Wishing

To say that the writer’s strike is adding stress (mild, look, I know, MILD) to our household is a bit of an understatement, because I keep realizing that every show I watch could very well be — WILL very well be — the last one I’ll see for the rest of the season, leaving me trapped with nothing to watch but whatever reality show the networks have dreamed up, which will likely include defecation and perhaps the consumption of grubs in exotic locales.

Sigh. Anyone have any television shows that are worth picking up on DVD? I’ve added The Wire to the queue, as well as perhaps what, Dexter? Anything else?

Incidentally, it’s quite possible that I’ve gained five pounds over the last week for no other reason that I am entirely unstoppable around the buckets of Starburst we have lying about our house leftover from Halloween. Chocolate, I can totally resist, for chocolate does very little for me. If given the choice between something chocolatey and something fruity and/or creamy (CHEESECAKE GIVE ME CHEESECAKE OMG), I will choose fruity/creamy; and if it’s creamy AND caramel-y, then I’m virtually unstoppable. And though plasticky and unnatural, Starburst is delightfully fruity and irresistable, and our house is littered with discarded wrappers from “Fun Size” portions, which include — wait for it — a measly two Starburst per package, which is not fun for anyone, no no, it’s not.

Speaking of un-fun, things are a little un-fun in some areas of our lives right now — nothing life or death, just misery surrounding trying to sell our house in a down market, and by “down,” I mean that there are Realtors — many, many of them — who haven’t sold a house in more than a year and a half, and there are forty (40) homes for sale in my neighborhood alone. And, for a variety of reasons, most of which involve big things like our mental health and general financial future, waiting until the market improves is not an option (I mean, we won’t foreclose or anything, we can afford it, it’s just … well, God, it’s many things to be discussed when it’s all over, when it’s ALL OVER OH MY GOD). And while yes, it’s bad everywhere, oh I know, our market situation is … well, it’s among the most dire in the entire country. It’s bad. Oh so bad.

And tonight — well, in general lately — I’ve just been feeling very despondent about the whole thing, because we’re in such a miserable pickle that if I allow myself to think about it, I become positively overwhelmed with … despair really, which is ridiculously pathetic, because it’s not like we won’t SURVIVE, but there it is. And I’ve gotten a whole lot of “Remember, everything always works out!” from many people, and I guess I’m wondering, really? Does it really? Because for me, yes, it always has — I’ve been quite spoiled, actually, by most standards, but there are many people for whom it doesn’t work out, like, say, my neighbor, who is about to foreclose because no one will buy her house and her husband left her. And part of me can’t help but think that maybe my time for things not to work out so well might be just around the corner, and then I start imagining awful, awful things like the worst-case scenario that could play out if no one buys our house, and oh my God, I’m going to start wailing in a minute, PERKINS, BRING ME MY SMELLING SALTS.

Sorry. Enough whining, and I hate even saying anything like that, because look, things could be worse, I know that, and life is full of good stuff all the time, even when things suck. Like hey, Prince Harry broke up with Chelsey Davy because he’s a “playboy!” How hilarious is that? (Told you he was hot. HOTT.) How can things go wrong?

And tomorrow is another day, and the sun will rise and there will be Starburst to eat and again, like every other day of the week, I won’t shave my knees properly. Do you? Does anyone ever really get their knees baby-ass smooth? Even if I take my time and go over them carefully, I invariably find myself noticing spiky hair sprouting from my knees because goddammit, I still didn’t get it right.

And that reminds me, hey — I recently learned that one of my friends shaves her arms just after I complimented her on her lack of arm hair. And I ask, do any of you? Because while I’m not particularly hairy anywhere else, I am perpetually irked by my abnormally long-but-blond arm hair, but I cannot, I just CANNOT, imagine shaving them down to nothing every day. I imagine ingrown hairs and Neanderthal-like thickening and darkening. Gross.

And with that, I hope you have a great Monday. I really do plan to.

*ELO

38 comments November 11th, 2007