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A monologue from the play by Donald Margulies
TOM
What are you thinking? Come on, I know you , I know that look . . . Gabe . . . I’m trying to tell you . . . I was dying!
You don’t understand that, do you? I was losing the will to live, isn’t that dying? The life I was leading had no relationship to who I was or what I wanted.
It was deadening. The constant logistics of: “You pick up Sam and take him to lollypop tennis, I’ll take Laurie to hockey practice . . . ”
This is what we’d talk about! No, really. This would pass for conversation in our house. The dog finished me off.
Oh, man, that dog. Sarge. It wasn’t enough that we had two cats and a guinea pig, no, Beth felt the kids had to have a dog because she had a dog.
I’d spent my entire adult life cleaning up one form of sh*t or another, now I was on to dog sh*t. I should’ve gone into waste management.
How do you keep love alive when you’re shoveling sh*t all day long?
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