Summer is over, it seems. School begins again, and people turn their minds to the coming months. As whats-his-name so famously said, "Summer's lease has all to short a date." But summer's heat and terrible humidity will linger here for at least two more months even as the shadows begin to grow long. And so I am moving toward melancholy time. There is much to be remembered.
Always know, though, that memories are simply that. There is no going back. We've all done it, I suppose, and it has always been a painful disappointment. All we have ever is what lies ahead. Even if we could meet old lovers now, they would not be as they were then, nor we. It only serves to ruin the memory. It is true. Trust me. Trying to go back can never work out.
So I am a viewer of "The Newsroom." It is a horrible show that I love to watch, a guilty pleasure that I don't mind telling because it is a liberal railing against the right wing conservative power mongers who have come to rule everything. Tonight, though, as I watched, I realized that the show's other appeal rests in its attempt to fix the past. Relationships broken are agonizingly explored and reworked, and we all cheer that it might turn out right this time around. Once that happens, though, the show will be lost. Who will watch the show when love lost, wounded, stitched and repaired, is requited at last? It is not the way of our desire. That will be the denouement, and I will turn away.
So. . . what lies ahead? Bad shit, for sure. But in terms of pleasure, I can only guess, though it is better not to. I will try to be that grinning painting that I've spoke of before. There is nothing for it but that.
Here is a picture of someone who thinks solely of the future. It looks good to her.
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