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[originally published July 30, 2009]

When I feel sad and anxious I do not turn to time-honored coping mechanisms. People the in the olden days did not cope by painting their fingernails and listening to “Billie Jean” on repeat while walking around in a strapless dress, staring out the windows at the rain. When I worry about myself, the best thing to do is not pity myself, but of course to start working hard and prove myself and go for what I want and be responsible and not dwell on the past and not wallow in self-pity. But instead all I want to do is put on a lot of make-up, because that makes me feel like a different girl, and not eat, because ditto, and look at expensive dresses online, and daydream pretty furiously.

If you’re going to escape, why imagine realistic scenarios? Why imagine being promoted, or showing up at a party being all thin and hot, or how beautiful your kids will be and how you won’t name them dumb things like Ryleigh and Khayleb but you won’t name them pretentious things like Mingus or Flannery either, because, COME ON. Why imagine things that you really sort of want and could potentially have if you didn’t suck? Why not just go totally wild with escapism? That helps you not even have to THINK about what you don’t have, because it’s impossible to have any of this stuff. Honest to God.

For instance, I am now imagining Joan Holloway cuddling me on a chaise lounge and feeding me miniature pink marshmallows, while unicorn babies gambol and frolic around the heart-shaped olympic-sized indoor swimming pool, and Sam Rockwell comes parachuting down onto the lawn with a bottle of top-shelf whiskey and a bottle of Chanel No. 5, and hey, maybe I have wings, or maybe I have the Fire Flower from those Mario games I used to play on my brother’s Gameboys. You may be getting confused because Joan Holloway is fictional and Sam Rockwell isn’t, but if this is what trips you up, you obviously are not on the same wavelength as I am. Lucky you! Please go somewhere else, like back to cropping your wedding photos so they’ll look sexy on Facebook.

But of course I’m not going to be able to lie around daydreaming forever. At some point I’ll need to walk in the rain to return my slightly overdue YA library books, and then walk to the liquor store and buy hard cider (pear-flavored), and then watch the scandalous scenes from Mad Men, watch the scandalous scenes from Watchmen, send an unexcitingly inappropriate Facebook message to my boyfriend, and pass out.

Go, me! Show ‘em how it’s done!

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