Blog # 13 Gertrude Said It. (Hamlet Blog Post #1)

     Okay, I know that Hamlet’s my son, but c’mon kid, rub some dirt on it.  Yes, your father, my husband is gone forever, but that doesn’t mean you have to sulk around and gloom everything up. Oh, and how many times do I have to tell you I don’t want you running off to Wittenburg?  The last time I brought it up, you were all like, “I shall in all my best obey you, madam.” (1.2.120) Just because you have a fancy shmancy new title doesn’t mean you can backsass your mother.  I know you don’t know it, Hammy, but I heard about that bratty little comment you made about me to Horatio. When he told you that he came to see your dad’s funeral you answered, “I prithee, do not mock me, fellow-student; I think it was to see my mother’s wedding.” (1.2.178) Seriously? Why do you have to be like that? Oh, one more thing on the topic of my dear baby Hamlet- who’s Ophelia and why did no one tell me about her? I overheard Polonius say that you had “given private time” to her (Act 1.3.92) What does that mean?  Your mother has a right to know these things!

Breathe, Gertrude, breathe.  I know I’m ranting again, but I’m in a bit of a dark place right now and I feel like everyone’s against me.  You’re probably thinking, “Really, Gertrude? Everyone in the whole world?” And to that I say, no. Not everyone... Just all of Denmark!  I really didn’t think this whole marrying- your- deceased- husband’s- brother thing would be a big deal, but apparently people aren’t too into it. When the King first addressed his new constituency, he referred to me as “our sometime sister, now our Queen” (1.2.8) and I didn’t think anything of it. But now I’m hearing people talking about me behind my back and it’s really starting to get on my nerves.  Can I just remind people that my marriage is the one thing holding this kingdom together? It’s actually kind of a heavy weight on my shoulders, thank you. Sure, the old king died. Who doesn’t die? But marriage is a happy occasion, one that people better start accepting or they’ll be depressed just like my whiny, little Hamlet.  As my new husband, Claudius, put it, “With mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage, In equal scale weighing delight and dole,- taken to wife: nor have we herein barr’d your better wisdoms, which have freely gone with this affair along.” (1.2.12). BOOM goes the dynamite.