Hamlet: I am myself indifferent honest;
but yet I could accuse me of such things that it
were better my mother had not borne me: I am very
proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at
my beck than I have thoughts to put them in,
imagination to give them shape, or time to act them
in. What should such fellows as I do crawling
between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves,
all; believe none of us.
Hamlet, Act Three Scene One
My desert island text - if for the rest of my life I could only read one thing, anything - would be Hamlet. I could (nay, I will) write an in-depth appreciation of the play one day, but right now I just want to focus on the above extract. This comes just after Hamlet’s great “To be or not to be” speech and he is speaking to Ophelia. They are just beginning an argument which her father, plus Gertrude (Hamlet’s Mother) and Claudius (Hamlet’s new Stepfather) are secretly listening in on. It will be the first, and only, major exchange between these two characters before they are separated forever.
Listen to these words: “I could accuse me of such things that it / were better my mother had not borne me.” Haven’t we all muttered the same in moments of depression or frustration: “I wish I’d never been born“? The literary difference in this case is that Hamlet was born - and raised - to be the future king of Denmark; his raison de’tre. And this was taken away once Claudius came in and (illegally) took his place on the throne.
Worse, he is talking to his kind-of-ex-girlfriend who he half-believes has sold him out to the ‘powers-that-be.’ Plus his father was murdered by Claudius. So he’s in a bit of a pickle and has the full right to be pissed off and act a little crazy.
Our own problems may pale in retrospect. We do not have scriptwriters to edit and tempo our lives with the necessary tricks to make great drama; yet we fully believe at times that our dramas are THE dramas; that we are the be-all and end-all. In these dour moments we have the hubris to assume that everybody else is dying to listen to our problems when really they mightn’t be; a possibility we’re too afraid to acknowledge.
All that said, I have a confession: I have been struggling a bit lately. My head is still feeling fragile. The kids - well, while Keira is almost recovered, it’s that “I’m well enough to be sooky and generally miserable to be around” kind of way - the kids are wearing me down; I’m yelling more than I care to admit and I retreat to my bed early of a night-time, with the dishes still in the sink and the toys over the floor because I think, “I cannot be stuffed.”
Then there’s the end of year preschool parties (Question: since when were teacher’s presents compulsory? I was practically the only one the other day not to bring along a little ’something’. She probably thinks I’m a right royal tight-ass now) and the shopping and the husband coming up to me every five minutes saying, “What do you want for Christmas?” like I have a moment to myself during the day to think purely about further material possessions. Then when I say what I do want (”I want time to myself more” “Give me time”) he scoffs and says, “No, what do you really want?”
Actually, I do know what I want: I wanted my dear friend to be pregnant. Alas, this was not to happen: ‘Not this cycle’. The derivatively dry jargon of the fertility world is enough, I would guess, to almost send someone off the edge. As it was, I was sobbing into the kitchen table after she rang with the news; sobbing enough for Adam to turn Keira’s head away, saying “Don’t worry about mum; she’s just a little sad at the moment. It’s all okay. It’s all okay.”
Sure, for us, it is. Then, when I head Fergie warble on the radio:
“I need some shelter of my own protection baby
To be with myself and Center, Clarity
Peace, Serenity”
I snort to myself, “Well half your fucking luck, lady.”
Which brings me back to my Hamlet analogy–– he never wanted to avenge his father’s murder. No, and if he hadn’t had that calling, he would’ve spent a fair time grieving, yes, but then would’ve gone back to his studies, waiting for Claudius to die. A simpler life, perhaps, but it would make a boring play.
And so we must all go along with the narrative of our own lives; for its drama, its rectitude, its solace, its comedy and its joy.
And next time I am lying in my bed with my copy of Buddhism for Mothers and I count off on my fingers all the things I did wrong that day, and swear to myself that today perhaps wasn’t better than yesterday, like I swore it would be 24 hours previously, I should just slap myself for being an arrant knave and roll over and get a bit of sleep.
For what else should such creatures as I do in this a state?
What do you do when you get the ghoulie-downers? Do you deny them? Or do you occasionally, as I just have, be indifferently honest with yourself?
8:36 am
I get very bad tempered if I am asked what I want for Christmas/birthday. My god, do I have to figure out presents for ME as well? My theory is that if I have to tell my family what I want, then I may as well just buy the damn thing for myself anytime and be done with it…
Your friend’s situation puts it all in perspective. Sometimes we worry too much about the material things. I’d rather hear joyous news re a friend of a friend (next cycle now…) than get any amount of STUFF for Christmas.
Don’t be too hard on yourself (says me who canes herself daily for all perceived parenting inadequacies). Tick off the positives rather than the negatives. There will be more of them than you realise…
((hugs)) from a SAHM who still remembers those early years…
10:58 am
I try to focus on the positives, but that never seems to work as well as I’d like, since I get a front-row seat to all the horrible things that go on in the world on a daily basis, what with working for a newspaper and all. Sometimes, I grit my teeth and just roll through the malaise, and other times I lie in bed, with all the lights off, listening to The Cure or Jeff Buckley, thinking about all of the horrible things I’m feeling, crushed beneath the weight of everything I’ve ever done wrong in my life.
And I drink a lot of cranberry juice. I don’t know, but fugue states call for cranberry juice.
But the good thing to remember is that we are, none of us, as horrible as we may think, I guess. And that’s about as Hallmark as I’m going to get.
11:55 am
Also, I wanted to ask which film Hamlet you prefer…
2:32 pm
[hugs] back T
D.Paul - Yes, you’d hear/see some pretty crap stuff too. I think we talked about this briefly before via email?
I liked Mel Gibson’s the best. Ken Branagh’s just felt like an academic exercise to me, although it has its moments. Kate Winslet was a good ophelia. Lawrence Olivier’s is good too, but he always rubbed me the wrong way as an actor.
What about you?
3:06 pm
Darling, if Buddhism for Mothers is making you concentrate on the negative, i say, out, out damned spotted book! Oh, sorry, wrong Shakespeare. But really, I agree with both Tracey and D Paul, I regularly think I’m the world’s worst mother, but then I look at my children and they’re happy and smiling and learning and growing, so I must be doing more things right than wrong. And next time hubby asks what you want, tell him a pedicure. Seriously. A professional full-out, foot massage, sea salt treatment, lovely shade of polish pedicure. After all, it’s summer where you are, right? It also means a nice hour to yourself.
And I like Mel Gibson’s best, even though he rearranged the scenes, so I had to do some scrambling so my theatre students could follow along. But Helena Bonham Carter was the best Ophelia ever. Wear your rue with a difference indeed.
6:03 pm
Yes, I vaguely remember Mel’s was rearranged….Janet, guess what, I’ve got an idea for what I want for Xmas now - Mel’s Hamlet on DVD. YEAH!!
HBC as ophelia used to strike me as a performance of ‘ticks’ and jitters. Maybe if I watch it again, I’ll rethink that opinion
12:29 am
Then again, I may do the same thing. It’s been 10 years since I’ve seen it. But it just struck me that she did “mad” well.
8:20 am
Yes, we definitely spoke about that. It’s probably the biggest drawback to my job, with folks yelling at me a close second.
Well, I could go all nouveau and say Ethan Hawke’s, but you know what, he’s hit or miss for me. I, too, would have to go with pre-crazy Mel’s Hamlet. It just had that raw intesity he was so very good at bringing to the screen. Dang, I miss that.
And as much as I love me some Kenny B, his was too indulgent for me. Though I do enjoy Miss Kate. And Larry Olivier, well, always a treat to watch, but not as engaging for me.
9:57 pm
I am so sorry for your friend - I was wondering how she went. My heart goes out to her.
I have been there on the receiving end of such news (my IVF cycle big fat negative) and it sucks.I would give up my presents too for the news that one of my friends struggling to get pregnant …is. We sat in a room yesterday @ pregnancy loss support group … with other mothers who had lost babies - two announcing they were newly pregnant, another didn’t but she had told me she was just pregnant already, then the last mum not yet blessed since 2004.
Especially tomorrow is 3 yrs exactly a since her little man ~Riley~ flew to heaven .She is still waiting for her living bundle of joy .I could have cried for her too.
I have those days when I feel like I am way too negative and I yell a lot at my older boy. We are human -not super mums and I agree with others focus on the positives and the fact you made it to bed.
This is a pearler by Tracey.
Don’t be too hard on yourself (says me who canes herself daily for all perceived parenting inadequacies). Tick off the positives rather than the negatives. There will be more of them than you realise
2:51 pm
A wise mentor once told me, “Quit beating yourself up for being human.” Let the toil and trouble go (oops, wrong Shakespeare again)…focus on the good.
6:17 pm
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