Edvard Munch’s The Scream sold recently for a record amount of money, 120 million. It is one of the most recognized pieces of art in history. It ranks right up there with my son’s drawing of me he did for Mother’s Day when he was three years old that I have proudly displayed on my fridge. Hey, I wouldn’t sell it for 120 million if that’s what you’re thinking. To me it’s priceless.
Apparently, this multi million dollar sale of The Scream came along with a poem Munch wrote about his tendency to shiver with anxiety when he felt the “great scream of nature”.
Oh, Munch. Dear, sweet, Munchy. I, too, have felt that great scream. I feel it all the time, pretty much every single day of my life. And I have proof.
Here I am stepping on a scale yesterday after consuming half my weight in peanut butter cups:
And then I made the sad mistake of thinking that was my accurate weight. I found out I needed to add just a few dozen more pounds when I went to my doctor’s appointment later that day.
So off I ran to pick up some low-fat low-calorie low-taste yogurt. But after trying to choose from the 10,000 flavors and reading all the calorie labels, I started to feel a scream lurking deep inside and I lost it right there in aisle seven of Stop N Go.
Think my day was scream-free then? Oh no. My husband begged me to stop at Home Depot right after my yogurt meltdown. And once you’re in a Home Depot, they hide the exits on you so you can never get out again. It’s just an endless maze of lightbulbs and paint cans and I can feel a scream bubbling up to the surface within five minutes of being trapped in the plumbing department. Here I am trying to figure out how my husband disappeared in the nuts and bolts aisle right before my eyes, never to be seen again.
After a few desperate hours, I found him drooling over some power tools and dragged him home , where he sat down and proceeded to watch three straight hours of Deadliest Catch.
Amazingly enough, I managed to silently scream through two hours of this show until I went to use the bathroom and saw what my kids did to the toilet.
After cleaning for a few hours, I tried to watch a little TV to calm my nerves and found out that there would be yet another TV show based on the Kardashian sisters.
That scream really got my adrenaline pumping, so I decided to exercise–especially now that I couldn’t delude myself into thinking the doctor’s scale was some kind of sick joke the nurse liked to play on patients. I headed downstairs to my elliptical and realized, not only was I about to exercise, (scream-worthy enough as it is) but first I would have to put away the mountain of laundry that had accumulated on top of it.
Not soon after folding and putting away laundry for three hours, my son informed me that I had promised to take him to Chuck E. Cheese for a birthday party for his entire third grade class for hours of just-stick-a-fork-in-my-eye fun.
And, that, my friends, is when I knew exactly what Munch was talking about when it came to “shivering with anxiety”. And I didn’t need to spend 100 million dollars to find out.