The Forbidden Show

I was watching the Forbidden show again today, mostly because I'm procrastinating. The thesis, unfortunately, refuses to write itself. Anyway, I found myself marvelling at how many relationships these women have been in and out of. Relationship of which out and in they have been??? Sorry. Back to the point, which is not prepositions. They bounce back from heartbreak in this amazing fashion, as if it's nothing more than going from breakfast to lunch to dinner. And here I am, stuck at lunch. Or after lunch, as the case may be. Starving for food and not getting any, because I'm still thinking about lunch.

I thought, if there was a show mimicking my life, it would be pretty boring. There would be no steamy love affairs, no flirting, no dates, no nothing. It would be a woman going from here to there and back again. It would be long looks and downcast eyes; inwardly sad moments and disappointments. And don't forget the self-loathing. There would be plenty of that. Plus a hint of self-righteousness. This is the life I lead. Listening to bluesy Billie Holiday songs and bitter, pleading Nina Simone tunes. Laying in bed at two in the afternoon. Rifling through clothes that will never make a difference. Deep sighs and long escapist showers. Staring at burning candles to induce sleep. Strange dreams. Staring at old paintings. Obsessive worrying. That is the show. Good thing no one has to watch it.