The 5 stages of the angsty woman

Preamble: The opinions expressed and implied within this transcript reflect the author’s meditation on one (1) woman only; the author therefore kindly requests that all feminists sheath their carving knives, and allow themselves to be entertained by any means (if such means prove to exist) presented through this document. The author realizes that there are many women who surpass him in many ways, and it simply is his profound sorrow and grievous misfortune to not have partnered with any to date. The author would like to thank you for your patience at this time.

What follows is an accurate transcription, with some [clarifying side-notes] of the notebook I lived in prior to my summer lit examinations. For those of you who wonder, these notes concern themselves with T. S. Eliot’s The Wasteland. I even managed to pass, ah but where were we…

’twas a stormy summer night…

…this takes its title from a line in the Anglican burial service. It is composed of four vignettes, from four seemingly different…

[Stage the First: Curiosity - due to lack of lavished attention]
‘What are you doing?’
‘Nothing much’ ‘Can you do something else then?’
‘…’ [Author fails to comprehend alien request]
…seemingly different speakers. The first is a German – not Russian – aristocratic woman who meditates on the seasons, and relates…
‘Whatcha doing?’ [Author braces for redundancy]
‘Writing an analysis for a poem.’
‘You write poetry?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Am I in it?’ [Author patient, perhaps he was unclear?]
‘I’m not actually writing anything, just studying it.’
‘So I’m not worth a poem now?’
‘…’ [Author momentarily stunned, attributes brain-fart to estrogen-hoodoo]

…relates a sledding story from her childhood, while remarking on the barren state of her current existence. ‘I read much of the night, and go South in the winter’ she states. The second is a prophetic…

[Stage the Second: Irritation - due to hormonal imbalance?]
‘Let’s do something else.’ [Author eyes the ‘let's' suspiciously]
‘I thought you were watching TV.’
‘I’m bored of it.’
‘Of all 82 channels?’ [Author does not attempt sarcasm]
‘Funny Karl.’

…prophetic apocalyptic invitation – ‘come under the shadow of this red rock’ – to a place where the speaker will show the reader ‘something different from…

‘Am I really not in your poem?’ [Author flabbergasted]
‘It’s not a poem, just some notes.’
‘Well am I in them or not?’
‘You are now.’ [Author concedes to the power of the feminine not-so-divine, begins this transcript]
‘Cool! Can I read them?’
‘When I’m finished, sure.’
‘That’s not fair! It’s my poem!’ [...]
‘…I thought you were watching TV’ [Author himself attempts emulating powerful redundant estrogen-hoodoo; fails]
‘You’re an asshole, you know?’ [Author did not know this]
‘Thank you.’

…from either/Your shadow at morning striding behind you/Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you/[He] Will show you fear in a handful of dust.’ This almost threatening…

[Stage the Third: Self Doubt - due to lack of chest hair?]
‘Do you think I’m pretty?’
‘Yes.’
‘You didn’t even think about it.’ [Author not falling into that oubliette]
‘You’re pretty; promise.’
‘How pretty?’
‘Very pretty?’ [Author attempts cutes; fails]
‘You just want me to leave you alone.’
‘You’re pretty regardless.’
‘Fine. Enjoy. Really.’
‘Thank you.’

…threatening prophetic tone is mixed with childhood reminiscences of a ‘hyacinth girl’ and a nihilistic epiphany the speaker has after an encounter with her. The third episode describes…

[Stage the Fourth: Desperation - warrants further research; is bottling possible?]
‘Do you feel like having sex?’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Yep’ [Author not fond of purring-on-demand system]
‘We just had sex.’
‘So you don’t?’
‘No, but it’s because I’m really tired.’ [Author veers confidently towards diplomatic safety; futile]
‘So you’d rather write than have sex with me?’
‘I’d rather sleep right now; be there in a minute.’
‘But if [name omitted] were here, you’d say yes to her right?!’ [Author caught off-guard, derailed, driven into a concrete wall and counting cuckoo birds]
‘Please stop.’ [Reader will note that the attack was exceptionally unwarranted, author possesses pristine fidelity record]
‘Stop what?! Answer the question Karl!’
‘We’re both tired, let’s just sleep. I’ll be there in a minute, just let me finish this sentence.’

…describes… (‘Karl!’) …the… (‘I’m serious answer me!’) …senseless (‘I said stop ignoring me!’) yet fulfilling torture of AN IDIOTIC BITCH WHO WON’T SHUT HER TRAP amongst the drunken cheers of repressed men everywhere, amongst burning hair and echoing screams…

[Stage the Fifth: Depression - author armed with one rat's-ass worth of indifference]
‘You just don’t care about me anymore.’ [Author's pen makes speedy contact with table]
‘You know what, let’s go for a drive.’
‘Where?’
‘I’m dropping you off home.’