Starting off this post with an immediate tangent: have you ever heard of the raw food diet? Does this make anyone else sad? I realize that some people have to eat in this manner due to allergies or other health issues, but choosing this diet? I’m all for healthy living, but a life without donuts or melted cheese or pizza is no life at all.
I’m pretty sure the Founding Fathers said that.
In other news: HANCOCK.
Tangent the second: In 7th grade, one of my most prized possessions was a cassette single (or cassingle, for those of you cool [read: OLD] enough to remember) of Technotronic’s time-honored classic, “Get Up.”* On the B-side of the tape was their lesser known and less impressive song, “Raw.” Despite only having listened to this song all of maybe four times, it still gets stuck in my head. Especially the little record-scratchy part that goes all “Wick-a-wickawicky LIKE IT RAW!”
Wow. That was a scintillating story. Anyone still reading?
Forgive my stalling (I am really, really, really good at stalling…have you noticed? I’m doing it right now!), but I’m fixin’ to write about feelings and shit, and it’s just a lot easier to make jokes about Founding Fathers.
OK, on with it: I’m feeling a bit raw, emotionally. One of those times when everything seems overwhelming and I can’t bear to be left alone with my own thoughts, mostly because those thoughts tend to wander to things like “What if Sadie goes on a field trip one day at school and the bus gets into a fiery accident OMG WHERE’S THE WINE.” I’m pretty sure this is, uh, a hormonal issue, but experience tells me the quickest way to get this shit out of my mind is to write about it or talk about it. And since you all are so great at making me feel not crazy, here we go.
Because I generally tend to avoid things that I know will send me into a whirlwind of sadness/anxiety/schoolbus-inferno thoughts, I make it my general policy to steer clear of things like sad movies (FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING NOTEBOOK) and tragic news stories. But, oh, people get sneaky with that shit, Internet. Yesterday, while Sadie napped, I cracked the cover of my favorite magazine inside of which I want to live, Real Simple. I like this magazine mostly because of its overall style, but also because it has a distinct lack of “I Bought the Wrong Shampoo and My Baby Up and Died!” horror stories that you sometimes see in other lady-friendly periodicals.
(Also, may I direct your attention to the semi-edited-out sidebar there on the left, where there is an entire category dedicated to “Dysfunctional Relationships.” Sounds like grand fun!)
Anyhoo, while perusing pretty pictures of hostess gifts or some shit, I started to read an article this woman wrote about her hair.
HER HAIR. What could be a more fucking neutral, non-baby-dyin’ topic, right?
Oh, but the lady who wrote this article was good. Right in the middle of her fluffy tale of how her hairstyles paralleled her life over the years, she slipped in a casual reference to that one time her daughter caught a virulent strain of strep AND DIED.
And then I had a Real Simple heart attack and watched Sadie breathe for the duration of her nap, the end.
That story weighed on my heart all evening (and into today, obviously), and I waver between feeling strangely obligated to let the sadness fester (that poor woman is living the stuff of my nightmares, the least I can do is…feel sad? Right?), and indulging the urge to play Free Cell and surf I CAN HAZ CHEEZBURGER for distraction’s sake.
I am usually pretty good at refocusing myself on the positive whenever I stumble on something that makes me a sad clown. It typically only takes me a few hours to trick myself into believing that the world is all pancakes and nachos and frolicking baby horses (shut up, that sounds like an awesome world to me), but this task has become significantly harder since I gave birth to the cutest thug I know.
I guess this is all part and parcel of becoming a parent, right? It kind of always feels as though my heart is sitting in the middle of a 6-lane freeway in metro Atlanta, one false move away from being completely obliterated. Before Sadie was born, I felt this way about Brad (and still do, of course). But now I have more, so much more to lose.
Verdict: totally worth it.
I, uh, don’ t really have an end to this post, but I do feel better. So, thank you. May you all have a day full of the little things that make you happy, and for fuck’s sake, don’t read any magazines.
I don’t know what I love more: that this magazine has an “Unsolvable Conflicts” section, or that her husband was so fucking boring she had to write to fucking Ladies Home Journal about it. And he’s the boring one?
*I watched that video five times, because — as it turns out — my brain has retained every last word of that awesome song, right down to the dude saying “GET ON UP!” in the background. Brain, you may forget to bring wipes to daycare for three solid days in a row, but as long as you still hold on to things like this, we’re cool.
Entry filed under: Gobble-gobble.