My Mess Is a Bit of a Life: Adventures in Anxiety

by Georgia Pritchett

Genres: General Fiction; Humor & Satire

Synopsis

“Georgia Pritchett is a singularly hilarious person. Her book is a delightful and perfect reflection of her. Its tenderness sneaks up on you and really packs a punch. What a magnificent read!” (Julia Louis Dreyfus)

Jenny Lawson meets Nora Ephron in this joyful memoir-in-vignettes on living - and thriving - with anxiety from a multiple Emmy Award-winning comedy writer whose credits include Succession and Veep.

When Georgia Pritchett found herself lost for words - a bit of a predicament for a comedy writer - she turned to a therapist, who suggested she try writing down some of the things that worried her. But instead of a grocery list of concerns, Georgia wrote this book.

A natural born worrywart, Georgia’s life has been defined by her quirky anxiety. During childhood, she was agitated about the monsters under her bed (Were they comfy enough?). Going into labor, she fretted about making a fuss (“Sorry to interrupt, but the baby is coming out of my body,” I said politely). Winning a prestigious award, she agonized over receiving free gifts after the ceremony (It was an excruciating experience. Mortifying). 

Soul-baring yet lighthearted, poignant yet written with a healthy dose of self-deprecation, My Mess Is a Bit of a Life is a tour through the carnival funhouse of Georgia’s life, from her anxiety-ridden early childhood where disaster loomed around every corner (When I was little I used to think that sheep were clouds that had fallen to earth. On cloudy days I used to worry that I would be squashed by a sheep), through the challenges of breaking into an industry dominated by male writers, to the exquisite terror (and incomparable joy) of raising children.

Delightfully offbeat, painfully honest, full of surprising wonders, and delivering plenty of hilarious, laugh-out-loud moments, My Mess Is a Bit of a Life reveals a talented, vulnerable, and strong woman in all her wisecracking weirdness and makes us love it - and her - too. 

 

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Release date: February 8, 2022

Publisher: HarperOne

Sample

Prologue

As a very last resort, before I chose how to make my exit from the world, I decided to see a doctor.

“My mess is a bit of a life right now,” I mumbled. “Wait, that came out wrong . . .”

She indicated that I should elaborate. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t speak. The words wouldn’t come. They were there but they were out of my reach. She referred me to a therapist.

I went and I said nothing. I didn’t know what to say; I didn’t want to say anything, and even if I did want to say something, the alien and the moths and Godzilla and the Dark Overlord Beaver made it impossible.

After weeks of silence, I was losing hope.

Her: How are you?

Me:

I tried to speak, but the moths were flapping furiously in my brain, the alien was pounding on my chest, Godzilla was stomping all over my inner Tokyo, and the Dark Overlord Beaver was tucking into my intestines.

Her: Can you tell me what’s going on?

Me:

The moths began bombarding and ricocheting inside my skull, the alien had acquired some kind of enormous mallet, Godzilla was roaring and obliterating my inner Tokyo, and the Dark Overlord Beaver was now gorging on my innards.

Her: Can you tell me how you’re feeling?

Me:

I summoned all my strength to reply and took a deep breath in. The moths suddenly stopped flapping; the alien stopped mid-pound; Godzilla stood, helicopter drumstick in hand and foot hovering over a building; the Dark Overlord Beaver put down my lower intestine. They all cocked their heads and listened to what I was going to say next.

I swallowed. I breathed. I swallowed and breathed. Simultaneously. Triggering a coughing fit. Godzilla rolled his eyes. The Dark Overlord Beaver and the alien exchanged a weary look. A moth tutted. And they all resumed what they were doing.

Her: Are you anxious about anything?

I nodded.

Her: Can you tell me some of the things that worry you?

I shook my head.

Her: Maybe you could write them down . . . ?

And so I did.

We’re all doomed

My earliest memory is of sitting in my stroller in the snow. I was three. My mum said to my brother, “Don’t fall over in the snow.” Then my brother fell over in the snow.

This made me realize:

1. Bad Things happen.
2. Bad Things happen even if you tell the Bad Thing not to happen.
3. We’re all doomed.

In the event of my death . . .

When I was little, I used to worry that I would die in the night and that my family would not be able to manage.

So I would write notes with useful information like:

The peanut butter is in the cupboard that has the broken handle.

Hammy likes to have sunflower seeds for breakfast.

We need more tiddlywinks because I ate them to see if they tasted like Smarties.

Tiddlywinks do not taste like Smarties.

Bad news

One day I arrived at nursery late. All the other children were there. My favorite place on the rug was taken—the one where you could hold a crayon against the radiator and watch while it melted.

As I unzipped my anorak, I realized that everyone in the room was singing “We’re Going to the Zoo.”

This sent me into total panic. I absolutely on no account wanted to go to the zoo with other children. Not now. I’d had no warning. I wasn’t prepared. I had the wrong socks on. Also, since when did people deliver horrific news in the form of a song? It seemed inappropriate.

Could I run? Could I hide? I zipped my anorak back up and considered barricading myself in the playhouse. As I crawled, sniper style, towards the plastic door, the children started singing “Jack and Jill Went Up the Hill.” Now there’s a song. Short, succinct, and with a clear health and safety message. Why on earth were these people in favor of going to the zoo, when a mere trip up a hill caused one child to break his head and another to suffer from numerous undisclosed injuries? Luckily, after a quick burst of “Humpty Dumpty” (who, let’s remember, died from sitting on a wall), they wandered outside to play in the sandpit. They must have changed their minds about going to the zoo. Disaster averted.

Good News

I hated milk. One morning at nursery, the teacher told me I couldn’t play with the other children until I had drunk my milk. Sometimes everything goes right. I didn’t want to play with the other children AND I didn’t want to drink my milk. I sat inside on the floor the whole day.

That was a good day.