Jen Kirkman - I Can Barely Take Care of Myself

Здесь есть возможность читать онлайн «Jen Kirkman - I Can Barely Take Care of Myself» весь текст электронной книги совершенно бесплатно (целиком полную версию без сокращений). В некоторых случаях можно слушать аудио, скачать через торрент в формате fb2 и присутствует краткое содержание. Город: New York, Год выпуска: 2013, ISBN: 2013, Издательство: Simon & Schuster, Жанр: Биографии и Мемуары, Юмористические книги, на английском языке. Описание произведения, (предисловие) а так же отзывы посетителей доступны на портале библиотеки ЛибКат.

I Can Barely Take Care of Myself: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

Предлагаем к чтению аннотацию, описание, краткое содержание или предисловие (зависит от того, что написал сам автор книги «I Can Barely Take Care of Myself»). Если вы не нашли необходимую информацию о книге — напишите в комментариях, мы постараемся отыскать её.

“You’ll Change Your Mind.” That’s what everyone says to Jen Kirkman— and countless women like her—when she confesses she doesn’t plan to have children. But you know what? It’s hard enough to be an adult. You have to dress yourself and pay bills and remember to buy birthday gifts. You have to drive and get annual physicals and tip for good service. Some adults take on the added burden of caring for a tiny human being with no language skills or bladder control. Parenthood can be very rewarding, but let’s face it, so are margaritas at the adults-only pool.
Jen’s stand-up routine includes lots of jokes about not having kids (and some about masturbation and Johnny Depp), after which complete strangers constantly approach her and ask, “But who will take care of you when you’re old?” (
) Some insist, “You’d be such a great mom!” (
)
Whether living rent-free in her childhood bedroom while trying to break into comedy (the best free birth control around, she says), or taking the stage at major clubs and joining a hit TV show— and along the way getting married, divorced, and attending excruciating afternoon birthday parties for her parent friends—Jen is completely happy and fulfilled by her decision not to procreate.
I Can Barely Take Care of Myself

I Can Barely Take Care of Myself — читать онлайн бесплатно полную книгу (весь текст) целиком

Ниже представлен текст книги, разбитый по страницам. Система сохранения места последней прочитанной страницы, позволяет с удобством читать онлайн бесплатно книгу «I Can Barely Take Care of Myself», без необходимости каждый раз заново искать на чём Вы остановились. Поставьте закладку, и сможете в любой момент перейти на страницу, на которой закончили чтение.

Тёмная тема
Сбросить

Интервал:

Закладка:

Сделать

“Get mad at the fear!” This was Dr. Al’s motto. Take the rush of adrenaline that fear produces and turn it outward. Screw that fear! How dare that fear creep into our heads and start messing with us. We were in control! The fear was an unwelcome pest. It all sounded empowering in the moment and especially sitting in the safety of a conference room chock full of gravity.

Being a Logan’s Hero was hard work. Every week I had to read a page of the Fearless Flying book. Every night I was to sit and do a guided meditation. This was called “practicing the relaxation response.” Dr. Al was the narrator on the tape. He suggested getting in a comfortable chair and picturing yourself alone on a beach in a quiet, remote location. That’s the first time that I realized I also had a fear of being on a beach in a remote location. Was there a hospital in this beach town? How alone was I? What did I eat? Was there shelter in case of a hurricane? I decided that it was best for me to picture myself on a crowded beach, complete with all of the necessary accommodations.

All of us Logan’s Heroes took a graduation flight from Boston to New York City and back. Every other Logan’s Hero was heroic. They did not panic and used only breathing techniques, no drugs or alcohol, to combat their anxiety on the flight. I didn’t use drugs or alcohol either but I couldn’t breathe. I white-knuckled the flight and sat next to Dr. Al, making whimpering sounds. When the plane landed, he took me aside and said, “I think there is more going on with you than just a fear of flying. You might want to look into seeing a psychiatrist who can help you with your anxiety. And just remember, this is the time of your life.”

Dr. Al was right. I did need a psychiatrist. I finally started seeing one a few years later once the mere fear of having a panic attack caused actual panic attacks in malls, on highways—even while lying quietly in “corpse pose” in yoga class. All that silence and stillness and my brain would start to go crazy: Hey, Jen, while you have five minutes at the end of class, I thought I’d remind you that you’re just a small person stuck on a ball that is spinning through the atmosphere.

My psychiatrist offered me something that Dr. Al never did. Just like Dr. Al had his motto: “Get mad at the fear!” I now have my own motto: “Have Klonopin, will travel.”

It took a lot of therapy and a lot of different antidepressants to rewire my brain. I’m still in therapy but am not medicated—unless you count Skittles. I take Klonopin as needed when I fly and I carry some in my purse just in case. (Please, muggers, if you see me on the street, don’t hit me over the head and steal my purse. Psychiatrists never believe you when you say your prescription was stolen.)

I finally understand that it’s okay to be a little afraid of things but that obsessing over them does not mean you have any more control over what you fear. There’s a big difference between thinking, Hey, it would suck to die in a nuclear war or a plane crash, and, Good morning—oh my God. What if a nuclear bomb hits my home now? Okay, what about now? Now?

When I turned thirty-five, I finally shook off most of the “fear of life” that had gripped me since before MTV was even a thing. The Day After , my parents, and Eastern Airlines are not to blame for the neuroses of my youth. Clearly, other children watched that movie but were comforted by Sting’s end credits song, “Russians.”

I just happened to be wired to develop panic disorder, depression, and anxiety. Youth was wasted on the young in my case—but I am not going to waste my middle age. In the past two years I’ve been lucky enough to have my work take me to London, Australia, and almost every state in America. It’s afforded me vacations in Paris, Mexico, and Hawaii. There are so many more places I want to see. I’ve relinquished my responsibilities as the world’s sole nuclear war worrywart, and the only child I want to indulge right now is my inner one.

A LOT OF my friends who have kids say to me, “We’d love to travel more and go out every night, but we have a child now. We got that out of our system in our twenties, so now it’s just time to settle down.” Well, I got nothing out of my system in my twenties and I’m excited about starting to put things in my system. I’m lucky that my friend Sarah doesn’t want kids either, and if she ever changes her mind, I’m going to push her down a flight of stairs.

Sarah and I decided to take a trip to Maui together to ring in the 2012 New Year. We figured after we spent Christmas with our respective families, we’d then detox in Hawaii by cooking our skin in the sun and getting salty seawater in our eyes. We both write for Chelsea Lately as well as work on other projects, and we travel a lot to do stand-up. We wanted a vacation where we could do absolutely nothing. (For parents who are reading this, “nothing” is that thing you will get to do once your kids leave for college, if they ever leave for college. I hear tuition is skyrocketing.)

We opted to stay at the Grand Wailea Maui. It’s a family-friendly resort. We’re not opposed to families existing—we’re very generous that way. Sarah and I were confident that we’d be undisturbed by screaming toddlers in the cabana we rented at the adults-only pool.

See There was even a sign at the entrance of the adult pool that clearly - фото 1

See? There was even a sign at the entrance of the adult pool that clearly states as much. I don’t know anyone who dutifully and without question obeyed authority more than my parents and I when I was a child. That sign would have put the fear of God in us. If eight-year-old Jen had even walked near this sign on a family vacation, my mother would have grabbed my arm and harshly whispered, “Jennifah, don’t go near there, it’s for rich people who will have their own private security. They’ll have us arrested and we’ll have to spend the rest of the vacation in the town jail run by the local mafia.”

Seems like kids these days (and their parents) aren’t scared of some words engraved on a placard. On our first day in Maui, there was not one adult in the adult pool because there were so many kids swimming (aka peeing) in the four-foot-deep waters. There were tween boys in the hot tub! Just in case you think I’m not being fair, just in case you’re thinking to yourself, Jen, let the children enjoy a refreshing chlorine dip in the hot Maui sun! They’re on vacation and they’re just kids. This is the time of their lives! I’ll show you Exhibit A (and the only exhibit that I have to offer): On the next page is a map of the pools at the Grand Wailea hotel in Maui:

The only pool for people eighteen and over is the Hibiscus Pool. Children have access to a lazy river, rapids, a water slide, a scuba pool, Pool no. 1, Pool no. 2, Pool no. 3, and even a pool with a swim-up bar for their twenty-one-and-over parents! There was no swim-up bar at the Hibiscus Pool. There was no bar at all. Just a few harried waitresses trying to deliver watered-down drinks while rogue toddlers tripped them up.

My legs were sore from being cramped on a long flight and because I’m thirty-eight now and beginning to feel the fact that I’m slowly rotting from the inside. I wanted to sit in the hot tub but I couldn’t because I was self-conscious about sitting in a hot tub with a bunch of twelve-year-old boys who would see me in my bikini. If I wanted to spend my vacation feeling uncomfortable in a bathing suit around boys, I’d buy a round-trip ticket on a time machine and go back to 1987, when I was called “boobless” by two boys back on Duxbury Beach in Massachusetts. Sure, I have boobs now, but I also have a stomach. There was probably a six-month window of time when I was nineteen when my boobs were of a good size and I had no stomach flab—that girl would look great in a bikini if she weren’t busy trying to be “grunge” in her oversize flannel shirts.

Читать дальше
Тёмная тема
Сбросить

Интервал:

Закладка:

Сделать

Похожие книги на «I Can Barely Take Care of Myself»

Представляем Вашему вниманию похожие книги на «I Can Barely Take Care of Myself» списком для выбора. Мы отобрали схожую по названию и смыслу литературу в надежде предоставить читателям больше вариантов отыскать новые, интересные, ещё непрочитанные произведения.


Отзывы о книге «I Can Barely Take Care of Myself»

Обсуждение, отзывы о книге «I Can Barely Take Care of Myself» и просто собственные мнения читателей. Оставьте ваши комментарии, напишите, что Вы думаете о произведении, его смысле или главных героях. Укажите что конкретно понравилось, а что нет, и почему Вы так считаете.

x