Happy & Healthy

THE SIDE BAR OF SHAME

by Maddy Stolk

I used to smoke. A fairly innocent habit compared to what I do now. Fortunately, I don't do it every day, but still far too often.

Mainly when I have to have a complicated phone conversation, which is regularly, because I have chronic phone anxiety. Where others think when they hear their phone ring: ha, who could it be?, I think: oh god, what now. Something to do with a not entirely smooth childhood and sick family members. It has been quiet on that front for years now, and I have made it as pleasant as possible for myself – my ringtone is the theme tune from The Muppet Show, and since a child's hand is quickly filled, I still feel cheerful about it after five years. But still. Making phone calls: I hate it.

Even when I call institutions with an innocent question, I am on hot coals. Every self-respecting company now has a choice menu with at least six options, and if you don't pay attention for a moment, you can start all over again. (Tip of the century: always go for the option to evaluate the service offered after the call. You almost end up at the front of the queue, while otherwise you dangle at the back with the losers who get to try again tomorrow. I have tested it more often than I would like and it works.) In the past, when everything was better except for my lung capacity, I would light a cigarette and imagine myself as Françoise Hardy looking wistfully into the camera while singing Träume. But I don't do that anymore, because upon further reflection, I want to last a bit longer, so I quickly developed another compulsion – one that is even dirtier.

“How I got all that junk in my head is clear.”

I open the Daily Mail online. Page tv & showbiz. And there unfolds on the right side of my screen the side bar of shame. With completely useless information like: Brad Pitt and Kate Hudson ARE NOT dating. Or this clever find: Jean-ius! Caitlyn Jenner fills up gas tank in tight denim trousers. Photos of stars who suspiciously look just like us: I am also not dating and I also occasionally pass by a gas station with my car. It is my version of what Ilonka calls visual valium. It’s completely pointless, easy to look away from, and you don’t have to think about it. Only problem: all that non-information gets stuck in my memory. And never comes out. Liam, Stella, Hattie, Finn? The children of Tori Spelling. That peroxide blonde who played in Beverly Hills 90210 a hundred years ago – the original version, of course. Brody and Brandon Jenner? The sons of Caitlyn, stepbrothers of Kourtney, Kim, and Khloé, and half-brothers of Kendall and Kylie. Life in Hollywood is not always a bed of roses either.

How I got all that junk in my head is clear. The question is: how do I get rid of it? Not looking anymore, of course, but then I have to start smoking again, so that’s not an option.
Whoever knows may say; in the meantime, I still have to make a few urgent phone calls.