Sheepenguin!

Fade in:

Betsy and A sit at the breakfast table, munching away on toast and coffee. The text "Last week" appears on the bottom of the screen.

Betsy: I mean, it would be nice if you got a job in Chicago for the summer, but if you don't, we'll deal. you should get a job where you can get a job.
(beat)
It's only ten weeks.

Fade out.

Fade in:

Betsy and A are getting ready for bed. Text on the bottom of the screen says "Yesterday."

Betsy: And you know, if you do get a job in Chicago, I think I'd like to still live by myself. I've never done that, you know? And if we move in together after school, I think I would regret doing it.

Fade out.

Fade in. The word "Today" appears on the screen. B is sitting in her kitchen, at the bar, slumped across the bar, cheek smooshed against it. Her eyes are half open, and she has bedhead. An empty plate, covered in crumbs, sits in front of her. She stares at it. Something catches her eye. She is suddenly alert. She jumps up.

Cut to --

Two pieces of shredded cheese on the place lie next to each other, making a heart shape.

Cut to --

Betsy as her face starts to collapse in tears.

Fade out.

Fade in to see Betsy, pajama-clad. It's night time. Her hair is in pigtails. She looks miserable. She walks over to a calendar. The days are clearly marked "A" and "no-A" to indicate which days A is out of town. She crosses off the first one, then counts the remaining, sighing as she does so. She crawls into bed, and pulls up a job search site. She searches on "Chicago." She finds a result, and hits "email" then enters "A's" email address.

Fade out.

"Lowly" work.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/01/us/01survival.html

This article in the Times raises some interesting questions. Personally, I've never thought that if I needed the money that I would hesitate to take a "menial" job. Perhaps it's because I come from a family where it's a common occurrence, and, as the only person in my family with a college education, expected that "work" means in a bakery, a daycare, or in a factory.

But I digress. It upsets that a) people so closely tie their identities and self-worth to their jobs, and b) consider some work to be "beneath" them or without dignity.

Maybe this recession will teach Americans that work is work, and while some work may be more satisfying than others, there is still dignity in it no matter what the level of pay or title.

Happiness.

It's been scientifically proven that you're about as happy as you want to be. They say that whether you lose a limb or win the lottery, in one year you'll be about the same level of happiness. (See Ted.com lectures on this if you'd like).

This is good! This means that no matter what happens in life we can count on being happy, if we chose to be.

But -- this is also bad!

I find myself often wanting to say to someone-in-particular: "I don't think I could be happy without you." But of course this isn't true. I could be happy. If we broke up, I would be sad, my heart would explode, but then I would clean it up, put it back together, and be happy again. How romantic.

So what am I supposed to say? "I love you, and you make me happy, but you make me as happy as I would be without you."

I guess it's a good thing to realize -- love me or leave me, I'll be just fine. But then how many partners are interchangeable? How special is a relationship that you could you could be happy without, according to science and experience. It seems to reduce a relationship to its purpose, which is not, then, happiness, but could be commitment to child-rearing. Is that, then, what we should look for?

There are a lot of Judith Warner columns I can't relate to. Sometimes I think she's whiney. But I realize these days that the reasons she bugs me is that we're pretty much exactly the same.

I read one of her articles today, and I think it highlights somethings I'm dealing with.

The article is here.

Basically: I'm not normal. My boyfriend is. Hilarity ensues. Oh, wait. That's not hilarity. Anymore.

I would let the faucet drip. I let food go bad in my fridge. I watch the mold, and I think maybe I should have eaten that, maybe I should not make food I'm not going to eat. But for some reason I don't throw it away that often. Early in our relationship, one day A was over, and we cleaned out my fridge.

At first, it seemed like a difference between us that would make us both better. I would be the spacey one who thought about life and contemplated the sunlight coming between the blinds at 5:47 pm, and he'd be the one who made sure no science experiments were breeding in the fridge, that no one's house fell apart.

But now I realize that rather than appreciating this aspect of my personality, he sees it as a weakness. He doesn't think I can be left in charge of my own life. I spend money wrongly, as if there was such a thing. I buy things when, apparently, I shouldn't. I put too much emphasis on enjoying food and life and not enough on the practical side of things. Never mind that I managed to make it to the age of 29, to get an Ivy league education and get into a good business school, and pay my bills mostly on time, and make quite a few friends along the way. What I do is not normal.

Interestingly, I never really felt "not normal" until recently. Suddenly I feel on the receiving end of a pity party, like suddenly finding out that someone is taking care of your life in the background because if they didn't it would all fall apart.

How does this happen? Why am I doubting myself? Why have I stopped believing that I'm charming and fun and instead find myself worthy of being locked up until I learn how to take better care of things? I feel like the child who is told that she can't get a puppy until she proves she can take care of a goldfish.

I think it's time to step back and get to know myself again.