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TOTD 20Dec2001

I recently saw a play about the distinguished and twisted psychoanalyst Melanie Klein, and the coolest thing about the broad was that she had these three file drawers: The top one was for her super-ego--her bills and legal papers and such; the middle one was for her ego--manuscripts, letters, and all that; and then she had this wonderful bottom drawer that she kept locked--it was her "id drawer," and it held all the sordid, messed-up, shame-spiral material that we'd all rather keep locked up in our bodies.

Now, I feel pretty ill mentally at times, but you know whom I really worry about? After the moms I see at the bus stop threatening to bust their kids' head all over the cement? I worry about those moms for whom everything is always "great." Those moms who live in immaculate condos with white carpets, and, try as I might, I can't figure out where their id drawer is. See, there are those of us who are fucked up and know it, and those of us who are fucked up and don't know it. And I happen to think it's better to know it, and deal with it, long before that Pandora's box of wounding words gets so full it just bursts open and the shaming crap jumps from our lips and we find ourselves becoming that notorious woman at the bus stop we've all seen.

-Ariel Gore, The Hip Moma Survival Guide

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