 |
| Le lit défait (The Unmade Bed) by Eugene Delacroix |
Don’t read
articles about how to be happy. Wait until your friend reads them and then take
her hostage until she reveals what actually works. Recoil as if from a
screaming toddler when she tells you that in order to even get out of bed each
day you should really make a gratitude list. Don’t scrunch your face up, stick
your tongue out and decide now’s the perfect time to get a new friend.
Spend the morning
in bed wondering if your journal can even contain such multitudes. Don’t curse
your husband for using the last of the milk and
the nondairy creamer. Take a multi-vitamin and drink your coffee black. You’re
going to need it.
Start with the floor furnace.
Realize that if it hadn’t died last winter you would never have known the sweet
smell of kerosene or the sound of a rocket readying for blastoff when the replacement
forced air heater you call the ghettoblaster suddenly ignites in the next room.
Think of all the opportunities your family has had to grow closer and more fire
retardant huddled around its fluorescent orange flame.
Next, be glad you were raised on
food stamps because now when you have a dollar you know what to do with it. Daydream
about what you could do with it and then be grateful for your magnificent
imagination.
Thank your lucky stars that the hot,
rich guy in the silk scarf dumped you so you don’t have to be some dumb trophy
wife in a boring city like Paris
Thank God that your prince wears
coveralls instead of shining armor. Be glad he refused to get a regular, full
time job because if you hadn’t had to find work you’d be lying on the couch
watching cable, instead of curled up in bed thinking how superior you are that
you’re not. You’d be able to afford cable but you’d be watching Toddlers and
Tiaras, trying to figure out how to force your son into a huge blonde wig so
that he could curtsy on the catwalk instead of attending first grade while you
engage in a meaningful line of work that brings you great joy.
Thank God you were broke when you
wanted to get that divorce.
When you see the thirteen inch scar
stretched across your side, remember that if you were tough enough to survive
going under the knife you can probably survive another year of filing federal
income taxes.
Thank God that you have a friend
who’s always bouncing off to exotic, foreign lands so that you don’t have to get
all those nasty shots or wait in line at the post office to renew your passport
in order to own powerful looking tribal dolls or beautifully hand-painted
ceramic plaques that say “Shalom Y’all.”
Be glad that you still live in the house
you grew up in because you never have to waste precious time changing the
information fields when you reorder address labels. And that being so rooted
has made you part of an intricate network of friends and relatives that steer
you back onto the right course, holding your hand through the detritus and
rubble until you’ve finally uncovered the faintest glimmer of the silver lining.
Consider getting dressed for the
day and then be grateful that since getting laid off from the office you can
work from home.
Walk back
into the kitchen to see if milk has magically reappeared in the fridge and
resist the temptation to throw the “Every Problem Contains a Gift” magnet in
the trash. Tape it to your forehead, instead.
