Sad?

I want to pose some questions to the readers and in essence myself. Is it sad when a middle aged woman, clinging dearly to a faded dream of becoming a huge broadway actress, with stars in her eyes and hope in her heart she writes and produces her own plays in which she is always the star and love interest of obviously way too young men. Am I to think its not sad when a middle aged woman, way past the sex siren bar writes a play as a vehicle for love and affection from a young virile handsome man. Where for every other line this young handsome man cuddles caresses and fawns over her. This play being a ploy to garner love and affection from a man who would most likely in real life never hug or kiss or want her. Is this play something to escape life or is it a sad lonely woman crying out for attention just wanting to be the center of someone's attention, just wanting love, affection, the warmth and longing for the sweet hot touch of a man? I ask these questions and answer yes. The play I saw tonight was one of a sexually frustrated older woman acting out her fantasies, wild sexual fantasies about being needed and wanted by a younger fabulous man. This man holding a torch for her, sleeping with other women that meant "nothing" she being a kitten commanding the attention of that stage hands and sleeping with another man while throwing it in her cheating husband's face - all the while tearing him apart for his infidelities, bitching at every step of this play and killing him and herself in the end. Is this biographical, does this play shine a light on some dark corner of her psyche - is she the stalker, "I can't have you so no one can" type, am I privey to some dark fantasy or am I watching the absolute breakdown of someone so frustrated with their real life that they have to write themselves plays as portals to a life imagined, in effect a better existence.