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I [Still] Don’t Want to Mow This Lawn
I was once a guest on a mental health podcast that, I don’t think, ever got aired, and the host, whose name I forget, asked me what my depression was like. Because I tend to answer questions in either stories, quotes, or folksongs, I decided to give this woman all three.
“Well,” I said, “I’ll put it to you like this — there’s this guy named Andy Breckman, and he’s best known for creating the show “Monk”, and he’s had some minor success as a screenwriter but, a long time ago, he was a really shitty folk singer who knew about three guitar chords, and he didn’t even know them that well.
Anyway, Andy Breckman once wrote a song called, “I Don’t Wanna Mow this Lawn” and it goes something like this:
‘I don’t wanna mow this lawn, this planet that we’re living on, will soon blow up and will be gone; I read it in a book.’
And that’s kind of what my depression feels like. I just… don’t want to mow this fucking lawn, you know? What’s the point? Of anything. Of doing or loving or feeling or thinking or trying? That’s what my depression tells me. My depression sounds like an Andy Breckman song.”
The host replied that my answer was “very interesting” which is kind of like calling a partner’s sexual performance “a heartfelt attempt.” After the interview, she told me that the podcast would air…