She lays and lays.
It is not sleeping, it is laying, it is restless
Eventually, she stops laying, and she sits... then, hopefully, she stands
She: Hello? Um, helloo? HELLO! Fuck, fuck, fuck.... HELLO! HEY! I'M FUCKING TALKING TO YOU, OKAY? OKAY? And I've about had it, yo. I'm up to fucking here with this bullshit, alright? It's not right, okay? Cuz I've talked it through, I've assessed this shit with ya know, professionals who are supposed to, ya know, help me? Or something... and what i've come up with over and over and over is that it's not right. So could you please just come fucking talk to me?
She waits. She looks left and right, up and down. She looks and she waits. She gets sick of just standing and she goes to her Cupboard of Distraction. She takes out an Iphone.
Dumb fucking music plays out of the Iphone. She watches the videos on Youtube. She slightly emulates the dumb dancing she is is watching. She feigns confidence, sexiness, joy.
Ya know, I SAID YA KNOW, before I knew you... before I fucking knew you, I was not who you think you know man, I had this whole other shit going on, ya know. I didn't wait around to yell and scream and sit on someone else's terms as to when I could do anything. I danced, I danced all the mothafuckin time... and it wasn't based on anyone's motives or plans to fucking do anything or whatever dude... all i'm saying is that I used to taste freedom, I used to.. I used to... whatever. Whatever.
She tires of the music. She goes to the Cupboard, she gets a book. She runs to the sit at the edge of the stage, determined to immerse herself in that book. She reads for a bit.
Mmm, yes. Reading is peaceful. YA HEAR, READING IS FUCKING PEACEFUL.
She starts to kind of flip through the book, check out the back... just becomes generally distracted after her outburst, making it clear she will not read another word. She returns the books. She takes out candy. Bags and bags of candy. She opens them all and dumps them into the middle of the stage. She plays in them, she eats them. With her mouth full-
When I was a kid... I always had a pinata. And every year some asshole who wasn't me would break the pinata. No matter what. If I went first, well we always used like some dumbass plastic bat or something so the first hits could never break open that thing...so then I wised up, I was like... it's my birthday, it can be my turn when I want, right? But some little neighbor boy dickhead would always beat me to it... not matter what. No matter what.
She looks at her empty wrappers. She shoves all candy in scattered directions. At the Cupboard, she takes out knitting. She sits right by the Cupboard, frantically knitting something long, a scarf probably?
Well, WELL, this is peaceful too. Settles the mind. Knitting. KNITTING. Wish you woulda known my grandma... she taught me how to knit. Love knitting. Knit and pearl. Knit and pearl. My grandma always told me to be careful. Oh did she worry about me. Fucking nonstop. But not in that annoying let me be free kinda way... nah, she fuckin understood, even when I was little...she'd look in my eyes after I watched the Hunchback of Notre Dame or something like that and she'd see my little brain cooking up something and she'd sit me down and make me knit and told me to be careful. And I'd say, careful of what Grandma? And she'd look right in my eyes and say, careful of what you got going on in there. And I'd giggle, cuz I thought my grandma was silly. And I'd say in where? And she'd say, why were you crying earlier? Why were you doing this, why were you doing that? And I'd always explain exactly what I was thinking, even when I was just a little little kid... and she's say, that's all wonderful, honey. But just be careful.
She puts the knitting away. She then takes out a lawn chair and a shiny, tanning thing. She lounges for a while.
I've never been tan. I don't want to be tan. Why are we supposed to want to be tan? What can we, why are we...WHY WON'T YOU TALK TO ME
She puts in away. She stares at the Cupboard. She stares and paces and works herself into a frenzy as she takes nothing new out.
I can't! I CAN'T! I cannot distract myself enough. Not until you come here and talk to me. I've been told me have to sort shit out. We have to talk it out. Let's sort, man, let's talk. Please, Please. I can't wait anymore, I just can't. If I have to sit here with just my brain and my cupboard for one more minute I'm going to freak. I will freak. FREAK. Holy shit, where are you? WHERE ARE YOU? COME HERE PLEASE I CAN'T FUCKING TAKE THIS ANYMORE DON'T YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU'RE DOING TO ME WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME I DIDN'T REALLY DO ANYTHING WRONG WELL A LITTLE I KNOW BUT I'M SO SORRY FOR THAT I'M SO SORRY I JUST THINK THAT WE COULD FIGURE SOMETHING OUT IF YOU JUST STOPPED BEING STUBBORN CUZ YOU KNOW I'M SORRY YOU KNOW I'M WILLING TO WORK AND TRY AND I CAN ONLY BE WHAT AND WHO I AM BUT I KNOW I CAN BE A BETTER VERSION IF YOU JUST COME HERE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE COME HERE.
She freaks, she collapses. She eventually looks back in the Cupboard. As she rifles through stuff, she stumbles on something. It's framed, it's a framed photo. She looks up, as she realizes... as she remembers. She cries, she smashes the frame.