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“Because everyone in the comedy scene has daddy issues. It might as well be a rule. And girls with daddy issues know how to party. But guys with daddy issues? They’re just mean.” She gives a disappointed shake of her head. “Fuckin’ dads, Margie. They ruin everything…”
“The only action I want is for someone to pick up my bills for the month.
Fucking grief. Fucking stupid, unpredictable, illogical, unhelpful grief.
Fucking LA. Fucking stupid, lonely, superficial, friendless town.
Conspiracy theories are basically just fairy tales for adults, aren’t they?
Good for you, Mona. I’m sooooooo glad your little Bradley just made attending neurosurgeon at the hospital he spends 23.75 hours of every day at. Big fuckin’ whoop. A rich white kid raised by two rich white parents got a promotion. Quelle surprise.
The truth is, nowadays, mass shootings are so common they’re more useful to bury attention than gain it. You could basically call any massacre a mass shooting, and within a day or two, most Americans will have digested it and shit it out without so much as a faint aftertaste. It’s like money laundering but for slaughter.
“I know it, kiddo. I don’t like it either. And you know what? I’m still scared most of the time. I’m just like you.” “You are?” “Oh yeah. I’m always scared of stuff. You get to be a certain age and they stop calling it scared and start calling it anxiety. But it’s all the same. Sometimes I even get so scared I accidentally make the thing I’m scared of come true too.”
Nobody hides like tears, she realizes. We could learn a thing or two from them.
Love is a shape-shifting monster, she thinks, dizzy and horrified and exhausted and devastated. A werewolf with a bottomless stomach.
Our parents define so many things, she thinks. Love. Hate. Fear. Provider. Abuser. Abandoner. Monster. Mirror. They metamorphose. They mutate. They change. They are fairy tales with inscrutable illustrations.
Is that possible? To live in this world and not scare yourself to death? To feel turbulence and not imagine the plane going down? To experience hope as a grown-up with the same clarity a child feels terror? How do you not call forth the things that will devour you and give them teeth? How do you protect? Especially when the danger is you?
