What Kind of Person?

In re-reading my previous post I must ask myself--what kind of person expects to win the lottery or to inherit millions or to be discovered as a fabulous character actress with no training whatsoever based solely on looks but doesn't expect to turn 30 or get married or have children?

What kind of person expects the completely unlikely or highly improbable and yet fails to foresee the inevitable, the usual, the run of the mill?

That person would have to be me. I'd rather not say 'what kind of person' at the moment because that I am that kind of person.

I never thought

I'd turn 30...or even live past 30 for that matter. That I'd get married. That I'd get a real job. That I'd be a non-smoker. I never thought I'd be an adult and for that I'm kicking myself since my failure to act like an adult up until now has caused me no end of grief.

I never thought I'd have children, really. I entertained the idea but didn't see it as real.

Now I have.

The one predictable thing, the one thing I thought: That I would go somewhat nuts or perhaps very nuts. That, I expected. That I always expect.

Somehow I thought it would be cooler. More romantic, literary even. Movie-esque. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, etc. And then tragic. I thought when things went wrong they'd also be tragic.

Think of something bad. Debts, for example...debts sound so much better when Dostoevsky has them.

The shocking fact I've now discovered: There's no such thing as tragedy. In fact, there is but: (1) It's very rare. (2) It doesn't ever happen to you. What happens to you is just ordinary and somewhat pathetic. (3) Or maybe when things have a framing narrative they can be the stuff of heartwrenching soundtrack but for the person living the life no framing narrative sticks or seems compelling. Tragedy is for the outside. Romance is for the spectator, not those involved.

The upshot is: I'm nuts. Come back when and if the medication starts working. Of course, I may rant (entertainingly, I hope) here before then. But what I read in the little brochure suggests it will be at least 6 weeks before sanity (of a relative sort, I don't expect miracles) arrives.

By the way... The baby is in-fucking-credible. An amazing baby. My reason to live. The baby is also fun to be around and perhaps the most cooperative and easygoing infant I have ever heard of. Nah, I can't blame it on the baby.

Except the baby made me want to be an adult and regret my past mistakes. And my love for the baby created a certain amount of guilt that quickly spun out of control. Hence, the waiting period for sanity. Perhaps more on the wonder baby later. The strange but true story of the non-crying baby.