Media I Have Consumed in the 39 Days Since Having My Heart Smashed by the Person I Loved and Trusted Most in the World
All of The Great British Bake-Off series one. British people baking weird cakes and biscuits (which are usually cookies or crackers but sometimes actual biscuits, depending, I think). This is my new favorite show. Everybody is very pleasant and supportive, even the judges. The contestants are technically in competition with each other, but mostly in competition with themselves. The true enemy, as always, lies within.
At least 40 episodes of Murder, She Wrote. That may sound like an awful lot of Murder, She Wrote, but I didnāt actually watch them all so much as listen to them on headphones at work while entering data and writing thank you notes and trying to drown out my Very Big Emotions with lots of innocuous noise. The great thing about Jessica Fletcher (aside from everything about Jessica Fletcher) is that she does NOT suffer fools gladly if you know what I mean. I mean sheās a straight-up bitch. The other great thing about Jessica Fletcher is her complete disinterest in romance of any kind. Jessica Fletcher doesnāt have time for your worn-out, old-man-detective dick.
The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13Ā¾ by Sue Townsend. I borrowed this from my friend M who said it would be good, light, unemotional reading during this most emotional of times. It kind of was, in that itās a comic epistolary novel from the perspectve of a teenage boy, but it kind of wasnāt in that itās about poverty and broken homes. Apparently, the Adrian Mole series is very famous, but I had never heard of it before.
Most of When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chƶdrƶn, which is a Buddhist book that everybody (you know, on the internet) recommends for heartbreak. Itās preeeeeetty Buddhist. Iām reading it in late-night bursts and feeling self-conscious about my decidedly un-Buddha-like nature, but it does help. Iāll read it more than once. Iām also reading a meditation book that I forget the name of but is much more cazh about Buddhism, and I downloaded a meditation app. The app lets me select up to five emotions I am feeling at a time and suggests an appropriate guided meditation accordingly. Usually, the emotions I choose are things like āheartbroken,ā despairing,ā and āinsecure.ā Iāve told the app my emotions many times, but only followed the advised meditations twice.
Approximately 34 episodes of Bobās Burgers. Iād like to think Iām a Tina, but Iām probably a Louise (and saying that might actually make me a Gene). I love how much this family loves each other. I thought it would make me sad to watch a happy family, but theyāre cartoons, so itās okay.
The Wet Hot American Summer making-of ādocumentaryā which is really just a mish-mash of poorly-lit camcorder footage of the cast goofing off. They were so young. They had no idea. I wonder which ones of them were fucking.
Lying Awake by Mark Salzman, also borrowed from M. Itās a quiet, simple novel about a nun who has visions caused by epilepsy, and her fear of losing faith. Iāve had the feeling these past five weeks that life is stretching out like a burden and I canāt imagine staying alive. Iāve lost something that I didnāt think I could lose, and with it I lost my sense of self. But I continue to feed the dogs, go for walks, eat toast, drink tea. Nuns pray, do manual labor, eat bread. Ritual in the hope of salvation. Ritual as an invitation to faith.
Another Period. The Helen Keller episode gave me my first real post-heart-smash laugh.
Tig, the Tig Notaro documentary. Tig is a champ.
Pistol Shrimps Radio, a podcast in which Matt Gourley and Mark McConville from Superego live-call Los Angeles womenās recreational basketball league games. Itās silly and a little bit boring, very easy listening in the midst of emotional trauma. Tig makes several appearances because her girlfriend (now wife) is on the team. I was listening to the podcast before I saw the documentary, and thought, āhow nice that Tig has a new girlfriend,ā and then I watched the movie and thought, āLOVE IS REAL,ā which frankly is a relief to be capable of thinking.
Other podcasts. So many podcasts. The usual suspects, plus endless episodes of Answer Me This.
Heartburn by Nora Ephron, one more from M (although I found my own copy, which I forgot I owned, while I was reading hers). I read it a few years ago and liked it a lot, but didnāt have the context to understand it then. This novel is so funny, even in parts about unfunny stuff, but when I reached the end I started weeping uncontrollably at the picnic table outside my bossās office window.
Itās Called a Break-Up Because Itās Broken. Yeah, I read this shit. Itās very dated and kind of condescending, but it did help me feel less insane.
Amy Poehlerās Yes Please. This was my Ur break-up text. I read it the night after the morning my heart was smashed because I couldnāt sleep and needed something to distract me from sobbing. Whenever I stopped reading, I started sobbing again. After the first night of no sleep, I drove, dry-sobbing, to my parentsā farm, and finished the book in the room I slept in for two years before we met. Not the bed I slept in, which is now my bed in my house. "Myā bed and āmyā house, which were so recently āours.ā Itās strange to go back to mine from ours. Itās strange to say āstrangeā when I mean āgut-wrenchingly miserable and cosmically unfair.ā I love Amy Poehler and appreciate her perspective on work, love, and loss, but there are several awkward throwaway lines about race, as well as a running theme of āI donāt want to be writing this book that I am writing which you presumably paid money to read,ā which is a fine thing to feel while writing, but maybe not the best thing to include in the finished book. But hey, what do I know about making good choices about what to put in writing and what to keep to myself.
This video of 40 St. Bernards taking a walk. Dog breeding is antiquated and unethical, but these slobbering monstrosities bring me peace.
The Intern. Recommended if you need a movie to see with your mother and enjoy Nancy Myers interiors. Not recommended if you had hoped to go your entire life without seeing a close-up of Robert De Niroās boner.
Grace and Frankie. This show is pleasant enough. A cute dog shows up sometimes. Martin Sheen and Sam Waterston have no chemistry. Lily Tomlin is, and always has been, The Best. Itās disconcerting to see my teenage dream Ethan Embry all gaunt with no hair, but time and disappointment come for us all.
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