Now that school is back in session, my morning drive has me dealing with lots of college freshmen driving like complete assholes. You can even spot the theatre majors, they are still dressing the same, and have that general look about them. Theatre people know each other.
Now that I'm older and have more insurance, I can't help but be a little jealous of their happy little faces. I'd love to go to class, write a theatre brief, go to ballet class, or audition for something.
There's a big reunion planned for all of the alumni to celebrate fifty years of the program. I want to go. I want to go fairly badly, and the thought of seeing a few old friends makes me very happy. But I'd be lying if I said I'd rather not see a good number of people who are likely to be there.
On one hand, it could be a healing experience, to confront the past and exorcise some old demons. On the other hand, it could be a complete nightmare that would totally wreck my well being. One the other-other hand (I have, like, a bunch of hands apparently) I could just not go and leave everything exactly as it is. On the other-other-other hand, I could go and either be charming and delightful or pull a Heather Mooney.
None of those choices is necessarily an easy one. Okay, being a complete bitch to people is an easy choice. Not going is also an easy choice. Easy things aren't always the best.
I skipped my ten-year high school reunion, because fuck those people, but mostly because I didn't have any real friends among my classmates anyhow.
Earlier this summer, the woman who gave birth to me and abandoned me in the care of the people who adopted me died. I received a message on facebook that she was asking for me to come and see her at the hospice. I was en route to St. Catherine's to see her, but I decided not to. She made her choices, and she would have to carry those into whatever was waiting for her after death, if anything. I made my choice to not give her the closure or whatever it was that she wanted, and I will gladly carry that choice.
In spite of my talent for burning bridges and salting the earth, I'm not sure it's actually of any benefit.
*I had no idea what to title this, so I went with a Heather Mooney quote. I was going to call it "Okay Toby, fuck off!"