One of the coping mechanisms I have been trying out lately,
is to tell myself that even though right now my life is so hard and painful and
not fun, it will serve as great fodder for my future book. You know, the
mythical book about my life which will become a bestseller. I keep telling
myself that there is some really good art in here somewhere, and I am a FOOL to
not take advantage of this. “My life is just like a sitcom,” I think. “Who will
play me!? This is so much fun. I love talking to myself.”
But, the thing is, every time something happens to me, (in
other words every goddamn day of my life) they just don’t seem to be as charming as
if, say, Zooey Deschanel was acting them out in the mythical sitcom I am
writing in my brain.
Let me explain – Yesterday was the ultimate in bad days.
Just the tops. There was just one bad thing happening after another. And,
admittedly, at about 7 a.m. when I was digging my car out of my driveway with
my two children buckled in, ready to go to school, I sort of mentally gave up
on the day. I was just done. Sweating, sweat-panted, and cursing I was done. “F
this day,” I thought.
Some would say having this attitude was a recipe for
disaster, and things were sure to not improve. Well, maybe those people are right.
In any case, I was planning to turn it all around by treating myself to some
wine and episodes of “Scandal.” The fantasy of that in of itself was enough to
make me a wee bit happier.
But, then, after a long day of work, I had to get back in my
car, and onto the commute. And the snow was coming down. And the stupid ass Indianapolis
roads and drivers were everywhere. And this is where fantasy is NOT like real
life. Because in my head I imagined walking into the liquor store, putting my
bottle of cheap wine down on the counter and having a full on breakdown to the
cashier. If Zooey Deschanel was doing that, in some movie/sitcom/whatever it would
have probably been adorable. And the liquor store employee would have been some
hot dude with hipster glasses who would have comforted her, and probably asked
her out (He just works at the liquor store part-time to help pay for his med
school.)
Anyways, I did not have a breakdown whilst getting my wine.
And, I made it home, (after getting stuck yet one more time—a story I will have
to save for the book—and no it didn’t involve anything charming or cute).
After pulling into the garage, I grab all of my stuff out of
the car, including the prized bottle of wine (aka, The Bright Spot of My Day),
and make my way to the house. And, as if it was in slow motion, the wine slips
out of my arms and crashes to the garage floor. In disbelief (and also in
complete and utter KNOWINGNESS) I stare at the shattered bottle of wine. Its
contents seeping out like blood. I murdered that bottle of wine. It was dead.
And so was my spirit. OH THE AGONY.
In the sitcom version of this, the adorable Zooey Deschanel calls her BFFs and they come over straight
away with more wine and probably some cheese (also probably wearing adorbs
Hipster glasses and some cute type of lounge outfit). Or, she just walks to the
corner bar where all of her friends are hanging out.
In the real part of my life, I scooped up the shards of my
happiness, dumped them in the trash, fed the dog, bathed the kids, changed into
some completely unflattering sweatpants from 1998, and found some leftover
vodka from Christmas. I hate vodka. But, gosh darn it, I was going to treat
myself to a delicious drink of vodka and Berry Juicy Juice. (It was not delicious,
but “Scandal” was awesome).
I am not really sure what the point of this post was, but I
am just letting you all know I am trying really hard to be productive with all
of this stuff. I am figuring if I am not going to be happy, I might as well be
creative, right? Weren’t all of the great artists and writers severely
depressed and messed up? I am just going to go with yes. I know at least Lester
Bangs was, “Yeah, great art is about conflict and pain and guilt and longing
and love disguised as sex, and sex disguised as love... and let's face it, you
got a big head start.”
So, just like the teenaged William Miller, I think I have a big head start.
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