A post in which I continue to whine*

I just couldn't face the world today. I just couldn't.

I watched a bunch of stuff on TCM. Autumn Leaves, an old Joan Crawford tear-jerker in which she plays an angelic wife to a man who is crazy . He was hot - and 20 years her junior (Cliff Robertson). Leave it to Joan. She was 51 when this movie was made, and despite the black and white, the careful camera angles, and the makeup, she looked old. Her drinking had started showing in her looks and she was becoming a caricature of herself with the big lips and eyebrows. **spoiler alert** It was pretty difficult to see her as a typist who had given up her youth to nurse her dying father. But after she finishes getting her husband committed, he is touchingly grateful upon his release,and they end up with the big Romantic Ending - on the grounds of the sanitarium yet. Of course it doesn't work that way in real life.

Next was Night of the Iguana, with Richard Burton cast as a straying alcoholic priest (yeah, really, a priest) interacting with a group of Christian women for whom he is acting as tour guide on a bus vacation of Mexico. Yeah, that sounds like fun. Unsurprisingly, it was pretty grim. Since the Lolita of the group (who provided dramatic tension, among other kinds of tension, for Burton's character) wasn't very compelling to me, I fell asleep. It was kind of a negative of Rain.

I woke up in time to see Goodbye Again, in which Ingrid Bergman has a fling with a younger Anthony Perkins because her unfaithful long-time lover is ignoring her. **spoiler alert** She breaks the young guy's heart (yeah right, he said cynically) because he's kind of shiftless, and goes back to her old droopy-lipped French philanderer, only to have him start ignoring her again once he had her back. The movie closes with here facing her mirror and removing her makeup (a scene later resurrected heart-stoppingly by Glenn Close in Dangerous Liaisons) and visibly reflecting on what the dead-end prospects faced by a middle-aged woman either way. Yeah that was a real pick-me-up.

The actual Lolita was coming on later in the day, but a) I felt as if I had wallowed in quite enough cynicism and decadence for one day; and b) at some point I had to get ready to go to Spartanburg. I turned of the TV, and put in the A&E version of Pride and Prejudice for a dramatic renewal of innocence and hope. Listening to that, I straightened up the house a bit, deep-cleaned the bathroom (which desperately needed it), and set off for Justin's.

I didn't want to go. I'm going back into that place where it hurts for people to look at me. I would much rather have stayed home curled up in the bed. But I had promised Justin. Plus his graduation is coming up and I wanted to take him to dinner at least, since I'm not going to the ceremony. I also decided that I really needed to get out of the house.

Which I did. When I got there, Justin and Amanda showed me clips on YouTube of the show America's Got Talent. I don't do reality TV, but some of the people were surprisingly good. My favorite, hands down though, was the yodelling dominatrix, Manuela Horn. If this woman doesn't put a smile on your face you just ain't trying; although I couldn't help thinking that Miss Kat would just NOT approve. She did kind of make a mockery of BDSM by using the clothes as a gimmick to get on TV. No way would they have put her on if she hadn't made a novelty of herself, however talented her yodelling was.

After the videos came the Presenting of Gifts. Justin had found a Colonial sugar bowl lid in crystal for 50 cents (!!), and picked it up for me to just use with my spooner. That was pretty cool. He also got me a Raindrops whiskey glass, and a small reproduction Cameo pitcher in yellow from the "child's set" they made later. There were actual child's sets in some patterns, but none was ever made in Cameo, which is one of the most popular patterns. Of course those enterprising Chinese were going to fix that. It is cute though.

Raindrops "Optic Design" (how's that for a stupid common name? - I bet no one ever uses it) 1 7/8" 1 oz. whiskey tumbler in green by Federal Glass Company, circa 1929 - 1933

After the glass was examined and Justin showed me his new stuff, Amanda left for home and we left for dinner. We went to Miyako downtown, where we have been several times before. They were unexpectedly busy for a Tuesday night, but we got a table. Our food took a long time to get there, but when we got it it was excellent. Justin kept up a constant stream of lively chatter about student teaching, etc. It was a pleasant meal.

When we got back to his place he called James and Jeff and they came up to visit for a while. It was good to see them.

Eventually, it just got late and I had to head for home. I have the day from hell ahead of me at the office tomorrow.

*** OK - if you can't read personal shit without freaking out, overreacting, or engaging in fag drama - DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IN THIS POST!! I'm not going anywhere folks. However attractive and sensible it may seem at the moment, I am emphatically NOT suicidal, and will be highly pissed at anyone making histrionic phone calls, becoming angry, or telling someone else that I am. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!***

On the way home tonight, I really just thought, what the fuck? Why am I hanging around? The miles of empty highway stretched before me like the years of empty life coming up. What's left? 25 more years of working at a job I hate, or another job I hate. Watching my weight (most likely watching it go up). Paying the mortgage on a house that needs constant upkeep and maintenance I can ill afford. Cleaning the cat box. Going out on dates with losers - as long as I can get dates that is. Getting older. Feeling worse. Either being alone, or continuing to try to market product long past the sell-by date, and for which there is apparently very limited demand. Loneliness. The years alone - the weight of them just seems too much to bear. Saving money in the hopes that, to quote Drop Dead Gorgeous, I'll be lucky enough to ride out my final years in a raisin ranch where they change me twice a day. I've seen two grandparents do that now. Why stick around for it? That little voice in the back of my head started thinking: You're in a car. There's a dividing wall right there. Slip off the seat belt, a little turn to the left, and you're outta here. You just spent a pretty good evening to go out on. No more work. No more worry. No more disappointment. Just out. Clean and gone. So I wrestled with the devil tonight for a bit. It's been a long, long time since I thought anything like that.

But of course I can't do that. *sigh* I made a promise to my dad that I would never try to commit suicide again. It is a promise I will keep. First of all, with my luck I'd just end up horribly maimed and having to live with Dick and Eve - truly a fate worse than death. More importantly, of course, is that suicide is the ultimate "fuck you" to the people who care about you. I have been blessed with too many friends and too much family who love me to treat them that way. And of course, I'm not allowed to decide when I'm done. The Big Guy wants to decide that for me, and He won't be happy if I make the decision. So I'm stuck. Putting one foot in front of the other. Because I have no choice. *double sigh*

But I'll be honest with you kids, were it my decision, I'd just as soon check out right now as stick around. The reason I'm still here is mainly external tonight. I just can't see the fucking point, honestly.