Mary + Her Mental Health

Oh, hang on. Before I start this post, I have GOT to swallow some Advil. Headaches, boo. Hold please.

(back from the kitchen...)

Mmmmm. Liqui-gels.

Folks, I ate some broccoli this week. Family? Did you hear that? I, Mary Joanna, ate broccoli. And you can tell Mom that. Tell her I ate it without sitting at the dinner table for two hours after everyone had finished, I did not pout once, and I required no nose-pinching or yellow mustard to cover up the flavor.

Sometimes grownups have to do hard things. When you're a grownup, and you no longer care to show off your distaste for something as adored and commonly eaten as broccoli, when you're sitting down to a wonderful meal prepared by someone you care about, who made it especially for you, and it's a casserole, with broccoli in it, and there's nothing else on the table to eat but a salad, and you know if you don't eat the casserole, the whole dinner is a bust and you'll look like an ungrateful beast with a food attitude, then you suck it up, remember that you're a professionally trained actress, and you eat the broccoli. With a lot of the other casserole stuff mixed in, careful to keep it to just one broccoli per bite. And you don't even gag once.

The first bite wasn't bad at all. In fact, I even asked myself whether I might one day eat broccoli like normal people, you know, regularly. I was getting a little excited about that when I took the second bite. Oops. I got a little cocky. Ate a big one, and didn't include enough casserole stuff. Maybe I still don't like broccoli. I had several bites more to go, and I did so good, but I had to leave about four of those little nasties off to the side. I made up for it by offering some killer conversation topics. Mom! I totally ate like five pieces! Can I have a lemon bar now?

And now for a few other items:

Incidentally, does it ever occur to anyone else that so much of what we bloggers blog is by and large self-gratuitous and boring to good people everywhere? But since when does that stop us?

Our stake was signed up for volunteer service in the Boston Temple this month, and this afternoon I worked in the cafeteria and laundry facilities. I think I got picked up on while in the service line of the Boston Temple cafeteria. I give this guy his chowder, and he asks me my name with a smile that says he's pretty proud of himself. I tell him. He says, "you come here a lot, don't you?" I blink twice. A random guy, in the temple, just knocked me with a "come here often?" Sir, I'm wearing a hairnet for the love of Zeus, I've got a shapeless white gown on that fastens with a big ugly zipper down the front like a housecoat and I'm wearing granny slippers. Exactly what are you seeing here that tells you I'm here today to score some sweet lovin' from a seafood chowder enthusiast? Wheat roll?

A little later, I headed into the back, and asked my other volunteer friend, "Uh, the guy with the chowder?" Volunteer friend looks up from her dishwashing and says, "you mean the one who just hit on me?!" I burst out laughing. So warning, girls: some dudes got it bad for cafeteria ladies. Righteous cafeteria ladies.

Let's see anything else?

I got about 20 pages of my play written this weekend. And I figured out what to do with the second act! Which is huge! Do you know how many plays have been written where the second acts are just life-sucking wastes?! Right now my whole play lacks any real creativity, but I'm hoping that comes later. At least I recognize the fact that my work currently reads like a sitcom with Reba McEntire. It'll get better. I hope.

Enough for now. Hey, my headache's gone!

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