Wednesday, September 9

I Am Becoming My Mother

A scene from last night ...

Beckett: What are you making for dinner tonight?

Me: Poison.


What strikes me about this scene isn't as much the script, lifted word-for-word from my childhood but with me now speaking my mother's line, as much as the violent irritation I feel when asked what I am making for dinner. It is as though Beckett is checking whether or not whatever I have decided we will eat for dinner meets with his approval. He claims that the query is neutral, but. It is as though, and as though is enough to irritate me.

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