Helplessness

Friday September 5, 2025

Healing sucks.

A sprain is right up there with seasonal allergies in the rankings of most annoying maladies. It’s not so debilitating that you can’t do anything, but you also shouldn’t really do anything to give it the best chance of healing. This catch-22 has been a source of tension between Lindsay and me this week.

In the rankings of conditions demanding rest and relaxation, pregnancy is assuredly above a sprained shoulder. However, given the proximity to this baby’s arrival and the capriciousness of joint injuries, Lindsay drew a hard line, refusing to let me do anything for the first couple of days. Of course, I’ve been trying to stop Lindsay from doing unnecessary chores for three months, so we basically started the week fighting over not doing work around the house.

Now, I understand where she’s coming from — I was explicitly told not to do anything strenuous with my left arm, and there surely is a risk of hurting the other side by overcompensating. But after the initial injury, forbidding me to drive, take out the trash, lift groceries with my right arm, or pick up the dog’s poop felt a bit like rubbing my nose in it. Like, how dare I get hurt while she’s this pregnant. This caused some initial bristling as I stewed at how she seemed to be going out of her way to do things that I could do one-handed.

It took a couple of days after the initial ER trip for me to appreciate her abundance of caution, and for her to appreciate that I’m not a complete invalid and that my self-worth is inextricably tied to my ability to make her life better.

We both have a tendency to do this: Inconvenience ourselves in pursuit of supporting the other. My sister-in-law, Liza Perry, once remarked with astonishment that we are “so nice to each other,” which should be an unqualified compliment. But that niceness can lead to interesting relationship wrinkles, such as causing ourselves pain or struggle in an effort to help the other. You know, we said in sickness and in health, but there’s more nuance in that statement than you give it at the altar.

Anyway, it’s been a week. I’ve regained full mobility in my shoulder, but there’s still some pain while lifting or putting weight on my arm. It’s doing this weird clicking thing now that I can almost control when I shrug, like cracking my knuckles. I’ve got an orthopedic evaluation next Thursday, by which time maybe the pain and clicks will all be gone, and I’ll look like the boy who cried shoulder.

One Song: Rilo Kiley - Glendora

For my birthday last year, Lindsay bought tickets to see Rilo Kiley on their reunion tour. She bought them last September. The concert is this Sunday. At the time, she didn’t know she’d be 37 weeks pregnant. It’s kind of a big deal to me since this is my favorite band and they haven’t toured in 17 years. I kind of doubt they’ll do it again. So, I bought a $70 parking spot right next to the venue, and we’ll all do our best to be very calm and not at all emotional. (I’m going to be emotional.)

I don’t think Glendora is on the set list but it’s a fun song about living in LA County in your 20s.

Honorable Mention: Hamilton - Helpless

Just felt too on the nose.

One Hollywood: The Usual Suspects

Lindsay went to bed early last Sunday night, and since Monday was a holiday, I decided to stay up late and watch movies. First, I watched Memento, Christopher Nolan’s second movie and first hit. Somehow, I’d never seen it, but I’m glad I finally did. One of his more accessible mind-fuckery flicks.

When it ended, Prime Video suggested The Usual Suspects, which was one of my favorite movies in high school. So… holiday… I said what the hell. Poured a glass of Johnnie Walker Black ($60 for 1.75L at Costco!) and started the movie. I finished it nodding off in bed.

I am bummed to say that The Usual Suspects was not as good as I remembered. Still really solid, but man, Kevin Spacey — who is universally regarded as being great in this movie — kiiiiiinda sucks. Benefit of seeing the movie several times before, but when you know the twist ahead of time… Jesus he just lays it on so thick. He’s the worst fake cryer and he’s constantly pulling it out, but then simultaneously going 1,000 miles in the other direction and playing Verbal as a self-righteous narcissist. This is also the first time I’ve watched it knowing he’s an unrepentant serial sexual predator, so maybe that influenced my viewing.

One Book: The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov

I read a lot of Russian literature in college, but most of it was pre-Revolution: Tolstoy, Pushkin, Chekhov, Dostoevsky. The Russian oeuvre resonates with me; it’s emo as fuck, but with a sense of humor. I’m rediscovering this as I read Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita, a modern Russian classic that puts a sardonic twist on Faust and Pontius Pilate. It’s a little fantasy, a little political satire, and a lot of just plain Moscow wackiness. I’m out of practice keeping track of Russian names and the liberal use of nicknames to describe characters, but I’m enjoying it nonetheless.

One Food: Beef Stew

We bought a chest freezer about a month ago on Facebook Marketplace and it’s already paid for itself. We’ve frozen some prepared meals from Costco, some breakfast foods, and a bunch of dump dinners that we prepped ourselves. We should have dinner covered for almost two months after the baby arrives. The last thing I tossed in there was a beef stew that required double bagging, so what the hell. It’s almost stew season, get yourself in the mood.