Never Alone

I’ma do this in the style of a Galactica thread, because this show is starting to take over my soul the way that show did. For those of you who are curious, Janette is playing Starbuck.

Quick takes: That Sonny actually was a rescuer might have made me feel sorry for the creepy little fuck. How much slack does that get him? I was kind of rooting for Annie and Davis, because as much as I think Davis and Janette are fun, Annie needs a nice boy to remind her that not all men are jealous, grasping, angry greaseballs. I was also rooting for Delmond to put on the suit and go out in his father’s place, but I know less than nothing about Mardi Gras Indians; maybe that would be blasphemous? I don’t even really like cowboy boots but I covet Janette’s kicky red ones. And oh, LaDonna, I get it, but damn, isn’t enough of your life imploding already? You really gotta set fire to what’s left?

Yeah, come to think of it, I suppose you do.

Comments in the previous thread about Creighton reminded me of something I say all the time: Misery actually hates company. Misery hates somebody trying to help. Misery would rather punish you for being nice to me than deal with me being horrible. Misery wants to wrap itself up in its own specialness that no one else could possibly understand and not be bothered by comfort.

I keep flashing back to Janette, all by herself on the street in her fairy costume and cowboy boots, sprinkling fairy dust over the cars and singing. She’s alone for a moment, it seems dark and dangerous, and then she’s at the head of a parade. And that might be the whole show for me, right there, that turn, that shift, from alone to not. That might be the magic, for me, of why anybody would put up with what you have to put up with in order to live your life there: You’re never alone. You’re just at the head of a parade that hasn’t started yet.

I was talking to a friend a couple of weeks ago about living in a city, about why I live somewhere on top of 5 million other people with virtually no peace and quiet, not even at 3 a.m. The way I explained it was that I am never lonely here. There’s always the neighbor’s dulled TV sound through the window or the laughter of people walking by or the lady across the courtyard yelling at her cats and waving at me from her back porch or the restaurant down the street or something.

I tend towards introversion, also clinical depression. And sometimes I long for peace and silence and for the phone to fucking stop ringing, for everybody to just go the fuck away. I could be very solitary, if I let myself. But it’s not good for me. Collaboration, laughter, argument, society, these aren’t my natural state, but I push myself and when I can’t push myself I try to let others pull. I hate it, though, at the time, when I’m not eating or sleeping or working or taking my drugs, I hate it and I hate the people at the other end of the rope.

Misery hates company, so Creighton turns away from the parade, sure only he can see the decay beneath the festivity, pulling his alone-ness around himself and curling up on the porch. It’s infuriating, when you’re in the midst of mourning something, that life goes on. I know people who find it comforting; I find it obscene. When someone you love tells you they really want to be left alone, it’s a lot of work to say to them, fuck you, I’m not leaving you alone. Especially when, let’s face it, ain’t nobody exactly living an uncomplicated life. Toni’s doing the best she can, and she’s terrified, too.

And maybe that’s where New Orleans is falling down for Creighton right now: He shouldn’t be alone, but he wants to be, and the city, his family, his home, his place, won’t let him. There’s always a parade that hasn’t started yet. You’re always at the head.

A.