Too Many People
Honest to Pete, I don’t MEAN to be a negative nelly about everything I read, and I don’t want to turn this into a book blog or anything, it’s just that I am on a horribly bad streak lately. I’m desperate for the new Jen Lancaster (coming out tomorrow or, you know, today, if you’re reading this Tuesday, like most people will be) if only so I can read a FAMILIAR voice of someone I know I’ll like. “Split” was divine, but I followed it with a comfortable, if disappointing, Marian Keyes and then … and then Chris Bohjalian’s “The Double Bind” which was SO HILARIOUSLY BAD that I am actually ANGRY about it. Who edited this? Who thought that “dowager” should be used OVER AND OVER again, like it’s a word people use in everyday conversation? Who allowed “epoxied” to be used in place of “glued” three times on three consecutive pages?
Save yourselves. Run. Run away.
My boob is fine, thank you all for your concern. I wasn’t too stressed about it, I just didn’t want to have a NEEDLE in it and hey ho! I didn’t have to. Two doctors, thirty minutes of ultrasound and three people hovering over my boob and everyone declared and agreed that there was nothing to aspirate, and that it was merely an “island of [boob] tissue” and not a cyst. Just lots o’ boob in one place. Which explains, PS, why my left boob is uh, significantly larger than the right. And you know, I’m not a particularly modest person, but there’s something very disconcerting about having three people hovering over your boob, and three — THREE — sets of hands digging around in there at once. That’s six hands and three faces dangling perilously close to my sisters. Someone could have lost an eyeball.
Incidentally, I’m currently working on a proposal for a new freelance client and the process has gotten a little … well, a little ridiculous. I feel like I’m one request away from being asked to submit my design ideas for how greeting cards can be improved with the resurgence of Kajagoogoo and the creative use of faux fur. And it reminds me of the time I was sent by a headhunter friend of mine on a ruse interview to discover precisely why no one wanted to work at one of the companies in his roster. Within minutes, it was painfully obvious, after the director of marketing lamented that my portfolio — like every other writer’s he’d received — was sadly devoid of creative pieces to SELL the person. Like self-portraits festooned with glitter and puffy paint and videos of them kayaking or something. (“When I was interviewing, I put together an entire PowerPoint presentation about myself, including my favorite books, pictures and extra-curricular activities! I even put together a movie with my favorite marketing vehicles and how I would market MYSELF with a direct mail piece! I haven’t gotten ANYTHING like that!”) Yeah, that’s why uh, no one wanted to work there. Dude’s NUTS.
Honestly, this week seems pretty pointless, as I finally have an appointment with a new gynecologist on Friday and it’s possible — just maybe — that I have my hopes up just a little too high, like I’m going to walk out of there nine months’ pregnant. I have a host of feelings on the topic of the situation — good thoughts, bad thoughts, confusing thoughts and at times, destructive thoughts that lead me to do things like Google Things That Should Not Be Googled (Hello, have I not TOLD EVERYONE I KNOW to stay off of Google at times like these? And yet no no, there I am in full-throttle foolish Googling and getting myself worked up that not only are things really broken down there, but I may also be hosting a tumor the size of San Francisco in my abdominal cavity, along with a small herd of sheep. And dying. Did I mention the dying?).
In the meantime, I’m really okay — truly, I’m just ANNOYED with myself, like WHAT THE HELL, BODY. HOP TO. What is not okay, however, is the fact that I just got my, er, special lady time (Surprise! For me? How LOVELY!) and have just devoured a four-pack of chocolate peanut butter Twix and am seriously considering what else might be in the house that I can shove into my gaping maw. I have some pickled asparagus down there (Edited: I MEAN DOWNSTAIRS, NOT DOWN IN THE SPECIAL LADY AREA OMG SADIE), and some oil-cured olives. AND I AM SO GOING TO GET THEM RIGHT NOW.
Happy Tuesday!
*Glen Hansard
25 comments May 5th, 2008