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Life as a Soap Opera

Once upon a time (sometime…somewhere) there was a girl who had a perfect job, a perfect boyfriend, a perfect apartment, perfect friends and a perfect life… I, obviously, have never been that girl. I am very excited about the fact that I am now employed; incredibly excited, actually. That is one less thing that I have to worry about. However, that does not mean that I am anywhere close to footloose and fancy-free… In fact, it always seems that whenever one thing fixes itself, another something comes up. I realize that this is true for most people; that feeling like you live in some sort of soap-opera is a universally accepted truth. There are always things to worry about, boys to be frustrated and/or in-love with, and I’m sure everyone has had that awkward encounter with their father/mother/brother/sister/uncle/cousin/boyfriend/girlfriend/ex-boyfriend/random one-night-stand/whatever that results in some Big Episode Finale moment…to be continued. Everyone has those moments, right?

It’s just that as I retell stories from my fairly “normal” life, I have repeatedly had comments along the lines of “heidikins, you live in a soap opera” or “oh my goodness, you’re life is like a made-for-TV-movie”. I don’t really think those are compliments, but I don’t think they’re insults either, exactly. I prefer to look at it this way: I happen to have a knack for taking an every-day situation (like an all day interview from hell with Dwayne) and turning it into something hilarious. Or like that one time when I started dating my younger sister’s x-boyfriend… ok, in retrospect that was a soap-opera moment week month. At any rate, I think there is something to be said for taking things one day at a time (thank you, 10 months of therapy) and trying to see the positive -or at least something positive- in the situations that come along. And, at least for me, being able to retell those funny moments, or retell difficult moments in a humorous way makes it seem not quite so bad.

I realize I may sound like I’m speaking in code, or metaphors or something. And part of that is because I am still trying to find the positive spin on my current soap-opera episode; the one where the brother suddenly comes down with this completely bizarre medical condition that stumps everyone at the hospital and even the hott fancy-pants doctor with the toothpaste-commercial quality smile can’t figure out what is going on, or how to fix it, or where it comes from, or anything remotely helpful. The man has a medical degree for heaven’s sake! Can’t he come up with something! Even the ugly doctors (which, according to daytime TV, are the obviously more knowledgeable, but definitely less datable) are absolutely no good. Nobody can figure out anything. I know how those episodes usually end, and -except maybe for having the hott doctor fall in love with me- I refuse to accept that is how this will turn out; no comas, no horribly acted sob-fest, no weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, albeit beautifully straight and bleached soap-opera teeth.

I need a different answer. My family needs a different answer. We need a Dr. House. Sure, he’s cranky and ornery and ugly with wrinkles and bad hair, not at all like the doctors in the daytime TV shows, but no matter how bizarre the case or how strange the symptoms he always figures out what is wrong. He can figure it out even if there is not another case in the history of written medical records that is similar; House will figure it out. And even though there is no previous example of treatment, House will write a prescription and the at the end of the episode the patient will still think House is terribly rude with absolutely no people-skills, but when they leave the hospital they will be able to live a more-normal life.

Is that so much to ask? I am fully cognizant that my life may well be on it’s way to an Emmy for most dramatically humorous show of the season, but desperately wish that those I love could have a nice, comfortable, even, gasp! “ordinary” life. I wish that their “happily, ever after” did not include hospitals or doctors or bizarre medical anomalies that, when defined and published, will most likely include my family name. I wish…

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