Big blond

La blonde grande a voulu beaucoup mourir.

Men wanted her to be a sport, conspicuously light-hearted and gaily flying around like a butterfly from one to the next. Stuff her with alcohol they would, if that would do it. From her husband to the whole string of Eds and Sydneys and Charleys and Arts that surfaced following his departure.

"Somewhere in her heart was the lazy nebulous hope that things would change"...but then things don't change much, do they now? So she drank industriously only to be betrayed by one last partner. Whiskey. Her trusted old friend. A day came when it failed to put her in that blurred haze. It was then, almost with a Machiavellian glee "she played voluptuously with the thought of cool, sleepy retreat".

If you ask me, any woman with half a mind can understand the Big Blond. And you really don't have to be anything like her or anywhere close to the so-called parasitic life she led. And it does not simply matter the amount of kudos and accolades you have been blessed with, or the numerous footsteps organic and inorganic you leave behind. No matter what end of the spectrum you belong to, you know that there are things about you that no man would ever understand.

Pity.

This morning i spent 2.5 hours watching Mad Men season 1 dvd. Only to realize not much has changed in 50 some years.

Pity, again.