A Relationship

“I can’t take it anymore!” Nell screamed. “I just can’t! I don’t know what I can do anymore, I really don’t!” She was at her wit’s end. It had gone on for far too long, and she had no idea how she’d let things get to this point. “What more do you want me to do for you, huh? What more can I do to please you? I can never win with you, you know that? It’s a lose-lose situation, no matter what I do!”

She huffed, and paced, walking from one side of the┬ácarpeted┬áliving room to the other. Her hands clasped behind her back, she tried to calm down a little. “Is there something I can be doing that I’m not? Tell me – is there? I’ll honestly do whatever it takes. I’ve been with you too long to give you up, even though I’m this close,” she held up her hand, forefinger and thumb almost touching, she was holding them so near. “But I’m not going to run from this – relationships are something you need to work on, everyone says so.”

Continuing to pace, Nell waited. And waited. The silence lingered. She burst out again, unable to restrain herself. “But how can I make you happy if you don’t tell me how?! I feed you, I clothe you, I bathe you – I take care of you, damn it! But you keep saying it’s not enough! I try to do things for you, I really do, I swear I do!”

Tears now stained her face. Her voice broke and she sat down heavily on the couch, pulled her legs up and hugged them tightly to her chest. “Tell me, please, I beg you, tell me what I can do,” she was rocking back and forth, sobbing, her anger evaporated. Only a deep, heavy sadness remained. “Please… please tell me… Tell me how I can make you happy – I’ll do anything, I swear, I promise, I really will,” she looked up imploringly, her eyes two pools of salt-water, pleading, waiting for an answer.

There was no one else there.

Pity Party Poetry

Would you say a pity party

Is exactly what you need?

Pity parties are always on,

Always around, you know.

Pity parties can be a damn good time

If you know when to flow

But also when to go.

Pity parties can be flashy,

Full of drama and tears and moans.

But pity parties can be quiet, too,

Self-contained, strangled, alone.

Pity parties are partly parties

Perhaps because they’re pretty?

But no, that’s wrong, they’re pity parties,

Not some dance-a-roo.

Although, who knows?

Some may be. Maybe some people dance.

Maybe they dance and pity around,

Like doing the Hokey-Pokey.

They put their common sense in,

They take the sadness out,

They keep the sadness with them then,

And that’s what it’s all about.

Right?

Yeah, Ok, And I’m Queen Elizabeth

Liars, unreasonable liars, make me cringe. Everyone tells the occasional white lie, either out of politeness [“Oh, that hat is so cool!”] or out of laziness [“Yeah, I promise I’ll clean my room today.”] But people who lie to impress give me shivers of such intense annoyance, I can’t even explain it. I know my response is exaggerated – let them lie, right? Let them tell me whatever they want to impress me, I can just smile and nod and know it’s not true.

What gets to me, though, is that I want to shake them until they tell me WHY they’re lying. I had a friend in junior high who used to tell me and my friends that her uncle knew the whole cast of this Argentinian soap-opera that was big here. She went on and on about how they’d come to Israel just to meet her in a hotel in Eilat [it’s the supposed “resort city” of Israel.]

I’ve known other people who do this since then as well. But WHY must they do it? I don’t CARE if your uncle knows someone famous, it’s not going to make me like YOU any better! The world is a cruel, cruel place if people feel they need to lie and brag about their family connections just to give themselves worth.

But then we all know that already, I guess.