comedy is a family value

tina fey is a fairly new hero of mine– just started watching episodes of 30 rock on the web this summer– awesome, sweet, and hilarious. and bravo for snl, which gives comedians the stage to voice some searing and very funny commentary on current events. this skit with tina fey and amy poehler takes the cake– and it irks me no end that youtube keeps being compelled to yank it. fortunately, the populace is not content to let it go and continues to repost it. so if the video below fails to play for you and you haven’t seen it yet, just do a search in youtube for “palin clinton”, and one or two copies should show up. bravo for populist insurgency!

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in which I flee

…and then think better of it.

I have this bad habit of just taking off, splitting, vamoosing, hitting the high road– which I’m still learning, ohso slowly and late in life, to get a handle on. it’s like I hit a certain point of sensory overload and just need to get away by myself– it developed early, via tricycle, so it’s not like it’s a little whim I’m trying to shake– but I do believe in gradual progress and the possibility of altering even the oldest, inset patterns.

I have this really amazing boyfriend. he’s just so right for me, tho for a long, long time I despaired of actually finding a fortuitous match– chalk one up for hope and a generous universe. still, it ain’t always easy, even this. because, well, it’s two people negotiating the world side by side, a dance of give and take. and also because, let’s face it, he’s got some crazy exes. yeah, yeah, you say, we all do– but I mean really, cuckoo. and also he’s a sensitive, immensely empathetic person, so it’s not just like he can go, aw, yeah, whatever, to hell with them– there’s some understandable processing that needs to happen– and then last night, while out with my crowd from work, we ran into one of them–

and the thing is, it was totally no big deal. I mean, really. but I had already been kind of, for various reasons, nearing the point of public/people saturation that I tend to hit, and then there’s the cuckoo ex, and then somebody makes an offhand comment about how she looks like me– and it just hits a nerve– and this is where I mess up: I don’t take my darling fella aside and say, honey, I’m ready to go home now. nope. not me. lizard brain sarah kicks into gear, drops some jacksons, delivers some rapidfire air-kisses, and splits.

oh ho ho ho, not such a mature move, you say. and you’d be right. I just left my fella standing there, looking like an idiot, with a crazy ex in the vicinity and a vanishing girlfriend.

bad habit vanishing sarah. it’s not easy, catching that split second you have to consider, to think, before reacting when your old triggers get tripped. more and more I’m finding occasion to do just that, to catch it before it turns into a Thing, to consider and choose before automatically reacting– I’m doing it more and more with my family, practicing doing it in the workplace, did it last week with a landlord issue– I’m doing better all the time with choosing how I want to feel and behave. but last night I slipped. big time. I regressed.

the upside is that my fella is a prince– brave and honest and full-hearted. he came home, and we– did what we do, which is very good. we talk, we listen, we discuss options for the next time; we apologize, we hold one another, and we vow to do better. and, yknow what? we always are.

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45 min.

walking out on my own at lunchtime is, on occasion, good for my head– gives me some clear space, a little bubble of lightened gravity in the middle of my working day.

today it’s raining, so I put on my blue overcoat and popped my purple umbrella for the four block stroll through suburban skokie to the greek sandwich place on the corner.

I keep encountering dead things in my path lately– a juvenile raccoon fallen from a tree and playing host to fat, busy beetles who wove in and out of its skin on the cranberry bog trail up in michigan– and today a black squirrel on the sidewalk, looking so newly fallen, bright eyes staring, limbs curved as if with crawling, light skin showing through rain-drenched black fur– something in me wanted, foolishly, to shelter it from the rain.

the rose of sharon blossoms seem to be drinking in the moisture above their shed and trampled kind, the cosmos hanging like sodden pink damsels in the downpour.

I scuff out and sit before a droplet-streaked window and eat my sandwich slowly, gazing into traffic and thinking nothing in particular– and walk back with the palpable feeling of greater space inside my skull, loafers soaked, steps lighter.

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