Incidentally, I never liked Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. Or Winnie the Pooh. Their earnestness and sentimentality made my itchy. I can't stand A Prairie Home Companion for the same reason. I always preferred stories that were darker. If you want your kid to turn out like me (and who wouldn't want that, really?) read them these awesome books:
1. Mr. Rabbit and the Lovely Present (Actually kind of sentimental but with a sort of melancholia permeating it. Gorgeous watercolor illustrations by Maurice Sendak.)
2. Outside, Over There (Fucking terrifying and awesome)
3. Dear Millie (Google Affiliate Ads doesn't have this one. But you can get it on Amazon. It is, quite possibly the saddest children's book ever written. Haunting and beautiful.)
You might as well go ahead and get these two while you're at it:
Clearly I have a thing for Sendak.
I also have a distinct memory of my mother reading me Salman Rushdie's Satanic Verses.
Anyway, my morning malaise is chemical. I know this. My neurons and synapses aren't firing right, or whatever. But, like morning fog, it tends to burn off as the day gets going. I only need worry when the thoughts of death and hopelessness permeate my life for days on end. That's when I know it's time to call the doctor to get my meds adjusted and "talk" about my "feelings". "You know when you just think what a relief it would be to veer off the hill on Mullholand Drive, Doc?" "No." "Oh, yeah. Me neither. That would be...crazy." "I'd like you to take the freeway from now on."
I just looked up the lyrics to the song and found out that ironically the second line is "It's such a happy feeling: You're growing inside." Is that irony? Or is it more like the Alanis Morissette version wherein a guy who's afraid to fly dies in a plane crash? The rest of us call that a coincidence. But what is it, if not ironic, that a song from a show I never liked or watched with the lyrics "It's such a happy feeling: You're growing inside" is laying itself over my thoughts that life is completely meaningless? Half my brain is whining, "Life sucks." while the other half is screaming, "You have a person in you, you dumb twit!"
And it's true. Despite my bouts of terror and my morning depression, it is a generally happy feeling to know Krumholtz is growing inside me. Even with the elimination of one of my meds for the duration of the pregnancy, I've been riding a pretty nice high. Progesterone, it turns out, is the best antidepressant I've ever been on (and I've been on a lot of them). Even with the rather large stumbling blocks I've come upon, I've been very upbeat. I don't remember feeling this good overall since I was a kid.
Right now I'm down with the flu (which is not the same as being down with O.P.P.). Or a flu-like cold. What ever it is, it isn't pleasant. I swear a friend jinxed me by warning me to get the flu shot. I poo-pooed it and was sick a couple days later. I'm making the most of my bed-riddenness by transferring Kurt's old VHS tapes to DVD while Kurt runs around taking care of me and generally being awesome. In that last 24 hours I've watched "Soylent Green" (Spoiler alert: It's people.), "Blade Runner", "The Fisher King", "Braveheart" and "Clear and Present Danger". I'm grateful for the distraction. Friday I received a notice from the unemployment office that I will be required to prove that I'm applying for at least three jobs a week in order to continue receiving benefits. Never mind that I'm 6 months pregnant and no one in their right mind would hire me right now. "Yes, I'm available for work, but you'll have to give me time off every other week for 6 weeks and then once a week for 6 weeks after that to see my midwife. Also, I can't be on my feet for more than an hour or so at a time. And I have to pee at least once an hour. Oh, and in May I'll be quitting to have a baby. What's your maternity leave like?" And never mind that I'm an actor and therefore can only get temp work or a job with hours that will allow me to pursue my actual career. My temp agency, by the way, keeps sending me emails announcing jobs for which I would need a B.A. in engineering or communications... And never mind also that any temp job I get it still not going to pay me as well as unemployment (which, incidentally I've paid into for way longer than I've collected from.). I'm pretty sure the government cares about none of these things. I've tried explaining that I have an agent who looks for work for me via a letter I attached to my latest claim forms. Something tells me a letter attached to my claim forms will not get me very far.
But I haven't crumbled. I just keep making the phone calls and writing the letters and putting the bills aside and watching my bank account drain anyway and letting the morning blues run its course and doing my exercises and walking the dogs and waving Chicken's farts away and trying to get Sally to stop gnawing at her backside and giving Krumholtz high fives when s/he kicks me and slowly getting our new apartment in order and thanking Kurt for being understanding and taking such good care of us. And I have amazing friends who have stepped up and organized showers (both physical and email) and who go to lunch with me and are also understanding and supportive.
Kurt assures me every day that things will be okay and all I can do is trust that they will be and be grateful I'm not doing this alone.
Turns out it is a great feeling to know you're alive.
Here is a recent picture:
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| It's true. |
