Books

When I was pregnant with both of my children I experienced terrible insomnia. The sleeplessness wasn't from the discomfort of pregnancy, but rather this constant feeling of manic energy that I had from 9 p.m. to 3 a.m. I couldn't take anything for it, so I had to suffer with the echoes of medical professionals and other women saying unhelpfully, "It will pass when the baby is born." These were the same people who said equally unhelpfully, "Sleep now. You'll never sleep well again."

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I would sit on the red el shaped couch in the living room watching shows on TLC. Little did I know that this kind of trashy network would help me solve a big problem in my life.

I lived in a 2 bedroom apartment in Chicago for 6 years until my boyfriend who became my fiance who became my husband moved in. The master bedroom was mine (ours) and the guest bedroom belonged to my books: five bookcases overfilling with books. I needed to get rid of those books before my daughter was born, but I couldn't.

I started collecting the books immediately after I moved into the condo after a failed engagement. I brought books from my parents house. I bought books at used book stores. I'd never pass a Barnes and Noble without buying several books.

When people would enter the second bedroom, they would say, "Wow, that's a lot of books." Whether that statement was uttered with admiration or trepidation didn't matter. I was proud of my collection and the idea of parting with it was painful.

Which brings me to TLC and being six months pregnant and not sleeping.



I would watch a double header of "My 600-pound life" and "Hoarders." My husband suggested that perhaps watching those shows was making it more difficult for me to fall asleep. I knew he was right, but I couldn't stop watching.

The episodes had the same pattern, kind of like Law and Order, but with real human beings. There was the shock of seeing the person or home, followed by the interviews with friends and family, inevitably there would be an enabler, then an intervention, followed by medical or psychological intervention, ending in a resolution of no more hoarding or weight loss. Inevitably, there would be a set back at some point, but hopefully the person was on the road to recovery.

I would listen as each therapist in each part of the country that would be contracted by TLC or the producers would say that the hoarded item or food represented an emotion or more accurately a repressed emotion. Therapy would involve addressing those emotions. Often the people on the show had suffered some horrible trauma. After the shows I would Google the subjects of the episodes to see if there was an update. TLC would have something on their web site for certain and sometimes local news outlets would cover the person being featured.

To be clear, I wasn't a hoarder nor was I 600 pounds. However, the shows made me realize that the books represented much more than their title pages.  So what was their purpose.

• They filled a void during the several years between my broken engagement and meeting a new partner. They were there for me as relationships with the opposite sex proved unreliable. 
• They were a sign of my baggage for future partners or friends. You may like me, but just so you know, I come with a lot of books. 
• They covered up insecurities.  "I may not seem that intellectual, but I am because see, I have lots of books."
• They would be there in case of some apocalyptic type scenario. If it was the end of the world, at least I would die with my books. If I needed to be hidden or hide someone, like Anne Frank and Miep Gies, there would be all of these books to read to keep my mind  (or the mind of the person I was hiding) off of the impending doom. 
• As a child, I was a voracious reader. I read at meals, college basketball games, in the car, and at the store. I used books to disassociate and they never let me down.  

At 3 a.m. Central Time, with the baby kicking my ribs, I realized that I was ready to give up the books. I was married to a wonderful man who wouldn't let me down and accompany me until the end of days. And even if for some reason things didn't work out with him, or something happened to him, the books wouldn't be able to help me. I would need to help me.

Slowly, I began ridding myself of the books. I gave them to friends and acquaintances. Eventually, though, they needed to be boxed up. A charity picked them up. I sold the book shelves to a medical student. My husband helped him carry them to his car.

Today I live in a different apartment in a different country. I own very few books and mostly read on a Kindle. However, my kids' rooms are filled with them. They are  like the mezuzahs* on the doorposts of their rooms. They can't hurt. And in this crazy world, I want them to have all of the extra protection they can get.

This is an example of a  Mezuzah. It is supposed to be on every door post in your home, except the bathroom. 

This story is dedicated to my good friend Doda Jojo who has been my mezuzah for several years now. 

Key Lime Pie for Brain

I remember someone once explained to me the concept of non profit financial allocations and how sometimes a great idea wasn’t funded because it would mean something else would have to be decreased or cut.

He said, “The pie doesn’t grow any bigger, you just have to cut more slices.”

At this point in my life, just this month or so, I feel like I need a few more pies, to stop eating pie, or to throw the pie in a clown’s face.

But let’s say I’m the pie, I just feel right now that I keep slicing myself into smaller and smaller pieces, almost to the point of them being minuscule so that no one wants a taste anyways, but I want them to still have it.

What is bogging me down is so dumb, so unimportant in the scheme of the universe, it’s almost embarrassing, especially because I don’t have kids.

Twelve lovely women are throwing me a shower for my recent wedding. I put off buying a dress for this shower until Monday. Finally, I did it. Why do I hate shopping so much? That’s for another blog post. But I have the dress, now, I still need shoes and the right kind of bra. In addition, I need to buy them “hostess gifts.” To my parents’ huge annoyance, I haven’t done this yet. I plan to go to this cute store right by my condo on Friday after work.  But what if I run out of time? What if I show up to the shower with no gifts, braless,and  in flip flops?

I have some thank you notes to write that after Saturday will become 40+ thank you notes. I never wrote thank you notes for my bachelorette party (thank you notes and a penis cake just seem weird). And I didn’t write thank you notes to my the gift givers at my Israel wedding because my husband said that isn’t customary. But I’m worried he’s wrong or that I was wrong not to write thank you notes for the bachelorette party.

And then there’s the wedding reception on May 20. I need something to wear to that. I don’t want to shop. I hate shopping, but I need something really nice.

The next thing bothering me is I am supposed to renew my real estate license by taking a course and a test. I have until April 30. I have taken half of the course, but I need to finish the rest. Then I need to take a test. I have 11 days now to complete. They gave us a year to complete it. I’m down to 11 days. Part of my lackluster attitude is I don’t practice real estate. My brother is a broker and way, way back in the day I would help him once in a while. But I think the last time I did anything useful for his business was 6 years ago. So it’s hard to motivate, but I feel bad about not doing it. Especially because it’s not hard, just time consuming.

Then there’s my second bedroom in my condo. I want to get rid of all my books. I have a mini library. The room is starting to smell like a library because of them. But I can’t do it. I’m stuck. One reason is because I just love the books, the other is I don’t really know what to do with them or how to pack them up or whatever.

I need to organize my kitchen, but I can’t do it. I’m stuck.

I haven’t been a very good friend to anyone lately. But I don’t even know how to right now.

And then there’s work. I feel very stressed out. But it’s hard to tell what is self imposed and what is actual.

And then there’s some legitimate stuff as well in my family that is causing me concern.

And some Visa issues (8 months from now! HaHa) that need to be worked out for my husband.

And what about the dentist? When am I due for a cleaning?

And how will I ever be able to manage having kids if my brain is going like this every day!

To avoid it all, I’ve joined a fancy gym. I work out almost every day. Today I watched the Real Housewives of Atlanta Part 1 Season Finale. I burned 500 calories (allegedly, who knows if those machines are correct) and was thoroughly entertained. But when I got off the machine, I just felt guilty because of all the other stuff I need to get done.

My husband is great. He sees me spinning my wheels and tries to put the brakes on. Despite his valiant efforts, he’s snoring and I’m awake at 2:35 a.m.

On his computer. Because mine died tonight. When the hell will I fix that?

I know people have much, much more significant problems and challenges in their lives. And I try, try to think about that when overwhelmed by what I’m overwhelmed by. But, it doesn’t really work.

And I just think about my tiny pie pieces.