Monday. Raining. Cold. About to have to take Coco to the vet, which will result in all kind of barking, scratching, wailing and drama. And it’s only 9:07.
You know how sometimes it’s Monday and you can’t even remember what you did over the weekend? Like, it was only forty-eight hours ago and yet you still have to strain your brain to put Friday through Sunday back together? That’s me today. I mean, I know I did something. I didn’t just sit here for seventy-two straight hours, twiddling my thumbs. Did I?
Of course not. I went to an art show, and I hung out with friends and I watched the movie Closer, which I’d been wanting to see forever, and I have to admit, it was good, although kind of unsettling. Something about a movie that concerns cheating and infidelity, and not much else, doesn’t exactly make for the happiest viewing experience. But still, I recommend it.
So I did have a weekend. But it certainly wasn’t high drama. I was thinking about this a few minutes ago when I was watching Lindsay Lohan on GMA. Robin Roberts was interviewing her, and as they began she began summing up all the stuff that had been happening to La Lohan lately, like her parents getting divorced, and her dad getting arrested, and her car accidents, the breakups….I was sitting there, thinking, that must be surreal. I mean, Lindsay’s what, 20? Did we not all have drama at 20? But of course it’s one thing to have it happening, another to be discussing it while millions watch you, drinking their coffee. I’m just saying that all the stuff we read about in US Weekly—or maybe it’s just me, maybe you don’t read this stuff and never would, maybe you subscribe only to the Economist and don’t even watch TV, good for you—about Paris and Nicole and Lindsay and Hillary and all the little rumors, that’s the same stuff that’s happening on college and high school campuses all over the world right as we speak. It’s the same thing: boyfriends, car crashes, parents, stress. It’s just public and out there and we’re all hearing about it. Which is kind of wrong, when you really think about it. Would you want YOUR early twenties archived in the media? (If you’re over twenty, you’re probably saying no: if you’re not, you should, because most likely, you would) .
I don’t know. I mean, as a YA writer, I’m putting my experiences from that age and younger out in the public, although they’re filtered, changed, barely recognizeable. And it’s a choice. But still, to me, it’s bad enough to bump into someone at the post office who knew me from Way Back When, when I was wearing all black and smoking too much and skulking around getting into trouble. I cringe at the thought, but I can’t change it. But at least that’s local. All I’m saying is, it must be kind of hard. That’s all.
Now, I will return to my non-dramatic, mid-thirties life, where my big explosive issue is how to get one dog out the door without the other one destroying the house. Wish me luck.