couple of things
Went to Ladysmith Black Mambazo the other night. That was very fun, despite the fact that I went by myself. I found out at intermission that I was sitting next to Nate Guidry and James O'Toole from the Post-Gazette. I talked to them for awhile and Guidry gave me his card, told me to call him about trying to get some stuff at the PG. I was extremely flattered. I called him today and he was very nice, although he did call me Kim. He basically told me to come up with some story ideas (obviously something that they wouldn't already know about) and he would help me pitch them. That seems like a big deal to me, but I don't know. So now I'm trying to figure out what to pitch and I'm a total blank.
It's funny, when we were chatting at the show, before I found out that he was Mr. Journalist I was all cool and normal. After I found out my voice went up about three octaves. I'm terrible at talking to people I want to impress. Today on the phone I was again Miss Squeaky and said, “Mmhmm,” a lot. When he asked me if I had any story ideas I said, “Uh, no,” which I'm sure is in some Journalism textbook somewhere as exactly what not to say. The phone call ended on a pretty good note but after hanging up I repeated, “I'm such a fucking dork,” for about 4 hours. I'm actually still saying it a little bit in my head.
In other writing news I'm still trying to make some concrete contact (I love alliteration) with the subject of my profile. I can tell that even with the extension that our teacher so generously gave to us I'm going to be cramming this in at the last minute. It makes me wish that I had a nanny so that I could just leave on a moment's notice. My subject doesn't use email as religiously as I do so we've only written to each other once. There were tentative plans to meet tomorrow but I think those have pretty much fallen through. I'm going to call her in the morning. I wonder how squeaky my voice will sound then.
The baby was especially cranky today. I'm not sure what his problem was but I think it had something to do with a bothersome molar. I've been doing this thing lately to cheer him up that in most parenting circles would be regarded as strange, I'm sure. I pick him up and squeeze him, then let him down. But before he can run away I grab him up again. I do this about three times. It conditions this really fun Pavlovian reflex in him that when I set him down he takes about three steps and then in anticipation of me grabbing him he sort of shrieks and giggles and either can't walk anymore from the excitement of all of it or collapses to the floor in hysterics. Performing experiments on my kid is kind of fun. Once he recovers he'll walk around a little bit. When he sees me I just totally freak out, flap my hands at him and say, “C'mere, c'mere, c'mere,” in a voice not unlike a hen's. That just kills him.
Good times.
My dad was released from the hospital today. I didn't call him because I didn't want to force him into conversation about…stuff. My mom talked to him and said that he sounded good.
Outside of this journal I've told a few friends about what happened, mostly to see how they would react. I didn't tell anyone at first because, as ashamed as I am to admit this, I was embarrassed about it. I talked to the boyfriend, though and he made me feel much better. It's strange, so many people have so many bad things to say about him. But the other day, just when I was getting irritated with him over some little thing, I was so thankful that he was there. Someone else might have been overly concerned or overly critical. But he just matter-of-factly told me about the nervous breakdowns that his grandfather and his dad both had. They both got better and I guess the boyfriend just looks at them as things that can happen in life. I get the sense that he doesn't agree with any of the traditional or contemporary views of mental illness. When our parents were younger it was something that just wasn't mentioned. Nowadays, it's like it's another piece of consumerism. I don't think I'm too off base by saying that mental illness is practically trendy. I don't feel that way about my dad too much. I know that he's sick, and I know that there's a history of mental illness in his family that was never dealt with. But with some folks that I know, it's like their mental illness is this…conversation piece that they carry around with them and display at certain times as if to say, “This is what makes me special, this is what makes me important, this is what makes me worthy of someone's attention.” I know I sound insensitive, but I can't help it. I know that everyone gets sad from time to time. I also know how that kind of stuff felt compared to post-partum depression, real chemical imbalance, mental illness that didn't go away until a few months ago. I never sought any treatment for it, I don't think I needed to. But now I know what it feels like to really have something be wrong.
So…yeah, I was saying…the people I've told about my dad. It's kind of hard to tell. Most of my human interaction with people outside of family is electronic and I definitely have a hard time gauging emotion via ICQ. But they all seemed uninterested. One conversation even went something like this:
Me: my dad's in the hospital
Friend: what happened?
M.: he had a nervous breakdown.
F.: really?
M.: yeah.
F.: I've been feeling pretty depressed lately.
Boom. just like that. I guess that's one way to not have to worry about other people: just worry solely about yourself.
Speaking of which, in a few minutes it will be Valentine's Day. I do wish the boyfriend would make a bigger deal of said holiday. But oh well. Since I was unable to get out of the house the past few days I'm going to have to do some e-Valentines. Lame, I know but at least I'm not totally shafting my responsibilities.
