November 14, 2010
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New Monologue.
(We are in the DOCTOR’S office but it is just a desk and chair with a chair opposite this set. CAITLIN is in chair, despondent. Remember, intensity.)
DOCTOR
Caitlin? Caitlin I know you don’t want to talk. But we’re going to have to eventually. We’re going to have to talk about why you’re here and why you’re behaving the way you’re behaving. Caitlin? I’m an unbiased proponent in your life. I am just a wall for most of these sessions. I just want to hear you talk. I am just going to listen. None of these games where I ask you how something felt; none of these childish talks about childish talks, I just want speech. Caitlin? Are we okay? Sorry I hate when that happens, are you okay? It’s so selfish to assume you and another person are on the same level. “Are we okay?” “Are we cool?” “How do we feel about this?” So selfish and unneeded, why do you think people do such things? You won’t respond. I’ll tell you how I feel about it, I’ll tell you why I think this happens. We are our centers of our own universes. This isn’t groundbreaking, Carl Jung wrote a whole book on just this subject, but not in this specific example. We, and see I will actually be doing it right now, we feel that its me and then you. You’ve heard the old chestnut “you against the world” phrase, yeah? This is it practiced. Everyday. This is life. There are anomalies: Mother Theresa, Jesus (apparently), Gandhi, others. But not even Gandhi, because he was assuming that everyone wanted the same thing. I guess they all did. But the difference: their scenario in their head was, “me with the world.” Do understand, I do not think we’re on the same level. And that is not an insult to you. You need to talk. I know, just from experience, you won’t. But you do. I need to plant the seed now. Can I tell you who I really am? Well I am a Doctor, obviously. But I’m more. Or less. I feel I’m not a human. I feel— sorry, I know, I am little rabbit. Pink nose, whiskers, floppy ears, cottontail, chocolate milk-stained fur. That’s what I see when I look in the mirror. I don’t see me. I don’t see the worn face, life lived, hair loss or nicotine-stained teeth, I see a little bunny, a rabbit. I have this dream, a lot. The dream starts in a field, but it’s not just a field, it’s a patched field. I get an overhead view: a slowly swooping dolly shot. It’s patched because there are different spots of different vegetation. Wildflowers, daisies, reeds, fresh cut grass, weeds, dandelions, you name it. The field is a perfect square surrounded by woods. Woods like what you see in Brother’s Grimm, faces. And there I am. At first just a little speck and the camera zooms to me. My eyes are darting. I hear noises and react. I try to run but I can’t. I finally do. I start darting from patch to patch. It’s a point of view shot now. Just darting all around. And then I freeze, I’m breathing heavy. A close up of my eyes, then nose, and then body. My fur is bouncing up and down. A slow zoom out, I’m terrified. Another noise, and I wake up. That’s the dream. Every time I have it it’s so fresh, and just as terrifying. And I feel no different when I’m awake. You see Caitlin? We’re no different you and I. We’re all crazy, all of us. It’s just some of us know why. I want to know why. Help me find out why.
