What's So Wrong With Being a Fool Anyway?

"I don't understand it!" Missy sighed and flopped onto the sofa. "This is so screwed up."

I tilted my head slightly and waited for Missy to explain. 

"She's got me all worried now. I can't be the way I was freely! I'm all scared now. She's got me worrying about how it will turn out and that it won't turn out well at all..." Missy trailed off and looked away sadly. 

Mademoiselle's influence had no doubt gotten stronger recently and I knew exactly what she was talking about. In troubling and difficult times her way had seemed like the best one so far to be applied to every situation like a blanket cure or a prevention. 

I sighed and sat up straighter. "Look, Missy..." I began.

"Maybe you're a fool. But maybe, it's ok to be a fool and it's ok to let yourself be a fool if that is who you really are. You need to accept yourself the way you are and some things, there's just no changing, like this I guess. We've all tried really hard. You, Mademoiselle and I. Maybe this is just one of the things to which there is no changing without permanently destroying all that was good and great about the whole and if that's the case then you must learn to accept yourself the way you are and not hate you. Life becomes so much easier that way. What's this obsession with changing and not being like this anymore? Maybe you, maybe we all thing it is the better way, the smarter way to not get hurt anymore but what you're failing to see is that what is the point with trying to do that when it makes you hurt every day. You're going nowhere and basically driving yourself into the very thing you're trying to avoid. There is just no point so maybe you just gotta learn to accept yourself the way you are, fool or not. What's so bad about that anyway? What's the real crime in it? There is none. And you need to understand that." 

Neither Tea Nor Coffee No More.

"Why does it matter Missy?" Mademoiselle asked incredulously, her eyes wide with question. 

"Beats me if I know," Missy said, clearly exasperated by the question. "Look, it's me we're talking about here." To that Mademoiselle shrugged in agreement. 

"Looks like you were right to make that choice," Mademoiselle addressed me in turn. 

"Yeah, I know. But I wish I wasn't," I replied, rubbing my eyes tiredly. "Something's gotta give guys. This can't go on." 

"I know..." Missy said gloomily. "This is getting out of hand," she added, eyeing her bottle. 

Mademoiselle slowly sipped her expensive coffee and watched us inquiringly. She seemed to be waiting for a decision. For the ball to drop. But I didn't have an answer for her. I didn't have an answer for the both of them. Why did it matter? I didn't know the answer to that question. It's just always mattered or I've always been the kind of person it would matter to. Perhaps that's the only reason why. God knows. 

An Afternoon by the Grey Quayside.

"Are you ok?" Mademoiselle asked as we sat around a small round coffee table and looked out at the blustery quayside through the glass walls. Her legs were crossed and her right arm draped casually over the back of her chair. I sat with my arms crossed and my left hand resting under my chin. Outside the grey, overcast sky hung low over the risen tides of the river as passersby traipsed across the rain splattered roads and pathways in their parkas and raincoats. 

The soft music of the coffee shop tinkled in the background as we continued our silent reverie out the window. It was my first time there and for some reason today, I had felt the urge to come inside and have some tea I thought as I wrapped my hands around the warm mug. 

No I was not ok. I was as grey as the sky outside and my mood as overcast. I just sat silently watching the cars and vans clear out what was left of the morning Sunday market, pulling the stalls and carts away one by one and suddenly it was empty again, as if they were never even there and the quayside was as clear of vendors as it is on any other day. 

Mademoiselle sat patiently sipping her designer coffee, not a ripple in the silent waters of her being while mine flurried and eddied like the waters of the river before me pushed along by the wind. A solid wall of black. 

"Why show me kindness when there is none there?" I whispered. 

Mademoiselle just smiled and looked outside. "Because things are never so simple," she said. An unusual line of commentary from her. 

Mademoiselle giving me sage advice. I never thought I'd see the day. There's more to her than meets the eye. I suppose just because we perform a specific function does not mean there isn't any more to us than we usually show. 

"But there is no kindness there, is there?" I asked her vaguely. 

Mademoiselle pursed her lips slightly in thought as she slowly studied the arch of the bridge outside. 

"You never know. There actually could be. And could have been. Just because things change doesn't mean that it was never there. And just because there may be more than one reason, doesn't mean kindness isn't one of them." "Of course, we'd never know. Or maybe just not yet." 

Mademoiselle swirled her coffee in the cup and placing it slowly down on the table, looked up at me. 

"Don't let your depression cloud your judgement. Pessimism isn't the same as being realistic. It's an adulteration of what really is all the same."