So I Got Depressed

So I Got Depressed
Ashley Harper


So I got depressed today because I was doing this recipe search on the Internet and I went ahead and checked my email—three, two from my poet friend, the shameless self-promoter with links to more published web words, and one from a college friend, another poet living in San Francisco and always traveling across Patagonia or kayaking in Alaska. Now she’s marrying a dog musher who’s in med school and moving to snowy middle America. But a dog musher, god, the spellcheck won’t even accept the word it’s so exotic, so it just makes me depressed you know, cuz you know this friend and her dog musher fiancé never look on the Internet for tuna noodle casserole, or if they do, it’s to see if they can find a recipe to roast over their camp fire as the dogs nestle into the snow and they into their faux-fur lined mushing boots. I mean at home they’re gonna cook whole wheat pasta with heirloom tomatoes and that fresh mozzarella that tastes like expensive air. They’ll drink sun tea, herbal I’ll bet, and it just makes me feel down, you know? Just matronly, like I should have more Tupperware than god, or laundry starch—actually I do have laundry starch, but it always gooks onto the iron because I don’t want to wait for it to dry.


So I got depressed about my new haircut cuz instead of pixie or athletic, I just look like one of those mice in a Kevin Henkes book, with Birkinstocks, saggy mice tits and a t-shirt that says something like, “Cheese is peaceful.” Of course I said that to my friend who doesn’t have kids, and she’s like, “Who?” and I say, “You know, Lily? Purple Plastic Purse?” and just absolutely no bells are ringing, so I let the joke go, bless her heart. It’s such a mom haircut, and there’s no getting around it. Even the nose ring doesn’t help, especially since it fell out again and the hole closed up, but I can’t take my kids to the tattoo place to get another one cuz, I think they might freak out since my daughter gagged when I had my ears double pierced on Valentine’s Day and I just don’t think I could stick an ice cube up my nose and ever be the same again.


So I got depressed about my car key, one of those switchblade kind that flicks out when you push the button, I mean it’s completely cool and useful, but I was getting coffee and there’s this sign that says, “cell phone free environment” and I’m unloading my pockets onto the bar so I can sit down and I put my phone down and then my key on top of it, and they’re the same shape. People are looking at me like I have two cell phones, or at least they might be looking at me and thinking that, except, they are simply not looking at me because I am a mom with a short and sensible haircut in overalls, and I’m just so far away from being sexy, but it’s so ironic because I mean what got me this haircut and this station wagon key and overalls, is just that: sex. Like Alanis Morrisette knows what irony is.