Dreama’s Diary–November 4
Someone on TV once said that an affair is like fine wine on sale. You quickly give in before you lose such a good deal. You know you shouldn’t, but you can’t pass it up. You believe it to be an achievable gold mine and it ends up being cheap after all.
My mom still dreams about fine wine. I see her parting the sea-foam green drapes, her eyes clawing for recognition from somebody somewhere. Who he is, I don’t know. She pretends to see if the grass needs cutting or if she turned out the car lights, but I know the truth. She is looking for a neighbor. I have inherited the disorder, the madness called obsession. Sometimes I wish I had never known such a thing, but if it weren’t for obsession or genius tingeing on the verge of madness, how could such a great piece of art, music or literature ever been created? If we medicated every great passion, we could not reach those other realms through the highs and the lows of our desire; the heavens and the hells of our choices. It is here, in the light and in the darkness that we find and lose ourselves, and do it all over again. It is what we do with this spiritual fuel that determines if we create beauty like Van Gogh did, or like him, be remembered for cutting off our ear. Swim with tides, but have some sense to avoid the deep end.
My dad will be in Germany for a few more months. He and my mom are still married. They can’t be together without fighting and yet they mourn about the separation. Is this my fate with Henry?