Happy Thanksgiving 2015

pumpkin stem

So this year is going to close a lot of doors of sadness that I have had to live, and I’m happy about that.

One of the most exquisite films in the entire world is going to get made and that is the true story of Valdez the man.

So, even if I am unhappy on this day because not cooking and not in love, even if I have never had true love in this marriage, it is civil.

I could not have cooked if I wanted to because everything is packed and the house has just a few more days until the sale closes.

I’m just pissed I can’t have some really fab pumpkin pie.

He does these things to me on purpose, you know?

He loves to ruin any beauty in me.

I’m over it this year. Next year I will be having the biggest most wonderful Thanksgiving on EARTH. I love to cook for friend and feed everyone.

I will be.

So, the last 15 years held so much death for me — the loss of identity, parents, Valdez, careers, even how I had been all these years. The house is the last scrap of the two of us, and he didn’t care.

So, that is going to be gone too.

Yesterday I was furious because I keep getting the calls from the agent and god, it was the house “after” the marriage, you know?

These things are supposed to be sacred.

Nothing of this was sacred.

It wasn’t.

I was a good wife.

I was his third marriage.

I made the mistake of thinking he really, really loved me.

Truly?

He doesn’t even know me.

“You’re always going to look like that,” he says.

Well.

He has always felt I was a cross between Audrey Hepburn and Botticelli’s Venus on the halfshell.

Maybe I am, but most days I scream looking into the mirror.

Next year?

There is going to be LOVE.

And a lot of beauty and really good food that I love to cook. I could live in a closet and be myself. I just can’t do it here on this hill, under this influence.

Last year I made a really fab turkey. It was my last Thanksgiving in the house that I would ever have. He has forced this, and forced many other things on me over the years.

Enough.

xxoo!

Happy Holidays to all…

and all artists who have been married badly, and those who have carried on out of duty and societal expectations where they were not in love and suffered.