Interiors

Mother, is that you? You shouldn't be here, not tonight. I'll take you home. You look so strange and tired. I feel like we're in a dream together. Please don't look so sad. It makes me feel so guilty, so consumed with guilt. It's ironic, because I've cared for you so, and you have nothing but disdain for me, and yet I feel guilty. I think you're really too perfect to live in this world. I mean, all the beautifully furnished rooms, carefully designed interiors, everything's so controlled. There wasn't any room for any real feelings. None, between any of us. Except Renata, who never gave you the time of day. You worship Renata. You worship talent. Well, what happens to those of us who can't create? What do we do? What do *I* do when I'm overwhelmed with feelings about life? How do I get them out? I feel such rage toward you! Oh mother, don't you see, you're not just a sick woman. That would be too easy. The truth is, there's been perverseness, and willfulness of attitude in many of the things you've done. At the center of a sick psyche there is a sick spirit. But, I love you. And we have no other choice, but to forgive each other.