drama

Do you ever get that feeling where you know something is wrong but you can't remember what? I've been having it a lot lately, a very low-lying sense of dread. And then I remember that it's because Rebecca is pregnant but hasn't told Justin yet, Justin is a recovering addict and is failing out of med school but hasn't told Rebecca yet, Kitty has cancer and her relationship with Robert is just beginning to heal (from a near-affair on her part and his all-consuming political aspirations), Sarah's just gotten divorced and her kids are giving her trouble, Kevin has commitment problems, and Tommy's embezzlement attempts (to save the family company and subsequent abandonment of his family) has left their intrusive and distraught mother, Nora, in fits. Why, yes, I've recently started watching the ABC show Brothers & Sisters! I'm not bragging, mind you, as it has become quite clear to me that it's a modern-day, fast-acting soap opera, but I can't seem to stop, despite my husband's skulking around the corner with looks of disgust every time I grab the iPad or ask to use his computer ("You're watching Brother's and Sisters, again?") He has never approved of my television choices (well, we share taste in comedies but that will need to be a topic for another day.) Oh, I'm enjoying the show, at least I was...but there's a part of me that just needs to get this over with. Thus the 3-hour binges on the weekends. I'm nothing if not committed. If I were completely honest with you, which I think I will be, I don't care either way what happens to these people anymore, as I'm appalled by their choices. But I love them too. Oh man, what has become of me?

I tend to like drama, but not too close to home, and not when it costs me money. Lucky for me, I live with a couple of girls with a particular flair for the dramatics. We've even sent them to drama camp at Grand Rapid Civic Theatre to hone their skills. There's just something about a good tale of woe, you know? I must have been in high school when I realized that if you can string a few hardships together it can make quite a dramatic story. It's been a while, but let's see if I have enough to play my hand here...

My weekend started with the dryer going down, the rattle had become almost intolerable, and the clothes were no longer getting dry (that's when I knew). I could not get ahold of the repair guy to save my life, so Greg spent four hours and $90 on Saturday working on it (and another $70 today...but he thinks he's got it now). We have been down to one car for a week because Greg thinks the Volvo needs new brake pads, rotors, and calipers ($600) and suddenly doesn't trust driving it (I mean, if 1 brake is smoking, there are still 3 good ones, right?). This took a little extra maneuvering on our part, especially since this was the one week that Greg really needed his car as he was leading his class in a film shoot around town and at our house...where we provided lunch, meaning I had to get up at 2:00 a.m. to start the pork roast in the crockpot so it would be ready on time. I haven't seen the sun in a week, and the girls went from playing to arguing in 2 minute intervals all weekend. Friday night I pulled a Barnes & Noble bag out of Greg's backpack, thinking it was his lunch container and instead found The Magnolia Story, a book by Chip and Joanna Gaines that I'd been wanting to read, and gasped, realizing he'd gotten it for my birthday. Greg came running into the room screaming, "WHY are you going through my bag?! I can never keep a surprise from you!" I spent a great deal of my Saturday getting groceries, drying clothes at the laundromat, cleaning the house, trying to get a subscribe "button" to link on my blog (hope you enjoy it), and researching cell phone plans (I need a smartphone for my new job) and looking for a different internet provider as our current one freaks out every time we use more than one device. I admitted to a "near freak-out" myself about mid afternoon on Saturday because Greg had his film stuff all over the house, and Elia, who had come home from school announcing she needed to make an Elsa castle for her pin-ball machine project at school, had various projects strewn throughout the living room. Did I mention our Christmas tree was still up? A real one, but it was needed for the film shoot, so we weren't able to take it down until just last night. So anyhow, I showed the family how close I was to freaking out if things weren't picked up soon (my fingers were pretty close together), then headed to the bathroom where Elia popped her head in the door––"Hermones, am I right?" she said with a wink. (I need to start locking the bathroom door.) Soon after, Kate asked why the gum above my front tooth was bleeding, so I ran to the mirror to see that it looked like it'd been cut, apparently from an over-zealous flossing session. There's no way to cover up a cut gum, so I practiced a half-smile for Sunday. I had sores all along my tongue (which I get from eating certain oils), and every time I look in the mirror I'm reminded I need a haircut because of my split ends. I get insomnia from the "hermones." Kate and Greg came home from Home Depot so I helped them quickly clean out the car so I could pick Elia up form a party, and I asked why they had a bag of candy in the front seat. This time Greg and Kate both yelled at me, saying why can I not mind my own business and why can they never surprise me with anything. Later that night when saying goodnight to Elia, I told her the funny story of how I kept finding my birthday presents, and she began wailing uncontrollably because she'd wanted to give me the Andie's mints (which I found in the bag), as all she had in the box she'd wrapped was a note that said "Look in the study," and now, she said between sobs, there would be nothing there. I kept trying to tell her she was missing the point (being you can’t keep secrets from me), but she didn't listen so I yelled “End Scene!” and started to clap (she’s currently in an improv class and I was hoping this was some homework) but realized she was just tired, so I promised to put the mints in the study and act surprised. (Which I kind of am, because they all know I’m off sugar, so why spend $10 on candy?) The next day just to show I’m a good sport I ate half a package of the delectable chocolate mints then tried balancing the checkbook, but it was a tad depressing as we just bought 4 u2 tickets and two nights at a place in Chicago (for Greg's birthday), and then I began to think about this weekly assignment of a blog I have hanging over my head every week...self-imposed homework. Monday morning I woke up (for the second time, the first being at 2 am with the pork) and as I was rushing to get myself and the kids ready so we could leave for school and work in the cold and dark, Greg yelled after me that the dishwasher just went down. And that, my dears, is how I spent my birthday weekend.

I'd give myself a B-. Had I thrown in a pregnancy, a move, and a cold sore I'd have aced it. (I used to be much better, believe me. Remind me to tell you about the time we moved when I was 8 months pregnant...though I guess that's the whole story, so never mind.) Yes, this can be a dangerous game to play, especially around people with actual, real problems, so I chose my audience carefully. All 45 of you. I think the older I get, the more perspective I can have on these silly problems. I can tell you that the kind of drama I do not like is anything that involves illnesses of any kind, accidents (I'm not a monster), marital issues, or people who create a wave of drama around themselves because they thrive on attention. So what does this leave? I had to ask Greg what kind of drama I like, and he replied with a too-quick, "Gossip--the juicier the better!" He thinks it's due to a lack of excitement in my own life, and perhaps a little deficit of the soul. (One has to wonder why I ask Greg these things.) This bothers me for two main reasons. First, because I just wrote a blog about my love of drama, and second, there is no good way to spin a love of gossip which would end with me looking good. Do I sit up straighter while hearing a good story? Sure. Does my heart race faster and do I lean into the storyteller and try not to smile? Who doesn't? But I am by no means an embezzling, secret-keeping, lying, cheating, illegitimate half-sibling with an affinity to illegal drugs. But boy oh boy, can you even imagine if I were...?!