An Unhinged One That Is About Nothing Really

This is the hardest one to write so far because I have done truly and literally nothing with my day or life and so I am confronted with the existentially frightening truth that I do not have one single thing to say. 

Is there anything more egregious than writing a newsletter when you have nothing to say? Is there anything quite so bold (in a bad way)? The word “newsletter" is to me very evocative of sending an e-mail blast to your college friends about a sketch show you are putting up but not getting paid for and you would really love to see them there! For it not to be that you have to say something really, REALLY poignant (about drugs or eating disorder or being gay) and if you don’t…it’s humiliating.

I’ve coaxed myself into finally writing this one because I realized if I did write one that was exceptionally bad then in the future the bar will be so pleasantly low that maybe this whole practice will be actually enjoyable for once. One thing I do know to be true is that it doesn’t appeal to me to start every single newsletter with commentary on the experience of writing a newsletter, even though that is what I have done every time so far. I hope that I stop doing it soon but I find that awareness only goes so far in terms of changing behavior - that’s why I almost exclusively do things that I actually know are really dumb, like comedy, having a phone, gay sex, etc.

I wish so badly that I was on a reality show so that the crew could tell me if I’ve taken my antidepressants yet today or not. I remember thinking “I should take my anti-depressants now” but I can’t remember taking them, so I have spent all morning* trying to decide if I should risk taking them twice or not at all (*I woke up at noon, have not been awake during what sociologists consider “morning” since before the novel corona virus exploded onto the scene). 

I am watching the final season of Keeping up with the Kardashians in order to feel connected to something bigger than myself for one single second. They keep talking about how the hardest thing about not doing the show anymore will be not seeing THE CREW every day, because the crew has come to be FAMILY for them actually (sending love to everyone who’s crew has become like a family to them — If your crew has come to be like a family to you, I *see* you). When they say this I’m too aware of the fact that the crew is, by necessity, there filming them say it, so I can’t fully invest in the sincerity of the sentiment. I do think, though, that it would be nice if an E! producer was here in my actually cute Bushwick apartment to tell me if I have taken 2 prozacs and a Wellbutrin yet, and I could certainly see missing that luxury when it was gone.

I wonder if the person that invented E! (Thomas Edison? Benjamin Franklin? George Washington Carver?) regrets the exclamation point. I mean, it is truly so so embarassing. It reeks of something that seemed like a cute idea in the moment, for truly one single second, and then you forget to backspace it from the e-mail. It seems like something I would name a network if I was on soooo much adderall and then be so embarrassed the next day. E! Sounds like an amazing network if you are on adderall, probably. That being said I am open to working for the television network E! in really any capacity.

Anyways back to my amazing story about not knowing if I took my anti-depressants this morning or not:

When this happens to dissociative queens like myself (if we are NOT on a reality show that is currently filming) we have to decide whether to A) take the meds and risk taking too much or B) not take the meds and risk skipping the day entirely. 

Earlier I decided I would risk too much (because taking pills is, at it’s core, fun and ultimately a hopeful experience — like maybe THIS is the pill that will actually finally make me different than how I am) so I took two them (again?). 

BUT, I dissociated AGAIN and realized that I once more had no idea if I had actually taken them ( or not. So then I had to decide if I should take them again AGAIN (for the third time?) or not. I decided not to because it felt like I needed to break the cycle and move on with my life. I mean I could spend my entire day maybe taking medicine if I let myself.

I worry that I should never have kids because of how I am re: constantly vacating my body and losing upwards of 20 minutes into oblivion. My boyfriend’s niece and nephew got me sick which feels like a reason to not have kids. I have been sick-ish for 4 days but it isn’t Corona which feels wholesome like the 1950’s. It’s a cold which feels from a simpler time. I am essentially on the Brady Bunch in that I have the common cold. When I was young I never understood why people were always talking about the “common cold” and how there was no cure for it. I was like: what about literally every cold medicine? No one ever talks about finding a cure for the common cold anymore so maybe people are finally done with that bizarre charade.

It is a huge part of baby culture to tell someone their baby has their eyes, like it is really important. “He as your eyes!” Someone might be heard maniacally shouting at a new mother like they are informing them they won the lottery. A part of me feels a strange release of anxiety when I hear someone tell a couple that their baby looks like the father. Like it makes me feel like the father will really know for sure it is his baby and the mom didn’t cheat on him or something. 

I think a lot about adoption because I like children. I didn’t realize I liked children until I met people who didn’t. I think about adoption a lot because I’m sure that is how I will get mine. 

Adoption makes me nervous. Like doing my taxes. It feels like I will have to send someone my pay stubs and W-9’s and bank statements and social media handles and then they look at them and are like “hmmm he ISN’T IT”.

They will see how much seamless I order and how readily I buy full seasons of shows on Amazon Prime - and how stupid the shows are. I can’t imagine it reflects positively on me that I still watch Teen Mom OG (sometimes). And what if I don’t have enough money? How will I know when I do? I sometimes think I don’t want to adopt until I’m very rich.  I will make sure I’m loaded before I send in my paperwork to the imaginary lady in my head wearing chic glasses and a pencil skirt. She will be under a literal mountain of paperwork and have almost no time for me. I think she’ll see my bank statements and say: “Wow. This person is literally soooo rich. He obviously gets one.” Is that how adoption works? Seems sort of fucked up if so. Will have to do more research.

Then I almost immediately begin to feel stress over the fact that if I’m rich it will make my kids lame and uninteresting. Because they will be rich kids. I want them to be sooooo interesting like how I am. I guess I will worry about that when I finally get the direct deposit that makes me rich enough to have boring kids.

I get scared that I’m too selfish for kids. After all babies are only fun for like 6 minutes, then you have to give them back to someone. Sometimes I think that maybe I should not have kids but have friends who have kids — but then I’ll get jealous when their kids know them better thanme. Like being in a clique in middle school but knowing you’re sort of a fringe member. That was always my worst fear and it actually happened to me twice (once when I was 13 and then once when I was 26 even).

The whole point of having a baby is that it knows you better than other people and sometimes when you give it to other people it starts crying and then when they give it back to you it stops — because it knows you better. That’s sort of the appeal. The rush of that…seems intoxicating.

I’m 32 which is really old, unless you live on a coast, which I do, thank God. I guess actually I won’t decide yet. Let’s face it, I probably will adopt twins when I’m 45 and one of them will hate me and one of them will think I’m fine. I obviously will like the one who hates me better. When I was little I used to hang on my moms hand and beg her, plead with her, with a desperation I haven’t since felt, to tell me if she liked me or my brother better. I didn’t need it to be me I just wanted to know either way. She’s never told me to this day.