Sep 28, 2008
Here come the disaster dreams again!
This week was such an unrelenting bummer, or rather a series of bummers, that when my mom mentioned in passing on the phone last night that Paul Newman died, which I had somehow managed to miss, there was this long silence as I came completely unhinged, and then my mom going, "Laurie? Laurie, are you there? Uh, are you CRYING?" She hadn't known I was such a big fan of his. I was actually talking to my dad a couple weeks ago about how Paul Newman was the perfect man, how he had such talent and integrity, how I loved his plans for retirement ("...we're just gonna horse around..."), how he didn't take himself too seriously even though he did so much good, and how he aged with such dignity. But that wasn't why I cried. It was the cumulative effect of all the sadness going on EVERYWHERE I TURN. Just one good thing needs to happen soon, or I will continue to dream of plane crashes and bug infestations and Brady running into traffic and Grace falling out a tenth-floor window and my teeth crumbling in my mouth. If Grace poops on the potty (or I can stop), if I find a job or get an agent, if my friend's family somehow makes it through the funeral tomorrow without someone becoming ill or collapsing, even if Sarah Palin is attacked by a pit bull wearing lipstick, then I'll keep on striving for that brighter future. Right now, I'm just going through the motions, and John is picking up the slack.