IT

                                                                            IT

“It’s been like a disease.  I hate the whole idea of it.  From day one I have been sick from it.  From day the first it has been a disease.”

     “Yea, well, it’s not like you can do anything about it.”

     “I can hate it.  That’s doing something.”

     “Maybe for you.  Not for me, or for anyone else.”

     “In the end, who cares about anyone else.  I mean, if hating it keeps me from getting ulcers, then it’s done some good.”

     “It’s all an illusion, nothing more.”

     “So what?  You mean most people most of the time aren’t living illusions?  Are you nuts?”

     “No!  What do you mean ‘living illusions’?”

     “I mean just what you mean.  Why, everything people believe—you think there is any reality to any of it?  The whole idea of ‘God?’ of ‘class?’ of ‘freedom?’ of ‘justice?’ all those stupidities?  They’re all illusions.  ‘Responsibility?’ ha!  ‘Glory?’ ‘heroism?’ ‘heroes?’ all that muck?  It’s enough to make one sick.”

     “You’re just ranting.  Tomorrow you’ll say how desperately you love it all.  How we all of us need to live.  God, I can’t stand it when you get like this.”

     “I can’t see it.  No, I can’t.  You want to know what else is an illusion?  You.  Me.  You, who think you are an independent woman, in control of your life.  And me, living like this.  Like anything we had ever mattered.  No.  I have been, we both have been duped.  You more than me.  But me, too.”

     “I hate it when you talk like this.”

     “It’s true!  You hate the truth!  So what else is there?  There is the truth and there is the illusion.  When you can’t live with the truth, you take the illusion for all it’s worth, but when you can’t take the illusion any more, then you’re damned.  Then it’s all up.  You see through to the truth ‘in’ things, the truth ‘in fact,’ if that means anything.”

     “My God, you’re ranting.  OK, if it makes you feel better, rant.  I can stand it.  I can stand it until I leave for work.  I don’t think I will be able to stand it if you’re still ranting when I come home this evening.  Look, get out of the house today.  Go somewhere, do something.  Do something useful.  When you stay home, you get like this, and neither of us can stand it when you do.”

     “And just what the hell are we going to do when you lose your job, too.  When it’s both of us home, this house, those cars.  This house.  Look at it.  Already we can’t afford it, and we can’t sell it.”

     “I’m not going to lose my job.  I’ve just been moved up, remember?  I’m making more, now.  Ok. Ok.  I know.  I’m not making what we were both bringing home, but I’m not doing bad.  We’re not going to lose the house.  And besides, sooner or later you’re gonna get back.  Get out for the day.  Be glad I’m working and stop comparing, harassing.  For God’s sake, you drive me nuts when you do that.  Will you look at yourself?  Pacing the floor?  Your shirt hanging out in the back?  You look deranged.  I have to leave.  Mmm.  Good coffee this morning.  Calm down, will you?  Go out.  Take my advice.  Goodbye.  Kiss kiss?  See you tonight.  Don’t be hard on yourself. . . .”