Don’t Worry, You’re Damned Regardless

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An Open Letter to Gwyneth

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A Whole Foods Vacation

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The Whole Foods on Columbus Avenue and 99th Street in Manhattan has a large dining room for customers to eat their goods recently purchased from the¬†behemoth¬†“Whole Paycheck” grocer. This dining area appeals to me greatly. I get to sit and work on my computer with no fear of (a) annoying a waitress who wants more than a tea-drinking customer; and (b) feeling guilty that I’m taking a table that someone else wants. There’s no table service here and plenty of tables for everyone, and then some. I buy my tea and I sit, unafraid of imposing on anyone. Free of guilt. There’s another type of person who loves the Whole Foods dining room: women taking care of small children.

This dining room is practically overrun by stay-at-home mothers and nannies, all with children under 2 years of age in a stroller. The children either sleep in their strollers while the nannies chat with their nanny friends or the toddlers sit in their little booster seat (thanks for providing, Whole Foods) while their mommies feed them mashed up and small pieces of food. I’ve never brought my kids here. The older one is too old now (sitting at a table in a big room she could otherwise be running around in = no fun) and I’m never alone long enough with the little one to require a place to go.

Do these women absolutely love the California Rolls at the sushi bar? Do they dream of the cous cous at the pre-made foods bar? No. They’re looking for a place to go. Yes, I’m making a grand generalization. They need a place to be OTHER than the living room. God save me from being at home all day with a small child.

On a rare day, you’ll meet a woman who looooves staying home with her kids and not working. On a rare day, you’ll meet a woman who looooves working a 9-5 and only seeing her kids for bedtime and on the weekends. But the majority of us yearn for a happy medium: lengthy, quality time with our little ones as they learn everything in front of them and time away to build our careers, our sense of independence, a sense of being something more than a mother.

Note: one of my tag words for Search Engine Optimization on this post is “stir crazy”.

I get two hours every day at the Whole Foods to work on my script. Not bad. I could use a lot more time, but childcare is too expensive for us right now. So I sit here in the morning, surrounded by women looking for respite from the howling on the living rug or the flashy noise of PBS Kids programming (on the Upper West Side, we watch PBS Kids. None of that Disney Jr. for us educated folk… okay, maybe a little Handy Manny and some Charlie and Lola.)

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30 minutes gone while writing this post. Now back to work on my screenplay. I’ve got 90 minutes left to find my career, my independence and feel like I’m not a liar (or a poser) when I say: My name is Awesome, and I’m a writer.

Day 28 – Thank You, Pregnancy, for Making Me Totally Useless

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I feel nauseated almost all day long, every day. I’m tired the rest of the time. Now it seems I’ve got a cold, and I’m all stuffed up. My daughter wakes up every single night, and while I try to sing her back to sleep, thoughts of vomiting usually leave me to have to ask my hubby to take over. On the mornings when I get up with her, and my hubby sleeps in, she and I spend a good chunk of time watching TV, as I can’t do much more than slowly shove crackers and ginger ale into my mouth. On top of that, I fluctuate between irritability, anger, and tearing up at stupid morning shows where celebrities collect toys from people to give to the less fortunate. (Oh, Matt Damon, will you ever cease to amaze me?)

I’m totally useless.

I know this sounds like a lame excuse, but all of these symptoms together are making it really hard for me to read through my Dramatists Sourcebook for more theaters to submit to. I just want to watch TV and zone out, so I can forget my ickyness. So far, my goal of getting a writing career in 9 months (32 weeks and 2 days left) is seeming more and more difficult to achieve.