Having my way with Ulysses

A maid of honour with a scandalous girlhood.

Do you know what you are talking about? Love, yes. Word known to all men. Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus ...2:20 pm

Scene: [Hallway.  On the way to gym class just after second period.]

Miranda:  What a bitch!  I hope she get preeclampsia.

Marina:  And stretch marks!  Well it’s her fault.  Now she can’t party anymore; has to sit at home waiting for her baby.  Stupid.  Dumb.  I was untied yet still my virgin knot I kept.

Miranda:  Yeah right.

Perdita:  Flash!  That which was lost can’t be given back.  Just sayin.  Where did you have it done?

Marina:  Planned Parenthood.  I saw Ophelia there too!  Crying her head off over Hamlet.  It was so awkward and weird.

Perdita:  No way, did she say anything to you?

Marina:  Naw.  She was so trippin’, singing to herself about let in a maid then out a maid never departed more.  Craazee!

Miranda:  So anyway, Imogen knows we’ve been talking about her.  I heard her say to Ophelia she heard we called her a strumpet.

Marina:  That’s so random.  I didn’t think they were friends.  Don’t they hate each other?

Miranda:  Frenemies.

Perdita:  Well, we’ll be living the high life and Imogen won’t be able to fit into her prom dress.  Ha!

Miranda: All the more she seeks to hide herself the bigger bulk she shows!

Marina:  Epic fail!

Perdita: Totally.  So here’s the note I’m giving to Florizel.  I need to know what he thinks about the word known to all men.  When should I give it to him?

One who has faded into impalpability through death, through absence, through change of manners.

What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure. 2:10 pm

I married a ghost.  And I died before I was born.  Liliata rutilantium.  Well, I died sixty-seven years after I was born, but what is it to you how we lived or died?  Forget me.  He did.  He left me and he gained a world of pretty theatre boys in the cast off armor of court ladies.  The world believes William made a mistake marrying me.  And got out of it as best he could and quickly too.  Stephen thinks a man of genius makes no mistakes, that his errors are volitional, to be used as portals of discovery.  Well William’s genius discovered my portal sure enough.  Made use of me.  And don’t think that because I was twenty-six and he a full eight years younger than me that I drew him in, trapped him into bed and then ruthlessly wed.  Listen to greenroom gossip if you like, but consider:  what would I want with a boy pauper for a husband?  Call me a whore before and a shrew after, what do I care, but the truth is he came after me.  The mistake was mine and he knew it.  He made it Ophelia’s mistake too.  But instead of drowning myself in the Avon, I told my family and they fixed it.  Took care of business.  Five months after our wedding I gave birth to our daughter, my sweet light-of-love.  But did he care?  No.  Gone he was to London and no agenbite of inwit to it.  And for me what was he, a ghost by his absence to haunt me.  And my status?  Not widow.  Hardly a wife.  A stationary target for his debt collectors.  As he rose I became conspicuous.  Like a bad smell in the room, worse than that stench hovering around Æ.  The smell of him!  I may not have a nose left to my face but wow!  That reek will raise the dead.  But the point odoriferous Æ makes is valid.  What use is it to pry into my husband’s life, the bastard.  Good for nothing.  Lousy father.  It was no use to me, that I can assure you, I wept alone.  Leaving us to starve on our own in Stratford.  His drinking, his debts.  Stephen owes AE almost $100, did you know that?  But did he catch AE’s hint?  Bringing up my worthless husband’s financial incontinence.  He caught it.  Then he rationalized his way out of it.  Stephen five months ago was a different set of molecules went his logic.  It wasn’t me.  It was those molecules of Stephen that borrowed the money, the Stephen now is composed of entirely new stuff and cannot be blamed for what any prior Stephen has done.  Free and clear.  No agenbite of inwit, eh Stephen?  Nice try kid.  Good use of physics.  That handy second law of thermodynamics, those molecules from five months ago will decay as plainly as did the nose on my face.  But don’t you forget that first law.  There are still constants to deal with and your memory persists.  It changes things, does a little rearranging here and there, always a bit of phenomenal fluxing within grey matter, but memory persists.  And don’t forget your form of forms.  That soul rattling around within those nice new molecules of yours persists too.  Just look at me if you need a bit of proof.  Or get a whiff of AE  if you prefer your proof to be more on the measurable side of things.  You owe what you owe.  Pay your own damn way.


10:08 am

Why does all the action happen offstage?  Think of Ophelia.  Poor Ophelia!  She has such few lines.  The token chick.  Oh Ophelia, you sweet dead thing.  Probably for the best.  The thing is you fell in love with the wrong guy.  Chica, didn’t anybody ever tell you?  I’ll say it.  Don’t fall in love with crazy.  Don’t do it girl.  Just don’t.  I don’t care how much family money he has, I don’t care that you think he’s cute.  I don’t care that you think you can change him.  You can’t change him.  And I don’t care that you what?  Wait.  What did you just say?  Are you kidding me?  You thought he’d marry you?!  Girl you are delusional.  Are you out of your damn mind?   Hasn’t anybody ever told you to get a ring on it first?  A guy would have to be a lunatic to buy the cow if he’s already getting the free milk.  And a prince?  Please.  He’s got girls coming at him from all sides.  Honey you are just one of the herd.  He gave you some, ahem, private time and what did you do?  You were free and bounteous.  Typical.  Then you couldn’t even kill yourself onstage.  Come on.  We didn’t have a chance to look at your face.  We had to hear about it from Gertrude and you know how she tells a story.  Anything could have happened out there.  She probably drowned you herself.