|Every time I mention Good Times, I just think about how Troy Dyer would think I was cool.|
in my house lately.
Longtime readers of the blog know that I have some anxiety problems that tend to erupt in Jessie Spano-style freak-outs. But when I'm not treating Jeff to some of my sex-ay irrational hysteria, I'm funneling all of that anxious energy inward, funneling it into my brain, where a team of tiny mes live in the few remaining cells, like in Woody Allen's Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Too Afraid To Ask) or Herman's Head. Except instead of controlling my body or awesomely manifesting as Bobcat Goldthwait (I wish!), they sit around drinking way too much Diet Coke and speculating about my imminent downfall.
An abbreviated list of things that keep me up at night:
- Money. Why don't I have any? How can I get some? Do I know anyone who wants to give some of theirs to me? How can I get on a rich person's will? Could Brewster's Millions ever come true, only with me instead of Richard Pryor, and is there an architect who would build me a house with airplane emergency exit slides instead of staircases? Why does everyone keep telling me that if I were my kid's nanny I would be making over $100K? I am his nanny, and I make zero, unless you count the cash I pocket when people send him cards. I wonder how much change is in our piggy bank? What if instead of recycling our cans I took them to that machine by the grocery store that trades them for nickels?
- My health. Where did these bruises come from? Where did my butt go? Why does my back hurt? Am I having an aneurysm? Why do I put four sugars in my coffee? Why can't I eat kefir and seitan flakes for breakfast like Gwyneth Paltrow? Why do I hoard so much candy? Why are my teeth so yellow? Did I brush them last night? Do I have cavities? Is this because I haven't gone to my dentist since 2010? Why is health insurance so expensive? Why can't I sleep? Am I dying? What if my heart explodes? What if my vagina falls out? What if I grow a full beard and turn into one of those old ladies who DOESN'T EVEN NOTICE?
- The baby's health. Is he breathing? No, but really, is he? If you look really close? Is he pooping enough? Is he pooping too much? Is his poop the right color? Is my breast milk less healthy because I ate 25 Mary Janes for lunch yesterday? Does it taste like the milk at the end of a bowl of Lucky Charms? Is he sleeping enough? Is he sleeping in the right position? If I pick him up every time he cries, will he be too dependent? If I don't pick him up, will he be a sociopath? Is it weird that he's always trying to bite my face? If he turns out to be a cannibal, will I still love him just as much as if he were a urologist, or a male model?
- My career. Do I have one? Is this it? Will I ever write a book? Will books still exist? Is it too late to learn to tap-dance? Do people still do that, outside of Shirley Temple movies? Is Shirley Temple still alive? Does she need any tap-dancing servants? Like maybe someone to taste her food before she eats it to make sure it's not poisoned? For positions like that, can you specify desserts-only?
- Television. Why do they keep replacing Bobby Draper on Mad Men, like they think we won't know? Why are they making a Sex and the City prequel? Why am I still watching Glee, especially after they all wore white tie to regionals? What other possible tragedies can befall the doctors at Seattle Grace hospital? An elephant stampede? A mudslide? An entire busload of diabetic high-schoolers getting impaled on the Space Needle?