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July 14, 2006
The Friday Shuffle - The Emotionally Grounded Edition
Not that kind of emotionally grounded, where one is stable and content. I've been grounded because emotionally, I can't handle shit these days.
Three weeks ago I saw my doc and said, "Gimme the brain pills. Now." It's been up and down since then. For the past few days, it's been way, way down, which gives me even more reason to believe this is hormonal in nature. I was doing fine until the day I started my plecebo birth control pills. Gee, wonder what's causing the problem? Hormones? Surely not! Not in this woman who has a hormone imbalance and went crazy while pregnant, then crazier after the baby was born, and then really crazy when she stopped breastfeeding. Hormones? Nah.
As for the grounding, B. grounded me from reading the news yesterday because I just can't take it for the same reasons Marrit Ingman mentioned on her blog yesterday. Isreal and Lebanon! Iran! North Korea! The Sudan! Iraq! Iraq! Iraq! Mumbai! And California's on fire fire fire! Just typing that's enough to make my heart flat-out stop for a few seconds. Even my involuntary bodily functions are overwhelmed.
So, I'm not allowed to read CNN.com. Or the Post-Dispatch. Or NPR. Husband's orders. Of course, he didn't put any blocking software on my computer, so it's not like he's been able to stop my 27 visits to each of those sites today. Hezbollah!
Yesterday I had a panic attack because Chloe was panting at a time when I thought it wasn't appropriate for her to pant.
Six days until my follow-up appointment ... six days until my follow-up appointment ... six days until ... Baghdad!
In seemingly unrelated but pertinant other news, my mom was sans computer for quite awhile. She's now trying to catch up on all my blogging that she missed, because the 1-2 hours we spend on the phone every day just isn't enough. Today she brought up the subject of my musical weeping. Apparently, it's a family thing. She does it, and so does my grandma. "Yeah, I know," I told her. "We're the biggest bunch of crying sissies ever. We can't even laugh without crying."
I'd completely blocked this from my memory, but apparently the reason why I didn't have much of a church-going upbringing was because when they took me to church, I'd sob and sob during the hymns. At that young stage of my life, I had a tendancy to puke when I cried too hard, which isn't the best way to praise Jesus.
After my mom reminded me of this, she recommended listening to my copy of Alan Jackson's Precious Memories.
I've had a copy of this CD sitting on my desk for months, but I haven't listened to it or loaded it into my hard drive. Why? Do we have to talk about what Alan Jackson does to me? If you don't know, I'll send you the link. However, I think most of you know. He makes me sob like my best friend just ran off with B. and ran over my dogs while they were pulling out of the driveway. Which, now that I think about it, would be an excellent premise for an Alan Jackson song. But Alan Jackson singing stripped-down country gospel with his wife and daughters? Jesus, save me from drowning in my tears. I can't even look at the CD without getting teary, nor could I keep from crying while my mom told me about it.
Once I pulled my shit together, Clara Jane and I went to Trader Joe's, then made a side trip to the park. When I opened my door to get out of the truck, I was accosted by the strains of that heart-shredding motherfucker in a big cowboy hat's voice singing Remember When. A mean, mean man was playing wiffle ball with his two small sons, his boom box propped on the table, blasting Alan Jackson's Greatest Hits Vol. II in its entirity. Big Dig!
So, now I'm "That Fat Lady at the Park Who Pushed Her Kid on the Swing While Sobbing and Laughing Like a Rabid Hyena".
But oh! That's not it! No, there's more! After our playground sob-a-thon, I asked Clara Jane what she wanted for lunch. Mac & cheese. We could have gone home for that, but it's been weeks since Clara Jane and I have gone out for lunch. I kind of had my broken little heart set on it. Being the food snob that I am, I hate the fact that the mac & cheese on the kids menus at most restaurants is nothing but Easy Mac. I can buy an entire box of the good, all-natural Annie's Organic version of the chemical-laden crap for the same price as a single order of the chemical-laden crap in a restaurant. The kid wants mac & cheese. I want to eat out. The solution: Cracker Barrel. She can have some decent mac & cheese with a real-live veggie on the side, and I can drown my misery in a mountain of catfish, fried okra and sweet tea.
We were nearly there when I made a sickening realization: even at my emotional strongest, I can't get out of Cracker Barrel without getting at least a little misty-eyed. If the classic country music that I love doesn't get me, then I'll see something in the store that reminds me of my family, my childhood, where I come from and Jesus Christ, just typing that has made me cry! I'm not getting out of this lunch unscathed. Oh, no. There's no way.
And because the universe doesn't like to disappoint, when I opened the door to the restaurant, I was assaulted with Alan Jackson singing How Great Thou Art, a hymn that never fails to wrench my heathen, too-big-of-a-crybaby-to-go-to-church heart from my chest, wring it out like a sweat rag, and then throw it under the wheels of a truck. Which would be another great premise for an Alan Jackson song.
Next personea: "The Fat Lady at Cracker Barrel Who's Lying Under the John Deere Memorabilla Display, Shoving Cornbread Into Every Hole in Her Head".
I think God's trying to tell me something, and I've narrowed it down to two options: 1) I need to get right with God, or 2) I need to get my ass to Nashville and personally make Alan Jackson cut this shit out already.
In cast it's option #1, I'm going to say a little prayer, right here and now. Dear God: If you send me more and better brain pills, I won't hurt the asshole in the cowboy hat. Thanks. Oh, and please don't let him show up on the shuffle.
1. Ballad of a Teenage Queen - Johnny Cash
2. The Sound of Settling - Death Cab for Cutie
3. Late in the Evening - Paul Simon
4. Happy Birthday - Concrete Blonde
5. Less Than You Think - Wilco (A 15-minute musical panic attack. Thanks, Jeff Tweedy and God!)
6. Box Full of Letters - Wilco (Two Wilco songs in a row? God is real, people. This is proof.)
7. Stuck in a Rut - the Bottle Rockets (Two Wilco songs followed by the Brox? Jesus is sitting with me, and he's running the click wheel on my iPod.)
8. Single Girl, Married Girl - Shawn Colvin
9. I'll Be You - The Replacements (God bless Paul Westerberg!)
10. Reflections - Diana Ross & the Supremes
While I've never been able to listen to #5 all the way through, I appreciate the sentiment. Truly, a heaven-sent shuffle. The cowboy gets to live. Barbaro!
Posted by Robin at July 14, 2006 03:08 PM
Comments
Heart-shredding motherfucker in a big cowboy hat?
Does that mean you do or dont like him??
Posted by: Grits at July 14, 2006 04:59 PM
Man, as soon as I can get my shit together, I'm totally taking you to Nashville.
While you're kicking A.J.'s ass, I'll kick Naomi Judd's ass.
And then we'll eat burritos at Baja.
Posted by: Angie at July 14, 2006 05:10 PM
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, perfect, perfect shuffle. Just like God intended shuffles to be.
After reading about your day I'm pretty well convinced that Alan Jackson is God's special messenger to you. Take heed, my darling...take heed!
Posted by: Dixie at July 14, 2006 05:20 PM
I've never been able to listen to #5 all the way through either -- it's too much.
Posted by: Katya at July 14, 2006 07:17 PM
I want to kick Wynonna's ass when you and Gritsy go to Nashville. I liked her before she made herself over into a sanctimonious freak. Now I want to smack her.
Posted by: MPC at July 14, 2006 07:49 PM
Hope PLAIN HEATHEN MISCHIEF is to your liking...damn fine of you to mention it. With a big tip of the hat from Virginia--Martin Clark
Posted by: Martin Clark at July 14, 2006 09:57 PM
I'm back from reclusion and am catching up on All Things Poppy. Why don't I come pick you up and we'll head to a church IN Nashville? Honestly, if the place doesn't burst into flames the moment we both cross the doorstep you'll know it was the right thing to do. Then we'll grab a pack of Camels, a bottle of cheap bourbon, and head to this kick-ass BYOB gay strip club I've heard about...
Posted by: Big Daddy B at July 14, 2006 10:04 PM
I love Late In The Evening.
Crying in church is ok. My colleague and I nearly always have a weep in a hymn each week, and we're supposed to be playing the guitar* **
*bet you didn't know that about me
** just realised that anyone who doesn't know me will read that and think I am a bible bashing happy clapper, and wonder why on earth we are friends...
Posted by: Zoe at July 15, 2006 02:13 AM
Thank God. I thought I was the only uber-Wilco fan who coudn't get through Less Than You Think. I was starting to feel like a Fraud-Geek. Whatever that means.
Posted by: Exena at July 15, 2006 04:19 PM
