All down

Every leaf came down today. As if by conspiracy or prior arrangement. A Jonestown drop. Sitting in the back room (the only furnished room in the house but let's not beat a dead horse), I could HEAR the leaves falling onto the deck a small clicking sound. A tiny death. Except all together, the death is not at all small. It is not at all insignificant. The yellow in my trees is gone, and they are once again skeletal, and will remain so for far too long, their fingers stretching toward my window. And the wires, too. I can see the wires.
I'm walking along one today, balancing my bare feet on the rubber that holds me just above abusive mother and just to the left of maniac. Or is it the right?
Behind the walls of this house, I am a woman on the verge of something mightily unpleasant. Not so much outside. "So nice... so nice..."
Children become well-versed in the art of facade when their parents are good upstanding citizens. children of high school principals know this well. Children of preachers. And children of simply good men, who are well-respected in the community by day, who turn into an entirely different force at night, at home, amidst their own people. Behind these walls, I am maniacal. churlish. Moody. petty, and mightily pissed off.
Today, the New York Times Magazine featured an ad that featured a recumbent Andre Aggassi and his lovely Steffi Graf. In repose. All love and comfort and soul matey. hurrah. "Room 26 New York" the ad said. As if the photo had done what photos do best: captured a raw and priceless moment - captured reality.

except. the newspaper by the bed on which they lay, their noses almost touching - was bent to the national sports page, and their luggage was showing all nearby, as if they couldn't bear to be apart from it. It was all a set up. Believe this the ad seems to say. Believe that Love is the Greatest Journey. And Believe that they have IT. We'll make you believe, by showing you the TRUTH. LIvE. Diorama style.

am not bitter. Am Not!