What I am is a really really really big mess

Bean is devoted to this one Laurie Berkner Band DVD of kid's music, so we watch it every day. I thought this would open the Pandora's Idiot Box irrevocably, but so far he is uninterested in watching ANYTHING else. Ever.

Anyway, the closing credits run over an a capella version of "I'm a Mess," a song that includes handclaps. I'm a sucker for any song that includes clapping - or random cheering for that matter, like "If You Wanna Be Happy" or "Double Shot (of My Baby's Love)." But I digress. I love "I'm a Mess":

I'm a mess! [clap-clap... clap]

I'm a mess! [clap-clap... clap]

From the north to the south to the east to the west,

What I am is a really really really big mess!

She's singing about kid stuff - splashing in mud puddles, rubbing your breakfast all over your clothes - but these days I'm singing it about me.

I kicked it off with a little barium milkshake and abdominal scan. Fine, so the gut's not going so well. Fine, so I was able to ignore quarterly episodes of obstruction and Excorcist-style vomiting. Fine, so I have to take a medication that makes me nauseous and sleepy on a daily basis. Ok, that part's not so fine. That part sucks.

What also sucks is the part about it suppressing my immune system, which it is supposed to do, thus leading almost immediately to pneumonia. I've discovered I'm not a fan of pneumonia. I mean... pneumonia? Really? C'mon, now. Let's not be ridiculous.

***Breaking news! Bust out the party hats and the streamers, because on Friday the pneumonia was [upgraded, like from coach to first class] or [downgraded, like from hurricane to tropical storm] to a mere sinus infection, which while still totally gnar, is so much less scary. And yes, I know, blogging is supposed to happen at the speed of the Internet: you have a thought, you post it... but in actuality I write a lot slower than that. So this post has been a few days in the writing. Sorry.***

And then... I broke my toe. Four Signs Your Toe May Be Broken:

- Your husband refers to said toe as "The Black Olive."

- The warm, yummy cascade of hot shower water flows over your body... and onto your toe, causing excruciating pain. In the shower! From the water! What the fuck!?

- Trimming the nails of the toes *on either side* of The Black Olive causes pain

- Out of your entire Imelda Marcos-ish collection of shoes, you can only tolerate wearing one pair. Even including your bedroom slippers, this is the only pair you can bear to have touching the foot that sports The Black Olive.

In general, the holidays are not a merry-and-bright time for me. I know this, and I try to prepare myself for it - wallowing in the things I do enjoy, like tree-trimming and cookie-baking. But even in the best years, when I am physically and mentally fit, I'd be lying if I said I didn't struggle even a little bit during the month of December. Here's what it includes: my birthday, and Christmas. Yay! Here's what it doesn't include: my mother. Boo! Some of you may be tired of me playing the dead-mom violin, but it is a loss that never goes away. Especially in December. But I know this, and I can usually just tuck it in my pocket and keep on walking.

But this year, I'm not at my best for dealing with December. I feel clobbered, disarmed by physical challenges. And while I am weak and struggling, I can feel sadness coming down on me like a heavy, dark curtain. It's made of cheap polyester and it smells of stale dry-cleaning fluid, and here's how I feel about it: I. HATE. IT.

Yes, that's right. If you envisioned me curled up on the couch, crying like a little girl, think again. My aunt accused me of being in denial ("like your mother," she said, if that doesn't take the fucking pumpkin pie...) but I'm not - I'm fucking furious. [Wow, two f-bombs in a row!]

I have two strategies for coping. #1 follows along the lines of 'your thoughts control your emotions, and your emotions control you.' I try to think happy thoughts - only happy thoughts - grimly, militantly happy thoughts. But rage bubbles up anyway like a volcanic vent on the side of an otherwise bucolic mountain.

Only play happy music - I can't get swept away by playing "Halleluah," "Angel in Montgomery," or "Wise Up" 17,000 times in a row. Don't judge - you know you do it too. Happy music only - early 90's hip-hop does the trick for me. Laughably dirty stuff like Naughty By Nature's Hip Hop Hooray, or OPP, that always perks me right up. Better yet: Rumpshaker, by Wreckx-n-Effect. Don't lie - you feel better already too! I know you do!

Strategy #2 is based on something my therapist once told me when I was ranting a little like this: 'But I feel so sad and I hate it, I hate it so much, and I fight it so hard, but I feel like I'm in a cage, and no matter how hard I try I can't shake it off...' She said: "Don't fight it." What?

She claimed that the harder I fought a feeling, the longer it took to pass. But if I just felt it, it would be done with me and on its merry way in no time. Oh. Hunh.

As you might guess from the "I. HATE. IT." part above, me not so good at not fighting. But I'm trying. Also, just so you know, my therapist's first name was Sally, and it's hard to stay depressed when you're talking to someone named Sally. I realize therapy isn't supposed to be a cult of personality around the therapist, but... c'mon. "Sally." You'd feel better too, you know you would.

So, to review: happy thoughts, Naughty By Nature, pretend you're talking to Sally. That's my plan. I know it sounds... crazy... but I've gotta go with what works. I've just got to, since it seems not much is working right these days.