "regular" seizure/mood meds; particularly inflammation. Other meds are off-limits because of my high blood sugars.

It's helpful rather than detrimental to my other meds (what a concept!)

This is the most amazing anti-depression pill I've ever taken. Is this how happy people feel? Wow. Neat. And no, I'm not napping every bloody afternoon. I fall asleep at a normal hour, get 8 hours. I am so normal, it's killing me.

*I do not recommend Provigil for recreational use. The headache felt like a nano-gun popping nano-bullets in my head. In the beginning, it just made me dizzy. I don't think my work improved (I write). I didn't even clean while I was adjusting. I was happy, sure, but confused. I don't see how confusion can help you with your homework. Besides, you can't afford it. 1-800-canadiandruglords.

My new niece!

Here's her astro.com report. Duh. Right on it! ( She's a Gemini! )

And for my mother, today's wonderful and wild catechism (or readings)for the day and the commentary from the dailygospel.org from... Saint Augustine! ( The Catholic Day of Sadie's birth )

The Future is Change
A
No kids.
B
We only just met.
A
I’m just saying. No kids.
B
Um… OK. Anything else?
A
I want a big party. Nothing traditional.
B
You mean, like a wedding.
A
Unofficial. A party.
B
Alright.
A
What?
B
Nothing…. Cup of tea?
A
Let’s go dancing tonight. Gotta practice!
B
We can make it a performance piece.
A
A “Wedding” show.
B
I just wrote some cool music.
A
I just built a body double, made of rubber!
B
And Chris can make the puppet.
A
He’s a great MC.
B
Dress the puppet as a priest.
A
Or a rabbi.
B
I’ve never been to Vegas.
A
I have.
B
I don’t want to go to City Hall.
A
Never been there. Never want to go.
B
Vegas?
A
City Hall, no. Vegas, yes. I have family there.
B
We’re going to Vegas.
A
Umm… OK. Anything else?

God is watching us. God is watching us. From a distance. (in my head)

...and he asked me my opinion on god. here's my attempt.

B

Do you believe in God?

M

You mean gods or just one god?

B

Whichever.

M

I believe that Jesus was a great philosopher.

B

My parents were very religious. I went to a Sabbath recently and I know all the words but i just wanted to escape. Seems to me that some are just mouthing the words while they are there and then leave and forget.

M

Funny. I know the Apostles Creed, the "I believe in one god " thing and I couldn't hep but look around at my godfather's funeral last week to see who in my family actually knew the words.

B

I really don't know much about christian stuff. I was raised in a pretty homogenous neighborhood - 98% Jewish except for the landlord's kids. When my father died, my mother asked me to pray for the dead for eleven months and a day. I did. I couldn't wait for it to over.

M

I don't really like the word, Gee oh Dee. Collective Unconscious is better.

B

(B gives M the "Gimme something better than Jung look")

M

I mean sometimes someone somewhere is making the same piece of art as I am, thinking the same thought. As an artist, I experienced this phenomenon. It's real.

(B gives M the"tired argument look".)

I've also talked to pagan gods and it was no joke. I spoke to [insert name of deity here] and...

(M spills coffee on herself)

She's a quirky goddess. I don't think she likes to be spoken of. She's a goddess of winter anyway and here we are enjoying the first flowers of spring at the Brooklyn Botans.

B

I just can't accept the idea of the next place, other places. I live in the here and now.

M
Like the higher power thing?

B

Exactly.

M

I pray. "God's will, not mine be done" is a short one that I repeat often enough, especially in crowded subways when people are anxious and shoving.

B

That's mediation.

M

Or prayer or saying a mantra. What's the difference? I'm still talking to some energy. I'm not schitzo.

B

Not yet.

M

I have enough on my plate.

B

Did the potato salad help?

M

Yes. It's too much though. Will you help?

[Side track to a discussion about food issues with his heart (He is twice my age, but takes good care of himself.) ...and my pancreas - likes and dislikes, food dialogue - food as medicine, medicine as food stuff.]

(Perhaps, a round of "My Meds", unison or in song. Lyrics: "My meds, the meds; new meds , your meds: the meds...!")

M
The creator Capital Gee Oh Dee versus the here and now god - a contemporary non-issue for me. I only went to Fordham because I was curious.... To their credit, I now believe in fairies and saints - pagan gods, ghosts and ancestors; the Angels.... I.I.I am obsessed with the the Idea, as you know from my work. Science may one day explain the "creator" issue. Science is an art too.

B

I doubt science will explain a creator god. Hey! I almost went to Fordham.

M

Really?

B

Too many Catholics.

(They laugh.)

I went to CUNY instead.

M

...Cheaper too! Jesuits are philosophers and great makers of agnostics.

B

(The curious look. Maux has finally come to her point. He knows.)

M

The Jesuits like the mystery of the creator issue. Science has it's mysteries. Scientists, seekers, inventors. Prophets, poets, men of the WORD. Here's one. Jesus said "I am god." He didn't say, "I am god and YOU are not." We are all gods.

B

I am?

M

Yes. You are a god.

I can't walk in the afternoon b/c of the swelling in my feet/legs/entire body. I waited for three hours yesterday at the walk-in clinic, only to get a pair of socks. What about the tests that my diabetes doctor suggested you would order? I have to wait to see my "real" GP across the hall - next week. My mother (later, on the phone) was seriously displeased. "Um, I'm a clinic patient patient, Mom." I also get narcoleptic when the swelling reaches it's peak (usually around mid-afternoon), so it I've been drawing - which is cool. I can't carry much, so I drew in my magazine during the 3 hour wait - after seeing the diabetes docs and getting blood drawn. I was there all day. Anything to keep my eyes open. I need to hear my name being called.

Ok, here's the cute part. The doctor's name was Maureen Kelly. Seriously.

So, I'll try to write this morning, then it's feet up, 'cause I have things to do this afternoon.

"Nobody gets Lupus" - Dr. Gregory House. I hope he's right. I'm carrying around 15 lbs of water weight and it's no fun.

And a kittie pic for Hugh

So This Is Heaven?
A
Am I dead?
God
Welcome to heaven.
A
This is heaven?
God
You got it.
A
Doesn’t look like heaven to me.
God
Got a problem?
A
It’s just not what I imagined heaven to look like.
God
This is what you said heaven would look like.
A
But it’s not what I thought… imagined…. Was told.
God
Hey. I’m no mind reader. I gave you free will.
A
And who, pray tell are you?
God
Uh… God?
A
Prove it.
God
No.
A
I don’t believe you.
God
I know. That was your little problem when you were alive.
A
You are god? You look like a drunk Christopher Hitchens.
God
Exactly what you imagined when you were alive. If you really had hoped for fields and flowers, that’s where you’d be. You were always a pesismist, missy.
A
Fine. I’d like to go to the real heaven please.
God
Nope. You get what you ask for.
A
You’re the devil. I’m in hell. This place is filthy. I’m filthy. I’m dressed in rags.
God
You imagined a Victorian Era putrid dump. I think you watched too much Masterpiece Theater. But I always provide, as promised. Pint of mead?
A
I was joking when I said Hitchens was God. I don’t believe in an actual creator guy god.
God
Would you like me to leave? (Burps) Again?
A
No, please stay. I need to find my bearings. And I’m.. ah…. I didn’t mean to, you know….
God
(Stands, paces around A) Insult me? Ha’, fuck it. You’ve been doing it all your adult life. You were a good kid… had good morals. What did you call yourself? A secular humanist? And you did some pretty fine things. You deserve to be in heaven by my account…. Aside from the over-educated, self-righteous bitch (smiles) – that was just on the outside. You done good in life. Gotta send you back though. (Your) Life’s a little unfinished. Didn’t exactly reach nirvana, now did we? (Big Burp) This is a great brew! You should try it. Made by the Prophet Mohammed, himself, Peace Be Upon Him.
A
Reincarnation. Mohammed making alcohol? This is all wrong.
God
Don’t believe everything you read. You said so yourself – whoa so many times. Dude, I gotta sit down. Shiva makes some strong opium shit. (sings “Hare Krishna)
A
Goddit. I get the joke. Can I go to heaven now?
God
You did? You got it? You’re right. It was actually, the chinaman, Houwang, who makes the good shit. Krishna sits around all day painting his ass all day!
A
Oh Lord. (To God) Not you. Um… bartender? (To unseen bartender) I’ll take a whisky. (Slug. To God) How did I die? I don’t remember.
God
Oh. You killed yourself. Minor problemo there, kiddo. That’s kinda a no-no.
A
It worked? Damn. I was just trying to get on the dole and get a decent place to live.
God
Guess you’re not as clever as you thought.
A
No one saw my email?
God
A few.
A
No one called?
God
Nope.
A
What?
God
Hey, kid. They were busy. What you doing offing yourself on a Friday night? (Gets up and dances to “Oh What A Night”.)
A
No one came over.
God
Eventually. It wasn’t too gross. In fact, it happened pretty fast. You didn’t actually die from the wounds you gave yourself. You sank in the nice bathtub you had there and drowned. Nice of you - not to make a big mess. Another reason I’m not too ticked.
A
Gee, thanks God. Glad you didn’t get angry wit’ me.
God
(Grabs her by the neck) Hey, little twit. I am God. I can get angry pretty God-damned easily. Floods, fires, plagues. What the hell DID they teach you in atheist school? That I’m a fruits and flowers guy? Jesus is the hippie. Make palsies with him, he’ll show you the groovy spots. Now you talking with the Big Guy. Got it?
A
Got it.
Gid
Good. (Sudden mood change.) Oooh, yummy. Pigs feet soup. Gotta try some.
A
Thanks. No thanks. I wanna ask you. Was it painful?
God
What?
A
My death?
God
You tell me.
A
I guess not. Life was hard though.
God
Did anyone say it wouldn’t be? You weren’t exactly working your knuckles to the bone. From my perspective, your life was kinda pansy-ass.
A
Thanks.
God
I feel you, though. No matter how much comfort a person has, few find real love-joy in life. I’m working on that one.
A
I see that.
God
You can slow down on the sarcasm.
A
Sorry. (Sigh) So what am I gonna do here?
God
Your mother lives on the corner. You can pay her a visit.
A
My mother went to church every day. Why would she be imagine this heaven to be her heaven?
God
It’s your heaven, my child and you imagined your mother here. She has a nice house, upper-class. You won’t have to work too hard, plenty of books. You can learn needlework. Go on now and enjoy eternity.
A
I thought you said I’m gonna be sent back.
God
You will.
A
When?
God
When what? I’m the decider. I am everywhere. I think I drank too much. The concept of eternity doesn’t ring a bell?
A
Well, not from an intellectual point of view. I mean… Everything runs on your terms here. Got it. And…you are everywhere at once?
God
Not if I don’t wanna. Gottit? Good. I gotta go. Gotta get me a coupla sheckles in my pocket. Have another one – on me, then go out and go meet Gaia. (to unseen bartender) later Oz.
(God leaves.)
A
Hi Oz. you know, you look like a picture I saw. Had a trident or a staff, grey hair in a ponytail. Are you Italian? (listens.) You’re who? What? (A looks to door and back at bartender. Nervous.) Wow. Columbian coffee. God, you read my mind!

The edit for "Them People": http://fauxmaux.livejournal.com/211494.html
I also made a few changes and added stage directions to Librium v. Zoloft: http://fauxmaux.livejournal.com/213615.html

Skinny and Fatty


S
It’s a beautiful day for a walk, Fatty.

F
Also a great day for a cookout.

S
Oh, Fatty. You are irredeemable.

F
Or irresponsible as my doctor says. We’re gonna have the works; hamburgers, dogs, roast chicken.

S
I can bring a salad.

F
We’ll have plenty of salad; potato salad, coleslaw. Did I mention vegetables? Corn on the cob with plenty of butter.

S
Fat, fat and more fat. I’m talking about real salad with low fat dressing.

F
Like the one you brought to the last barbeque? No one touched it.

S
I’ll throw in some olives this times.

F
Tempting.

S
Potatoes and corn are what farmers use to fatten their cows. I’ll bring veggies to barbeque as well.

F
None of those gross mushrooms again. The kids were terrified.

S
No mushrooms. Only normal vegetables, like peppers and onions. Everyone likes peppers and onions.

F
No broccoli. Shit! Air time, Skinny! (Calls to unseen.) Make-up! (To Skinny) Am I shiny? Damn Make Up Artists. Never around when you need them.

S
You look fine. Borrow my compact, princess. (To camera) Good day everyone. I am Skinny here again with my co-host, the Famous Fatty. Beautiful day today here in southern Los Angeles. I am no weather man but it will probably be another sunny day. So as to not beleager the point, it’s time to get outside and play and exercise!

F
I am having a barbeque with my family.

S
And I am going to be doing Tai Chi on the beach.

F
And then she’ll come to my BBQ with one of her infamous salads.

S
Infamous?

F
Terrifyingly healthful.

S
And that, my friends is why we are Skinny and he is Fatty.

F
You make “fat” sound like a bad word.

S
Well, folks, we have some breaking news about…. Fatty’s cholesterol.

F
Ah, yes. Well, as we spoke about a few days ago, I got tested for good and bad cholesterol.

S
And….?

F
And I’ve got both!

S
I heard your bad cholesterol was a little high.

F
Skinny can’t keep her claws off of my personal records. Yes, Skinny. So I have to eat more fiber.

S
And less fat.

F
Nope. Doctor said nothing about that. I ate three bowls of super-fibrous cereal this morning. I am on my way!

S
Three bowls of cereal! That’s too many calories. Too much sugar!

F
What is it, Skin? Calories or fat? What is the bigger bug up your ass?

S
I think it’s calories. Err… both! Everything should be eaten in moderation.

F
But we should eat, right?

S
Of course.

F
Well, my dear. What say you, folks? I think Skinny – here - is a bit too skinny! What do you think? (You can text your votes to 555-ANO.) I promise you, if I don’t see Skinny chowing down on a juicy pork chop this evening, our relationship is over.

S
Oh goody. So he’ll be quitting the show!

F
Tune in tomorrow, folks. We’ve scheduled an expert on anorexia. We’ll see if we can get this Skinny bitch to eat!

S
CUT! Cut! Cut! That was not part of today’s show.

F
Well, it is now. See you tonight. And no vegetables, OK? Oh... and unless you plan on baking a pie with real sugar, no fruit!

S
Sure thing Fatty. Fiber and Fat. I’ll bring the nuts.

F
I got a sack right here, babee.

Who is the censure of my thoughts? Who is the censure of yours? Only you and your thoughts. Free will.

The censure of my thoughts: me.

Did you miss the 'ole me? - the one who spoke about her every emotion as if anyone cared and cared less about what you thought? maybe.

Well, in a strange twist of "God fuckin' wit me," I'm a serious case of writers' block of late and have had this window open for 2 days. I finally (today) decided to dish.

I freaked at the therapist office yesterday, the day after I got some hippie-dippie physical therapy. The therapist said I shouldn't do the physical therapy. I'm thinking I should take a time out on the the talk therapy. I can't afford both. I am trapped and bored with life, since my body won't cooperate with me and my brain is still not "clear," ie. I'm not an operating Thetan yet.

Right. I've been spending too much time on the interwob. I'm enthralled with the sarcastic nonsense at here. I know you know all about it. I am always late for the party/culturally backward. Except when it comes to fashion. huh. I gave that up too.

Too? I'm not giving up. I just need to get out of town. I was supposed to go on a trip in March. Never happened. Leaving NYC for a while always makes the heart grow fonder. Last night, I was in the buttcrack of the South Slope telling some dude on my ciggie break that I was feeling suffocated by the city and he agreed.

SIDE NOTE: When everyone started losing their jobs a few months ago, I made fun of the "confused-looking yuppies wandering around with their Starbucks refills." Yesterday, the silence and stillness and almost emptiness of the city was terrifying. The shock and awe is over. Feels like 2002. What's next? Maybe I'm just feeling the vibe.

I gotta call the therapist and tell her I need a time-out. I need physical therapy more and if some emotions are released, then all the better. Amirite?

NYC can still be fun, esp. when the MOMA kicks out artists!

War and Peace
From whence it all began: my family.
Dad: “I think it’s funny, but why don’t you write War and Peace?”
Me: (Devastated)

Four months later.
Me: “I just wrote two plays, Mom.”
Mom: “Why don’t you take a writing class?

Idea for a story: I am Peter Pan or Pietra Pan as I can never grow up. Tho, Peter Pan might be fine, since women play the part.

My childhood is a bit foggy like everything else in my cheeseball memory. I do remember the fighting, the insults thrown about. I remember having my dreams crushed at the age of 28 when my father declared that my little brother was the “funniest” in the family. He knew that I was at comedy clubs every night and working on my “tight six” every day. Sucker punch. Parents always win.

So: War and Peace. What have I to say on the subject? There were certainly a lot of battles in my home. There are certainly a lot of battles in my brain. There is the constant battle for forgiveness. All I ask is that the insults cease and desist.

“We told you to do that.” No, Mom, you didn’t. Thank you. Thank you very much. You take credit for good decisions and are a bit lax on the other stuff.

Maybe I should rename my memoir “War and Peace” as a nudge to my father. Nothing compares to the battle with my illnesses at this point in my life. Except, of course, when a parent throws an insult my way.
Feh.

L
(steps into the ring)
One drop is all I got. One feed is all you need. C’mon my people. Librium. Librium. Oooh. Librium!

Z
(Enters ring)
One Z for all your needs. Your boyfriend dumps you? I’m there for your needs. Zoloft. Zoloft!

L
That weakest pill in your cabinet will pay. Zoloft isn’t even a drug. It’s a placebo, people. Lay your bets on the one true, mood stabilizing “you know who!” Librium. Lemme hear ya! Librium!

Z
("cheating" in front of Librium, crouched)
My people are not clinically insane. They also don’t need a nurse to give them meds twice a day. Z, Z, Z, Zoloft. Let’s hear it for my fans! Zoloft!

L
Pussy pill.
(Pushes Z to the floor.)

Z
(on knees in front of L)
Addiction! Addictive!

L
Whoa. Zoloft called me addictive. Oooh. That’s like soooo harsh, Zoloft. Never heard of drug being called addictive before! (Laughs) I help people get over addictions. I do the job. What do you do? Right. You make people “dependent.” Not addiction. Lovely little word game, kiddo.

Z
There’s no risk of dependency according to the FDA.
(Fist pump from the floor.)

L
FDA! Holla holla for the integrity of the FDA! C’mon Happy Pill, let’s get this match started.
(Helps Z stand up.)

Z
(Head scratch. Z and L are side by side.)
You know it takes me a few weeks to be fully effective.

L
Stop it with the delays, Zoloft. I've waited long enough. No drug takes a few weeks except for placebo pills. So you and your little “unhappy campers” can get over your damn selves and let’s get it on.
(L crouches and facing Z, gets in fight position)

Z
Fine. No, no. I’m ready. I’m gonna take you down, you nasty narcotic.
(Belly bump.)

L
You did? You didn’t.

Z
I did. Studies conclude if more people were on me, they wouldn’t end up needing you and your immediate high.
(more belly bumps.)

L
I don’t make people high. I make them calm. Most of them are sleeping right now. Look around you.

Z
(Scans audience.)
Those are you fans? Thought they were zombies or homeless.

L
Bring it on, suicide pill. Your people may be awake, but they are scheming and planning. Writing their last wills. Scribbling their pathetic little notes.
(More gestures to fans.)

Z
Yeah? Yeah? Is that how we’re playing, Librium?
(Poke.)
Too bad, I’m non-toxic and it would take the likes of you to kill. Kill. Kill.
(3 pokes)

L
I am no killer. I am administered under medical supervision.

Z
Then they are sent home with your youngster, Lithium. Oops. Another one gobbles the bottle!
(Makes choking/dying gesture.)

L
I save people. After a coupla bottles of me, they are clean and dry... You... Suicide pill. That’s what your mob boss pal, the FDA says…. SU-I-CIDE!
(Full Nelson)

Z
I can’t be responsible if I am improperly dispensed.
(On the floor having a seizure.)

L
So you admit it. You’re losing, Zoloft. I got you on the mat!

Z
You outdated drug of last resort….
(still seizuring)

L
I am no narcotic. I help people even to get off narcotics!
(Pulls Z off floor)

Z
Bring on the irony, Librium. You are rarely even used.

L
I am not munched like candy by an overstressed, magic-pill-seeking public. Doctors appreciate my power.

Z
A million scripts to one.

L
You greedy little suicide-driving bastard.
(Z gets L in a headlock and L falls to the floor.)
Aaah! (whispers) What was that? You hurt me. Dumbass cheating bastard of a non-drug.

Z
I’m the winner! (Foot on L's stomach.) Who is sad and depressed now, huh, Lib? I’m Number One. (To unseen referee.) Huh? What? What do you mean… the match is tied? I got Librium in a lock! So there were a few good moves. I’m the winner. Please. Please, ref? I beg you… let me be the winner. (cries)

L
Oh, poor Zoloft. Here, meet my step-child, Xanax. Very comforting. With immediate effect! Good match, tho. Stop blubbering, Zoloft. Your cousins are here, Prozac and Effexor.

Z
Fuck them. Useless twats.

L
Too bad they can’t help you in the short-term. Alright, I’ll lend you Valium for the night.

Z
Ooh, Valll-i-Yum!

L
I expect her home by dinner. Good night everyone. And remember to love the drug that loves you back!

Z
(Sheepishly to unseen Valium)
Huhuh-Hi. Valium. (smiles)

Profiles in Timidity #1 “Love Your Neighbor”

I am told that I am brave. My courage is admired. I don’t contradict. I am fearless about life. I am not afraid of pain or money or tomorrow. I don’t fear death. I never have. It never made sense to me that it should be something to fear. It seems normal and natural. Then again, I was there a few times and back. Though it may just be some weird mental breakdown, it feels very pleasant. You are calm. All your worries are gone. There is no tomorrow. Only the NOW, that the gurus all over the world have been trying to bang into our thick human skulls for millennium after millennium.

I am mostly afraid of YOU. Other humans. You are my greatest fear. You will judge me. You will talk about me. I will be counted and measured along some line of social status that could never ever please my ego. I can be the life of the party, but I still have to go home and wonder if I didn’t say something stupid or accidentally intimidate someone. You heard that right. I am a cowardly intimidator. I take up too much space in a room, not because I am oversized but because my personality is oversized.

I make people laugh because my fear needs to please. Laughter is a pleasant sensation, right? I mock myself, not to attract any sort of attention but to flatter the listener. I flatter. I confess. I am a one of those – an unrepentant flatterer. I try not to lie. In fact, I really don’t. I can easily find where your ego doesn’t match your ability and flatter, flatter, flatter. Some of you believe me. Some of you don’t. It doesn’t matter. I know you have skills/talents you are not using and I simply point them out. Again, I go home and wonder if the person who was overwhelmed by my flattery hates me. Nobody likes a liar. I certainly don’t.

I am not afraid of the other kind of you, the one I don’t know. The schmuck who pisses me off. Try me, baby. I have no fear. You go ahead and try. Sure, I cried after the cab driver locked the door and attacked me in his cab demanding eight bucks to drive three blocks. That’s just trauma and dammit, that particular schmuck could have really hurt me. The next time it happens, I won’t get mauled. I am angry that a man would hurt a woman with a cane. Next time, next time. I know. I’ll step outside the car first. That’s right. Fearless.

Ever heard of love your neighbor as yourself? I heard about a guy named Moses who said something like that. I wonder if I really know what it means. It seems simple enough, but I have to wonder if I’m incapable of loving myself or most of the world has never heard of the famous aphorism. How deep is my love…. for me?

How could the doctor lie to me? Can the doctor be trusted? I don’t know about you, but in my experience, very few doctors can be trusted. They don’t care about me. They do what seems to be the simplest route to get you out of their office. Any doctor who assures you that he/she knows anything is a liar. A liar is worse that a crazed cabbie. In the latter case, at least, you know who is wrong. A liar with initials after his name is someone to fear. Would they give the same quality of care someone they love? No. Do they love their neighbors any more than the cabbie? After 10 plus years of school and pressure of trying to run a medical practice, I would imagine any sort of idealism they once had in college would have worn off. They would be a ‘Doctore Sans Frontiers’ if they had an ounce of love for humanity left. Now they are simply businessmen with titles and framed diplomas on their wall.

I don’t fear the salesman. I know he is a liar and I play along. It’s fun. I don’t fear the supermarket. Everyone who works in a supermarket is susceptible to flattery. Besides it’s fun to flirt with the deli guy. I fear restaurant employees. I flatter and cajole and try to be as kindly and polite as I possible. And I tip. A good tip. Nowadays that goes for airline personnel. They are in control. I am not flying the plane. I always need a few extra tiny pillows for my back. And I applaud every landing. I would make it a standing O if it were allowed.

I don’t fear God, though I probably should. I have received my punishment and will continue to receive it. I try to play by the rules. Sometimes I break them. And I accept my punishment which sometimes comes in the form of a cab-driver who locks the doors and attempts to assault me.

I don’t fear banks or credit card lenders. I don’t even fear those pesty bill collection agents who call once a week. I pay my bills and I don’t pay when I feel I have be defrauded, so keep on calling Smart Energy! Bring it on!

I only fear those whom I love. That includes my family. That includes my friends. It also includes my cats. When they first came to live with me, to call them skittish would be an understatement. They had been abused for six months, caged and underfed and left in a drafty attic. Maybe I was being idealistic (hah) but I thought we could relate. I don’t trust humans either, even though I have never been caged except by the fear in my own mind. I had to rescue them. You would too. One year later they are slightly less freaked out by other humans who come to visit. They snuggle next to my hips so I have to reach to pet them, but they love their pets. They purr. They demand food. I keep clean water. They are never alone for more then eight hours and I feed them whenever they beg. Yes. They are fat already. I have learned the art of giving them treats in between meals. They get wet food and vitamins. They have an incurable virus, so we are stuck with one another. If I come home crying after a miserable cab-driving adventure or miserable doctor’s visit, they stare. But when I calm down and pet them and they purr, I feel better. I am their “Me” because I am not their mother. I am the one who feeds, treats, pets and cleans the litter box. Basically, I’m the maid. The maid who loves them. It really doesn’t matter if they love me back.

I fear anyone I am trying to impress, and that is everyone I know by name; friends, family, co-workers and the mailman. I don’t want my mail mysteriously getting lost. I can’t have my family turn on me or yell at me. My family still yells at me, but I rarely yell back. What’s the point? Retaliating is contradicting and contradicting means I am not doing what I am told and since I never really do what I’m told, I just let them think that I do. I go to work and am nice to the idiot beside me or pretend that I am so very busy. I don’t gossip. Gossip is the best way to make yourself the target of a social assassination plot. I was once the “victim” of a year-long gossip vendetta. It was appalling. It was cruel. But now I am the one who gets an earful of gossip about the perpetrator. I get the scrunched-up “I don’t get it” look when I defend the gossiper. “No one is perfect,” I’ll say and try to change the subject. Sometimes I’ll explain that I really am through with it. I actually feel bad for the guy (yes, men gossip more than females in my life). He’s getting it good now. By not retaliating, I am the winner. I’m not sure exactly what was said, because when you are the subject of gossip, people just stare or avoid you. Who knows? Maybe he wasn’t too far off in what he was saying. There just comes a limit when “thou dost protest too much” and the object of your gossip no longer seems to match up to your spiteful words. This wasn’t the first time I’ve been involved in a gossip campaign. I just think I handled it better this time.

I really want you to like me, the shy little me. But somewhere along my journey through life, I was told not to be a party pooper, so I make jokes. I listen to you. I take your side, even when I don’t understand. I feel that listening is enough. Isn’t it? Tell me that it is. I often offer counsel that some have told me is helpful. You flatter! I am not being helpful. It’s a game of bullshit that we play back and forth, one shy soul to another. We are all alone. We just want to be liked. Just like me, you are a solitary human. Let’s be friends… …in real life (IRL) – not just on the computer. I bought this thing to write - not to make picture profile friends. I may be clever on the computer, but I know next-to-nothing about contemporary culture or art or movies or music. I only know New York theater. You can help me with that. I like to learn. If you like to teach, I can be a great listener/student. You will have my rapt attention. Speak slowly. Sometimes it takes me awhile. Will you be my friend?

I am tired of being alone. (I DO know that song. I forgot who wrote it. Sorry. Am I boring you already? I hope not.) Then again, I am used to it. I’m not sure I enjoyed those brief moment of popularity that I achieved. Too many phone calls. Too much itching. I can hear you talking about me. Popularity means you become a subject, an object, not too dissimilar from being a victim of gossip. In my solitary life, the only people I have to please are my three friends, my family and my cats. I want more friends. I don’t want more friends. It’s a very curious dilemma. Maybe the icons on the computer are good for me. I can be helpful. I can flatter you… honestly, I promise. I can be your “friend” but I don’t have to spend all day on the phone. I have things to do. I have writing to get done. I have to cook dinner. I have doctors to see. I have to feed my cats and pet them regularly. I often thought of living on a commune where I could be alone but not alone. I may end up there one day. I might finally figure out how to love my neighbor and myself.

And so I said to the guy, “Hey guy,…” and before I could get the words out of my mouth, he says to me, “I prefer not to be called that.” What? Guy? “Yes.” He doesn’t like the word, guy! I’m thinking maybe he’s homophobic and it sounds too much like gay, but he was serious. “My name is not Guy.” OK, dude, I joked and he grimaced. Mister? “I think I’ve have enough,” he says. When was ‘mister’ anything less than polite? So, I said “Look male homo sapien, I just need you to move a little further into the car. I don’t know what kind of PC trip you are on and I don’t care. So move out of the way and let the people in.” My little lecture only pissed him off even more. He wouldn’t budge from leaning on the pole in the train. So I took my girlie index finger and gently pulled by the crook of his arm. Next thing you know he starts screaming, “I am being assaulted. Assault. Assault!” The subway car was so crowded, no one could see and likely, no one really cared. It was an end of the day commute. Miserable, tired and cranky humans. I took a good look at this guy, male-person, whatever. I am no judge of fashion, especially suits, but he was smartly dressed, well-coiffed and carried a laptop man-bag which was more manly than most man bags. I determined this uhh… person to be someone of taste and maybe even hold a good job. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been fired that day for calling a co-worker “honey” or “babe.” Pity was there but so was my anger. By claiming that I assaulted him, in reality, he was assaulting me. Right? So the good cheer was over. In response to his freak-out, I asked him, “Are you a lawyer?” No. I didn’t think so. I did not assault you and I can have you arrested for creating a public disturbance, so, what’s your decision, friend (thought it was a not-so neutral, but inoffensive word)? Are you gonna move or what? “No,” he said. “And I am not your friend.” Well that much is clear. I confess that I thought about giving the guy a good kick in the shins, but I moved away, put on my iTunes and let other people deal with the crazed PC guy.