Don't bother to thank the Academy
All the folks on TV at the moment have or have had jobs within the past year. Presumably they got up, went to work, called it quits when their contracts allowed, and returned to face another day.
Me, not so much. The great advantage of working for yourself is that you set your own schedule. The disadvantage is that you have no one to fall back on should you be unable to fulfill your legally obligated duties. And how to explain, the darkness that hangs over me?
Even the off-White Rabbit senses that I am not all I could be. He sits, dejected, in his cage. Taking care of him is about my limit. Washing my hair seems to exceed it. And there's not a damn thing I can blame this mood on. Or if there is, I didn't get the memo. My memo department was made redundant several years ago, due to its inability to explain its existence, or my rationale for being.
I am the perpetual pharmaceutical guinea pig at the shrink's. 17 years and counting with this one alone. More years than I can say with a variety of his predecessors and the pre-SSRI depression meds of my youth. Girl, Interrupted? I don't think I'd reached the age of 9 when I had my first depressive episode. Back then, so long as my grades stayed high, no one asked any more of me. Nor, I suspect did they receive it.
As Jill Robinson once wrote: "To look at it, the childhood was happy. It was just the child that was sad."
If the Academy would remove superlatives from its descriptive and acceptance speeches, I might be able to watch the show. In three-plus hours, there must be a guaranteed minimum of serious fashion faux-pas for entertainment -- but ad-libbing is not an actor's strong suit.
I'm in no office pool, haven't seen any of the major films nominated. But I suspect my vote would be for Good Night and Good Luck.
Me, not so much. The great advantage of working for yourself is that you set your own schedule. The disadvantage is that you have no one to fall back on should you be unable to fulfill your legally obligated duties. And how to explain, the darkness that hangs over me?
Even the off-White Rabbit senses that I am not all I could be. He sits, dejected, in his cage. Taking care of him is about my limit. Washing my hair seems to exceed it. And there's not a damn thing I can blame this mood on. Or if there is, I didn't get the memo. My memo department was made redundant several years ago, due to its inability to explain its existence, or my rationale for being.
I am the perpetual pharmaceutical guinea pig at the shrink's. 17 years and counting with this one alone. More years than I can say with a variety of his predecessors and the pre-SSRI depression meds of my youth. Girl, Interrupted? I don't think I'd reached the age of 9 when I had my first depressive episode. Back then, so long as my grades stayed high, no one asked any more of me. Nor, I suspect did they receive it.
As Jill Robinson once wrote: "To look at it, the childhood was happy. It was just the child that was sad."
If the Academy would remove superlatives from its descriptive and acceptance speeches, I might be able to watch the show. In three-plus hours, there must be a guaranteed minimum of serious fashion faux-pas for entertainment -- but ad-libbing is not an actor's strong suit.
I'm in no office pool, haven't seen any of the major films nominated. But I suspect my vote would be for Good Night and Good Luck.
Labels: meds, The off-White Rabbit, work
posted by alice, uptown at 9:25 PM
1 Comments:
Yeah, I guess I'd feel different about taking a "mental health day" if doing so meant losing productivity and income. I don't suppose the off-White Rabbit has learned any useful skills?
The wonders of TiVo allowed us to knock out the Oscar telecast in under two hours, though Salon.com's Video Dog whittled it down to a cool five minutes. Gawd bless Salon.
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