Eat the Damn Cake

I am having one of those days. Rosh Hashanah starts tomorrow, and I’m going to be standing behind a podium in front of hundreds of people. They are going to all look at me at the same time. And then I’ll sing. A lot. In Hebrew. Which I am used to, because I’ve been doing it for ten years now. But I’m not used to it, either, because it’s really hard to get used to singing in Hebrew in front of a lot of people.

Once Rosh Hashanah gets started, there’s no stopping it. Thursday and Friday will be spent in the synagogue, my eyes skipping ahead on the printed outline of the service that sits on the podium in front of me. “Oh, shit. Here comes the ha-melech…I never get the melody exactly right. I never remember to take a big enough breath before the high part…”

(the huge, heavy High Holiday prayerbook I chant from. You wouldn’t believe what that thing does to your wrists after you hold it up for awhile)

I am having one of those days. It started yesterday, actually, when I was frantically shopping for a white skirt, because it turned out that nothing fit right or looked right, and I have to wear white for the High Holidays. No one is selling white now. There’s a rule. It involves Labor Day, which already happened. I was in the dressing room, and I looked bad from every angle. Every time I looked at myself I could think of ten things that were unfixably wrong with me. “No woman could ever make that neck work.”

Those three-paneled mirrors are the worst. I am glad I don’t have to see myself in profile more often. I tried to imagine what I’d have to look like to look good in all three panels. It was a bad idea.

“Remember how you wrote about being gorgeous?” I asked myself. I could barely remember. I bought a brown skirt. I couldn’t tell if it looked good or not. I could tell that it was too expensive, but I had to buy something, to justify all that shopping. And because I really need a skirt that isn’t too short and sexy and isn’t long and shapeless.

Bear was in Chicago, the cat kept jumping on the counter, I wondered if I was a complete failure or just mostly a failure. I had no idea how I was going to lead services. Sometimes the idea of standing up in front of all those people is so strange, I can’t get my mind around it. Sometimes it’s so normal, I don’t even notice. Mostly I don’t talk about it, because it takes so much explaining.

Last night, falling asleep, it occurred to me that I’d written a relative this long email, and he’d never written back. I’d pitched four magazines, and no one ever responded. My mom is getting all these blood tests. Everything is just a little wrong.

My brother woke me up this morning, having a crisis with his girlfriend. He was upset. It didn’t sound good. I really like her. I hope I get to see her again.

I feel myself starting to get offended by little things. “Look how inconsiderate this person is in this email. She’s ignoring what I JUST said.”

I feel overwhelmed by stuff that doesn’t matter. “Do I really have to cancel that gym membership today? I don’t want to call them right now…”

I feel utterly unproductive.

I feel guilty for feeling all of these things. “Get a grip. You have to perform services tomorrow. Think positive. You’re psyched. You’re up for this. Go get ’em! You LOVE this. This is not the right time to feel bad. This is not a good time to sulk. Stop being a baby. Stop getting distracted. FOCUS. Goddamnit, are you even listening? Stop reading movie reviews! That doesn’t matter! Work. Practice. Get in the mood.”

Maybe Rosh Hashanah will jostle me back into place. Maybe this is Rosh Hashanah’s fault. Maybe tomorrow will be a lot better.

But today is just one of those days.

*  *  *

Unroast: Today I am trying really hard to love something about myself, and it’s surprisingly hard. I think I have to go with the faint gold birthmark on my upper thigh.

P.S. I really loved reading your “I am gorgeous” responses yesterday. Thank you!

P.P.S. That picture of the book on my new couch reminds me that I need to call the store about replacing a cushion that is already falling apart. But I really, really don’t want to. See? One of those days.