Rosa's Birthday...

Who guessed I was up late last night? (A shiny, new penny for you!)

Last night was rehearsal for this train wreck of a staged reading I'm in. My god! If this woman ever directed before, it must have been children. Blind children. Stillborn, blind children. Because those are the only people who wouldn't immediately look at her and ask, "What the fuck are you on?!"

She seems to think that this little one-act, family comedy is Fellini! Everything has to represent something! We aren't dressing as the characters but in all black! She has us standing and sitting at strange moments - because she thinks it symbolizes something! Here's one: she's asking one actress to pretend to be driving - because she's "supposed to be upwardly mobile". She's a fucking freak!

By 10:30 last night, I had to get out of there. I mean, I'm a big supporter of the old, "The director's in charge" rule, but this woman is an idiot! After a while, I could no longer hold my tongue. (The writer, Eric, is too nice to say anything directly and kept making suggestions, which she wasn't hearing!) So, I started challenging her - over and over - but it didn't take. I'd say, "Look, if the actors don't know what the hell's going on, the audience isn't going to, either." She'd reply, "Oh, but it represents the meaning behind the play. Don't you think so, Eric?" Eric would answer, "There really isn't a meaning behind the play." "Sure there is," she'd insist, shutting him up.

After I left, I went home. I had to sign the birthday card I'd bought earlier that night. Yes, I bought Rosa a birthday card. Maybe I shouldn't have, but it would feel unnatural not to. I can't explain it; I know it doesn't make sense in the face of Rosa's monumental apathy. (Rosa couldn't be more apathetic if she was dead.) But, oh well.

I went home, finished watching "The Thin Man" over a couple of cigs, and signed her card. I even included the two paw-prints, signifying Bandoo and Alacrity's signatures. It used to be three paw-prints for the two cats and our dog, Chloe. But, of course, Rosa wouldn't allow Chloe in my life any more than her, so there went that paw-print.

By the time I drove to her house, at 1am, I was exhausted. I've been more tired lately; I think it's the depression. Thankfully, there was no traffic that late/early... with not a sole on her street. I pulled up in front of her house, turned off my lights. Standing outside of her house, I was struck by how much the neighborhood felt like a graveyard. Maybe it was the hour. Maybe it was the similarity of the buildings, standing like tombstones - and how all the trees were leafless, dead.

I put the card in her mailbox. Will she read it? Who knows?

This was my house, where I'd spent five years of my life with the woman I loved, for all that was worth. Now, it felt sterile, as if the memories had been sandblasted away. It was a mausoleum in the midst of a huge graveyard, where pieces of my life were laid to rest.

But, like any good graveyard, there are always ghosts.

I drove away. Went home. And didn't get to sleep for quite some time.