Loathing

So I've been doing a lot of wandering around London, seeing things, taking pictures, traveling by tube, getting somewhat lost, and making quiet whimpering noises when my bare feet finally touch hotel room carpet at the end of the day. I'll post pictures later—especially since I'm concerned that somehow an entire day's worth of pictures have "broken" or whatever pictures do when they don't show up anymore for some reason.

I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to the parks here, because any time we stop in or near a tall tree, my sinuses swell up and start dripping, my eyes, nose, ears, throat, etc. begin to itch unbearably, and I start to feel like I have some kind of prickly plant matter choking me. Oh, and I start sneezing. It makes me feel really awful for people who are allergic to something they share a country with. Or a bed.

I know you all want to hear about my trip (or you're just sitting there hating me for being in Europe while you're . . . reading my blog when you probably have more important things to do). But I'd rather talk about Loathing.

(There are some spoilers [kinda] coming up next if you haven't seen Wicked or read The Host.)

I saw Wicked the other night. It really was excellent. But as for Loathing, I wish that the green girl and the good witch in me could simply part ways, fake a death or two, and get on with their respective lives like the two heroines do in the musical. The Host—which was MUCH better than Twilight—explored the duality of an individual much more closely, but even then in the end everyone goes their separate ways.

(End of spoilers [basically].)

So what do I do with the strongly convicted witch in my head that wants to crusade against the powers that be? And how do I do that in the same body where I have to "grovel in submission" for some very basic things; not just for popularity, but to support my family with food and shelter there is a lot of kowtowing to be done. Any man who would never beg might be reduced to doing just that if it's the difference between a meal and starvation. But are convictions just luxuries we either can or cannot afford?

The reality is that they are. Or some of them are. If I'm going to feed my family, I must kill the witch, cheer over her death, and never mourn her. The facts of life dictate that we sometimes kill things that are good (little g) to maintain the Good (big G). And we've been fighting wars over what's good and what's Good since the dawn of time.

And nothing really matters except that I'm having a hard time killing the witch. I like her. But even in Wicked, the witch doesn't do any real good at all, and it's Galinda the Good who puts on a front, takes only the measures she can without muddying her face, and really makes change happen. I suppose they call that responsibility and adulthood. I'd like to refer to it as politics.

I would pray for the courage to be good, but what I really need is the patience to be Good. And I loathe that.

Kill the witch.