The Philosophy of ‘Different’


Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death.-Auntie Mame

“Mom, I think you try too hard to be different.”

“No, I don’t. This is who I am.”

“I don’t understand why you can’t sit still.”

“Honey, I sat still for too damn long. I won’t any more. Don’t you understand this is the way I was, before I got depressed and ate everything in the house?”

“Mom, you can’t make up for the time you lost.”

“Adam Boy, I’m not trying to. I’m just trying to live.”

It’s tough when the ones closest to me don’t even understand me. It breaks my heart, really. I would like to think that my Adam Boy would be the one of the ones that actually gets me. He and I have the same sense of  humor. Unfortunately, not the same sense of adventure.

I don’t understand why the Boy has to fucking philosophize everything, but it’s in his nature to do so. That has to be okay with me. It is, for the most part, until he starts picking me apart.

It bothers me that he thinks it’s all an act. I’ll admit, when a depressive episode hits, it is. I do my very best to put a smile on my face and keep going. I hate that I feel like I have to defend myself so much. That I have to be so damn guarded. It can be exhausting.

Maybe it is an act. Maybe if I sit still and dwell on it, I’ll find that I really am a sad, little poet that wears her heart on her sleeve. Maybe that scares me. Hell, I know it does. It scares the absolute fuck out of me!

But maybe, just maybe, I’m Auntie Mame.

I want to be the life of parties thrown for no reason, love ferociously, and speak my mind. To be like that, has to be okay, with at least one person in my life. I was so hoping it would be okay with my Adam Boy and Meggie…

I will not play it safe and I’m not going to hide. There are fountains to jump into. There are tables to dance on. And so many more adventures to have. Come hell or high water, I’m going to feast on this life of mine. God knows I can’t eat pizza anymore, so I might as well eat the shit out of some life.

I will throw on my jeans and cheetah print wedge heels and dance till I’m exhausted. Flirt with young waiters. Hell, I might even flash some cleavage too. I will revel in the joy of being different. To hell with the ones that don’t get it.

Adam Boy thinks I’m afraid to grow old, and die. No that’s not it at all. I’m afraid not to live. For there is so much left for me to do!