meet the margin
I don’t much comment on real events in the real world. I guess I’m less a Samuel Pepys diary-keeper type than a John Cheever diary-keeper, although both comparisons flatter me enormously and when you get right down to it I am really more of a Cookie Monster diary-keeper, all id and angst and gaping maw and wildly rolling eyes. Plus (back to the real world thing), I don’t think anyone needs more outrage/shock/horror/sick/sad/etc, and maybe you can just assume that when it comes to murders on the news I feel all that and then some because I am a human being. Last I checked.
My psychiatrist, the little rat-faced scrap of a lady who I see every six months to check on whether the DON’T FREAK drugs are still working, has no interest in the implications of being a human being. Every time we have our dumb little ten-minute appointment she asks me how it’s going and I say something like it’s okay, but I sometimes wonder just how okay it has to be, and is there something dumb and entitled about trying to fine-tune our brains to have an optimal human experience. And she says something like uh anyway how’s the sleep? How’s the anxiety? And I say, is it the worst thing to be a little anxious? Is it maybe a fairly rational response to a fucked-up world? Could we all just step back and focus on the fact that anxiety alone won’t kill us, and we are not our thoughts, etc? And she points out that I’m saying this because I feel better, so apparently the drugs are great, see you next time.
Rat-faced scrap* is perhaps not wrong, but I’d still like to have the ability to get excited about stuff without also getting really wound up and paralyzed and insane about stuff. I would like the benefits of psychiatric medicine without the “ehhhhhhh fuck it” layer on top. OH WAIT AM I ASKING TO BE “NORMAL”??? Ha ha ha ha nice try, bitch.
*Rats are lovely so this is not an insult and don’t get on my case about it. The psychiatrist is just very pointy, and looks like her teeth perhaps grow 4 or 5 inches a year.
Another thing that works, although possibly not quite as well as drugs, is guided meditation. I did run into a snag where I tried a new one and the guy told me to imagine a steady flow of a “golden liquid” pouring down into the top of my head and gradually filling up my body. I do not appreciate the implications of urine. It is very distracting. Relax, the universe is just peeing into a hole in your head. Let the pee fill you. You are a calm, empty vessel filling up with benevolent urine.
REAL STUFF THAT HAPPENED, NOT ON THE WORLD STAGE
- I had a little get-together on my patio. A concoction of fresh blended blackberries, sugar, gin, lime juice, and club soda happened and was shared. The recipe was doubled. A small, quick, unscheduled nap may have been taken by me around sunset, but when I came back a fire was going and a nice big glass of water was waiting for me, so no harm done. Hoo boy, though. Gin.
- LT and I went to Baltimore together, just to go somewhere we’d never been before and have fancy hotel sex in a fancy hotel. My favorite thing about the Baltimore Four Seasons, besides the condiment cups of sunscreen handed out at the pool and the constant offer of champagne wherever you went, was the fact that if you wanted your linens changed you were supposed to leave a paper crab on the bed. Oh no! Crab on the bed! Please change these sheets, they have been soiled by a crab. Baltimore is fine but truly my favorite part was closing down this place, and the lovely chef and bartender who poured me very large glasses of wine and hung out even after the doors locked, even though I repeatedly told them to kick us out and go home.
- Kid started guitar lessons with a small group, although I think she is actually learning more from YouTube University. Other than that, some rollerblading, and some social stuff, there are a lot of incredibly slack summer days, with plenty of screen time and not much getting dressed. As school gets more demanding, I am increasingly okay with that. Envious, in fact. I have been assigning her more jobs, especially since our housecleaner went on vacation and our dishwasher bit the dust (new one delivers this afternoon HIP HIP FUCKING HOORAY), and every time I do that I realize how strange 13-year-olds are. On the one hand, super capable and organized—homemade flashcards to learn all the Constitutional amendments, spent a whole day at Six Flags with a friend, texting me when I said to text me, meeting the ride home at the appropriate time, etc. On the other, so minimally competent you fear they will end up in a group home. Collect all the upstairs garbage and bring it down, please. WHAT? Empty all the upstairs garbage… HOW? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THAT? Well, let’s think about this. Probably first you get a garbage bag… WHERE ARE THE GARBAGE BAGS? Oh my god.
- We are remodeling a room in our basement into a place where noisy teenagers can go and play darts or spin the bottle or video games, and while I want it to be pleasant I certainly don’t need it to be top of the line, finishings-wise. Painting is done and now I am deciding on the floor, and that is how I chose “Engineered Luxury Vinyl Plank” as my new stripper name.
—mimi smartypants is a phthalate-free material that offers exceptional dimensional stability.