This morning I was doing all my things, which mostly includes slopping the 87 domestics up in here, and I was impressed with the sun so I snapped it. Hey, who sent me the orange tea? There was no note. I’ve been meaning to ask.
Also, though, I was putting a load of laundry in—because I really know how to throw down on my week off—and I saw Forest, whom I had just let out, tear across the backyard after Milhous, who turned right at the end of the yard, while Forest ran straight up a tree.
Seriously, I think he has just the best life.
To Forest, this yard just must look endless. And then there’s the wild part out past the fence that he similarly loves.
You know, I’ve asked the lawn guy twice to take care of the weeds back there and now I’m sort of annoyed. He’s going to get a strongly worded text. Happy holidays!!
I’m tryina think of what else I’ve done on this, my week off, other than watch The Crown and wait for corona. Which is oddly congruous. Oh! I know! Speaking of crowns, I also watched Diana, In Her Own Words, which was a movie/documentary made from a bunch of tapes of Diana.
In her own words.
Do you remember that scandalous book about her way back when? She really did set that book up, written by Andrew Morton in the ’90s, a book I believe was called Diana, In Her Own Words but maybe now I’m just stuck on that phrase. Anyway, they had a go-between. Andrew Morton, which if you take one look at him you feel in your bones that he’s sleazy, would send tapes to Diana via the go-between. His tapes had questions, and her tapes would be the answers.
Tapes. In her own words. And that is how that book got written in the ’90s when we all wore brown lipstick and piece-y bangs like they were flattering. Has anyone seen my chunky-heeled loafers?
So then recently some yahoo, possibly even Andrew Morton, who looks like maybe he’d sell high-end colonics, made a whole sort of documentary using Diana’s tapes
in her own words
describing stuff about her marriage and time with the royals.
So I watched that. I learned things, which is saying something because I thought at this point I knew all there is to know about that fekking family. Someone could ask me, “What was your great-grandmother’s name?” and I’d be all, Hmmmm. But I could tell you all about Diana’s family. and Charles’s. And Kate Middleton’s.
Also, Princess Margaret is my people.
Anyway, here’s what conclusion I came to as a result of listening to Diana, in her own words. The conclusion I already had, and that most of us have who are into the royal family, is that she was very young and forced into something bigger than she imagined and she wasn’t strong enough to handle it.
And that she was a good yet troubled person with a gift for empathy and talking to people and the world was charmed by that.
But also, each story Diana told
in her own words
would end with how then she rushed home and binged and purged. Or she rushed into the room with a knife and hacked at herself. Or she threw herself down the stairs in front of Queen Elizabeth. I mean. There were a LOT of these stories. And I understand that to do any of these things means one is in a lot of pain. I do.
But there is never, from Diana—in her own words in case you didn’t know these were her own words—there is never any insight from her that possibly her behavior might have been …exhausting for those around her. Especially for a buttoned-up group like your warmhearted royals. She’s just always annoyed that they don’t become a sympathetic audience as a result. That they don’t suddenly get her a blanket and some tea and listen thoughtfully to her woes.
I mean, it’s gotta get old after awhile, Diana. There has to be a middle ground beyond your constant histrionics and the royals’ catatonics.
And these are the thoughts of June, in her own words.
One thing I miss about Typepad, really the only thing I miss about Typepad, is they’d tell me how many words I’d written when I wrote posts so I could try to keep my pithy words, my own words, at around 600, as that is when people begin to drift off. But here I am just floating on a page with no idea how much I’ve written.
So I’ll go. But I know. I’ll think of you each step of
P.S. As I am doing laundry on this, my week off, I wonder if anyone else is completely taken with that Gain with the scent that lasts. What’s it called? I am on that new anti-seizure medication for my migraines and I think I’m getting that can’t-think-of-words thing all over again. But I haven’t had a migraine in seven days! Anyway, Gain. The kind that smells good for weeks. Love it. Would marry it. Would be June Gardens Gain, which I already am thanks to lockdown. Hand me a diaper I’m ready to wrestle.