A Very Good Reason

There is a reason I don't watch Glee.
A very, very good reason.
"I understand" says he "all I can say is go out there and do it. Move to L.A"
I have no answer to that. I can't. So much is stopping me and he knows it.
"There are millions of people out there that feel the same way."
I pause. I think. I'm honest. How is that supposed to make me feel any better?
"I'm commiserating with you. I wish I was up on that stage too. But you were, remember? For four years-you were the youngest, you were the talent-you were the star."
Yes, but I wanted that for my life.
"Well, I've got to say that is hard to believe. You gave up on it in college"
It was complicated, I say.
"You chose not to be involved. If you think its complicated there, imagine what its like..."
I cut him off. I know this.
I want to blame it on him. I want to give him all the excuses I tell myself to sleep at night.
How he taught me that the one with the money makes the rules. How he bargained with me to not be a theatre major, to be anything but because otherwise it was likely I'd end up teaching high school drama somewhere. He didn't want that. I didn't want it either. How I went to lawschool because that was a guaranteed six-figure income. What a laugh. Now I'm up to my eyeballs in debt and the lines on my face get deeper, the pores get larger and I've all but given up trying to shed this mountain of weight I've somehow accumulated. I'm fat and everybody tells me so. Some are direct. Some just talk about how they can't fathom how someone can "let themselves go". It hurts and I make myself sick. I dream of what could have been and what probably never will be. And that takes my breath away as I say it.