Wednesday, October 12, 2005

These are the lyrics from Tracy Bonham's mid-90s growler "Mother, Mother," from her CD "The Burdens of Being Upright" (Don't I know them!). I heard this song last week, for the first time in years, and I looked up the lyrics and thought, damn, sometimes the universe is soooo obvious about lining things up for you, putting your insides on the outside so you can look at them and get a little grossed out.
Funny, this was one of my favorite workout songs during middle school, and now I'm listening to it here as I while away the miles.
Infinite regression, they say, is mathematically inadmissible. So even regression is limited somehow. Still, I weigh now what I weighed in middle school.

Mother, mother, How's the family? I'm just calling to say hello
How's the weather? How's my father? Am I lonely? Heavens no/
Mother, mother, Are you listening? Just a phone call to ease your mind/
Life is perfect never better Distance making the heart go blind
When you sent me off to see the world
Were you scared that I might get hurt
Would I try a little tobaccoWould I keep on hiking up my skirt
I'm hungry, I'm dirtyI'm losing my mind, Everything's fine
I'm freezing, I'm starving
I'm bleeding to death, Everything's fine
Yeah I'm working making money, I'm just starting to build a name
I can feel it round the corner, I could make it any day
Mother, mother, can you hear me?
Sure I'm sober sure I'm sane
Life is perfect never better,
Still your daughter still the same
If I tell you what you want to hear
Will it help you to sleep well at night
Are you sure that I'm your perfect dear
Now just cuddle up and sleep tight
I'm hungry, I'm dirty
I'm losing my mind,
Everything's fine
I'm freezing, I'm starving
I'm bleeding to death, Everything's fine
I miss you, I love you

I hope my mother never reads this.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

"So," the therapist in my head asks, "What do YOU think this eating business is all about?"
Maybe I want to kill myself but I don't have the guts to do it outright.
Maybe it's, as Anne Sexton wrote, "Death on the installment plan."
Maybe it's about certain past events that have convinced me it'd be better not to have a body at all.
"Is it a desire to return to childhood?"
No. My childhood sucked more than my adulthood has, with a few exceptions.
"A fear of sex?"
Only insofar as the people I'm attracted to aren't the people my family and society tells me I should want to have sex with (only after marriage, of course). I'm more afraid of getting queerbashed than I am of having an orgasm. Way more.
"A symbolic rejection of your mother's nourishment in response to unresolved Oedipal desires?"
Freud pisses me off, have I mentioned that? And my mother breastfed me for less than a month, so by rights I should be a compulsive overeater, not an anorexic.
It's a way to have annihialation always within reach.

And since I'm premenstrual this week, it's time for a list of things I hate.
1. People who talk loudly on their cell phones. People who talk on their cell phones in public. People with cell phones who are not emergency room physicians (or me).
2. Vegans. A blanket statement. See also: self-righteousness.
3. People who don't realize that being Caucasian disallows them from growing dreadlocks.
4. My eight-o-clock Organic Chemistry lecture on Friday mornings.
5. The vast, vast majority of performance art.
6. The state of Connecticut.
7. Unwaxed dental floss. Why not just pound upholstery tacks into your gums?
8. Young male authors who write about their neuroses in a way that, should a woman undertake it, would be considered evidence of "crazy bitch syndrome." Witness the difference in critical acclaim for Jonathan Safran Foer or Johnathan Franzen as opposed to Susanna Kaysen or Elizabeth Wurtzel.
9. Elizabeth Wurtzel. You do not need to write a fourth book. Really. Especially if it's going to be exactly like your first three (What's next? Prostitution? or is she actually going to grow the hell up?).
10. People who enjoyed their teenage years.