Okay, so I admitted last week that I was feeling a bit low. You may not realize how weird it is for me to a) feel that and b) admit it. I am an exasperatingly cheerful person, most of the time. I remember once talking to Audra about sadness. I said that I could remember two times in my life that I was sad. Once was when Michelle died ten years ago, and once...actually I can't remember the other time. But anyway, she said that was highly abnormal. So I guess I am abnormally nonsad in general.
But last week I was sad for a couple of days, and I didn't know exactly why, but since depression runs in my family, I figured I was in for it.
My sister immediately suggested I see a shrink, but I thought maybe a few other things might be worth a try, like getting some sleep, having some time away from the kids, drinking a glass of wine, and, best of all, reading a slew of self-help books.
(Just so you're not on the edge of your seat, the sadness passed, pretty quickly, and I'm chirpy chirpy me again. My sister will be disappointed, no doubt.)
Number 1 Save-Your-Life Self-help Book: The Nancy Mitford Omnibus. I've read The Pursuit of Love six times at least and it still works. Reading the a few pages of the first half in particular (based on the author's own childhood) is as effective as about an hour of knitting, or two shots of Merridale Winter Apple Cider in terms of its calming and soothing effect. If you're still down in the dumps after reading The Pursuit of Love, you can move on to Love in a Cold Climate and The Blessing. If you're still having problems after this, you can try Don't Tell Alfred, but you may find, as I do, that your critical self won't allow you to do this (DTA is pretty weak, writing-wise).
Number 2 Save-Your-Life Self-help Book: So Nancy Mitford helped me climb out of my well of despair, and then I was ready for some really inspirational reading in the form of The Mother Trip: Hip Mama's Guide to Staying Sane in the Chaos of Motherhood by Ariel Gore. I first read this when Sahsez was one-and-a-half and I thought it was amazing.
When I got it out from the library the other day, I was hoping to be lifted the way I was the first time, but afraid of the Generation X effect. The Generation X effect is my name for the disillusionment of reading a loved book for the second time years later. I first read Generation X when I was 17 and it blew my mind. When I found a copy at a garage sale eight years later, I was so excited to reread it, and then to encourage Tobias to read it. I did reread it, but I couldn't recommend it to Toby. Yikes. It was so lame, the ideas were so tired, and I was sad.
But! No such disappointment with The Mother Trip. I still think it should be handed to you by the midwife at the birth of your first child. And your subsequent children, matter of fact, in case you've lost or damaged your original copy. It's the perfect parenting book.
Number 3 Save-Your-Life Self-help Book: The Gospel According to Matthew. Well, obviously the Bible is going to play a big role in any sort of self-help for me. I had been reading Corinthians (which consists of St. Paul's letter to the Corinthians) before I got all sad, but St. Paul is a little hard to take when you're feeling down. I needed some red-letters. (In many Bibles, the words of Jesus are printed in red). Matthew is choc-a-bloc with red, I'll tell ya, and it was very good.
Number 4 Save-Your-Life Self-help Book: The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron. This one is all the rage right now, but I'm not sure why. There must be some sort of publicity campaign going on or she's just released a new edition or something. Anyway, it's a great book, sort of a cross between Gore and Matthew. Gore is all about embracing your creative self, Matthew is all about God, and Cameron is all about getting God to help you embrace your creative self. Perfect!
Gonna have to buy a copy though, because I won't be able to read this in the allotted time from the library. Speaking of not finishing library books before they have to be returned...
One Self-Hindering Book: Lolita. Man, this is a difficult read. Seriously, it's like reading a horror novel, and I don't read horror novels. I could have picked up a copy at a used-book store once I had to return my library copy, but I don't want this book in my house, so I just went back on the list to get it back from the library again. My experience of reading of Lolita is a post in itself (or maybe an entire blog!), so I won't get too into it now, but suffice to say, it was not what I expected. The cultural phenomenon of Lolita is not an accurate representation of Nabokov's character. Maybe it's based on Kubrick's movie? I don't know, but the whole sucking on a lollipop, teenage seductress thing is not what Nabokov intended. I feel very strongly about this.
Anyway, I won't start reading Lolita again for a couple of weeks, but it's sitting on my bedside table, waiting for me. The Artist's Way is about a million times more appealing right now, though. Even Middlemarch is light and easy in comparison, and it's 800 pages.
