Ellen tells the audience about returning to her mother’s home in
After the club Alex and I both deplored, I went home to Westchester to have a visit with Screecher. Screech is my new none-too-affectionate nickname for my none-too-affectionate mother. And Screecher’s all “Ellen”—no, wait—“ELLEN!!! GODDAMN IT, YOU NEVER GODDAMN COME GODDAMN HOME FOR A GODDAMN VISIT, GODDAMNIT.” So I went home for a visit. Goddamnit. And, you know, she’s not pleased. I just so cannot win here. Alright maybe I shouldn’t have shown up at three in the morning. Maybe I should have called first, maybe I should have had money for the cab, maybe I should have had a key and not broken a window to get in, you know, we all have some things we’d like to do over. So I’m there—just licking my wounds about Arthur dumping me. And it’s whatever o’clock in the morning. In my once room. But it’s not my room anymore. After all that fuss Screecher made about me coming home, there’s no home left for me now. Just. Wicker baskets and doll heads and—and dried flowers. Screech has gone and transformed my room into a craft room, which I guess is de rigueur among the post-hysterectomy set. And as the doll heads stare at me, I realize. My childhood is motherfucking over. When did that happen, right? And I am so good to lose it. And. And I find three long strands of thin vinyl string and I’m scared and I’m alone. And the next think I know, I am getting busy. Making a bracelet. Oh yeah. So I just. Made me a bracelet.
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