You are in the bell jar. July 31, 2007

Winona Ryder’s character, in Reality Bites, lost her job and became depressed. She stayed in her pajamas all day, chain smoked and made friends with a clairvoyant from the Psychic Friends Network. After racking up a $400 phone bill, her roommate, played by Janeane Garafalo, intervened and told her she was “in the bell jar”. That was a long explanation for a title. I’m in the bell jar except I didn’t lose my job, I don’t chain smoke, call 1-900 numbers or wear my pajamas. You see the correlation, right? But I lack energy. I am going back to Texas on the 11th and I’m slightly sad about it which will turn into off the deep end, hysterically upset as the day grows closer. I blame the lack of energy on an upcoming emotional breakdown. I write To-Do lists at night, for the next day, in hopes that my cycle of utter laziness will end. Here’s today’s pathetic list: 1) go through photos and store, 2) transfer prescriptions to Target and take advantage of $4 generics before my health care plan ups it’s fees, September 1st, so much that I’ll have to cut out dog food altogether from my budget and feed him nothing but bologna and microwaved popcorn, 3) return two pairs of shoes that I purchased during a retail therapy day followed by attending a shopper’s bulimia meeting and 4) go to the best store in Elmira- The Bargain Hut where they sell cool vintage clothing and hope they have a pair of beat in knee length, flat heeled boots in size 8. I really don’t know how I’ll get ALL OF THIS done by tonight. It’s going to be tough.

Let the randomness begin: Hadles is all better, however. He has developed some bad habits while being spoiled in New York that need to be addressed when his mouth isn’t full of cat litter or worse, one of my mother’s cats. Yesterday, I saw one of my nieces who is four months old. Or, if you are a crazy baby mother, exactly 17 weeks. By the way, I’m 1,427 weeks old, 64 inches long and I sleep through the night. My mom is proud. Every time someone comes near me with a baby, they inevitably hand it over to me. I’m not one of those women that coos over babies and has the development chart memorized. I really have no concept of when a baby should do anything. I just freely diagnose autism because I believe we are all on that spectrum- but that’s for another time. I lose interest in babies quickly. And I came to terms with the fact that I am not meant to have a baby, ever. If I want children, it will have to be when I’m much older and have entirely changed my genetic makeup. Or, I will have to adopt a child around the age of five. So let this be a message to all people with babies- don’t hand it to me. Or cats. Just give me puppies or money.

On to my demanding To Do list. Get’em girl, get’em.