id versus ego vs. superego (a psych 101 reflection)

when i was in college, i took psychology 101 with capt. lenny. i'm not sure what his real professorial name was because he insisted we all call him capt. lenny. i have my suspicions this charming nickname was given to him by some acid tripper at woodstock during 1960's summer of love.

anyway, here are the things i remember from capt. lenny's psych 101 class:

1-capt. lenny once had a best friend whose 5 year old little girl really, really, reeeeally wanted a "picnic attachment" for christmas. upon further investigation, it was discovered that, every summer, all the friends would get together for a huge summer picnic and, at certain points, the men and boys would leave the picnic area to go pee behind trees. with their "picnic attachments." and so, the little girl thought, what a wonderful invention: an attachment that lets you stand up to pee.

this story was told to illustrate freud's penis envy theories.

2-capt lenny once served on illinois state university's campus concert committee and his main job was to supervise everybody who were supervising everybody who were supervising the people who were there to make the performers happy. one day, zz top came to do a concert at isu. zz top demanded many, many things. things like: purified evian water, dainty little cucumber sandwiches, soft pillows, and whatnot. but on stage, they were manly men! with biker personas! and snakes! real, live, poisonous (with all the poison fangs removed) snakes!

THAT story was told to illustrate the ridiculousness of ego.


3-capt. lenny taught us about the id, the ego, and the superego. the id is the most basic of our subconscious personalities: ids want what they want, when they want it, and they don't care who the hell they need to kill to get it.

egos, on the other hand, are a tad more cerebral: they want what they want, when they want it...but they also know jail is certainly no fun, no fun at all; particularly if they stick you in a cell with Boffo, the serial killer bisexual. and so egos figure out how to get us what we want, and how to get it without getting caught.

superegos are our higher consciousness...jesus, if you will. your id might want it, and your ego may be in cahoots with your id to figure out how to get it for you....until superego jesus steps in and pees all over the fun with his list of beatitudes and parables and other enlightened human being spiritually righteous rationales. with several reminders to your id and ego that god gets very frown-y with subconscious non-sentient beings that don't behave.

and

4-after he taught us all that, he then taught us the insult "you are obviously very primary operational; i can see you are completely ruled by your id." or something to that effect. according to capt. lenny, this is highly, highly insulting and far worse to say to someone who's acting like a big doofus than, to say for instance, "you stupid motherfucker!"

and the reason it's more insulting is because (a) psychologically, you can't get much lower and caverman/woman-like than your id; and (b) most motherfuckers will have absolutely noooo idea what the hell you are talking about when you use big words like "primary" and psychological words like "id," therefore effectively leaving you the winner of the argument and the smarmiest one of all.

the reason i am writing about this is because i feel i've been operating on a very primary id level since getting home from the hospital.

realistically, i know I am not the one with the id issues; those would belong to Melissa. Who, as a 2 week + 2 day old baby, is nothing but pure id. particularly at 4 am when you've fed, changed, burped, and loved her is still shrieking and you do not have a freaking clue what her major id issue(s) is (are).

for instance, i was recently able to fight off a bout of the baby blues by saying to my superego: "you know what? i really don't give a flying rat's ass if the vast majority of women, the medical community, and martha stewart all say "breast is best." this effing hurts, it's making me miserable, and i'm done. hand me the formula. score one for my id. and all you la leche, "but formula is SUBstandard!" chicks? you bitches can all bite me. yes, that's right: bite me. here! right here. on the left nipple, the one that's most mangled.

and, having been given the green light to drive again and be out in the world (in spite of spiked blood pressure levels...which apparently are no big deal now that i am no longer hosting a small child: go on! the doctors have said. have your stroke! we're just relieved the BABY is okay), now that i am allowed to be free and my own person again? i jump at every stinking chance to be out...ALONE. (do we need milk, honey? hey! *I* know! You watch the baby and I'LL go get it!)

score 2 for my ego.

but the superego set in today as i was reviewing my past blog entries and writing this one and realized: my id and ego have totally overtaken me. which is to say: my id is demanding time for ourselves, and my ego has finally worked out a schedule for getting it, but my superego feels guilty for not visiting and commenting on other people's lives/issues/blog entries. and so my superego's plan is to leave several pithy comments for many of you (on at least 2 out of however many posts you've written since my body attempted to spew forth a child but ended up having to have a doctor pull her from it). quite soon. within the next several days. says my ego.

but my id wants to say: so what that you are writing all about yourself and your problems and not paying attention to other people and their problems? so my ego is telling my id to come up with a socially acceptable excuse for our behavior (for example: recent baby blues caused by mangled nipples). and of course my superego is demanding we all go to confession and say 100 hail marys while flogging ourselves for being so primary operational and letting our id even HAVE a say. my id has been grounded for the remainder of 2008 by my superego. (my ego is currently attempting to figure out an escape plan.)

and so i will be visiting blogs. and attempting to write more. in between bottle feedings. and fending off la leche chicks trying to bite my mangled, left nipple. and green poop. did you know formula makes baby poo green? and i don't mean a faint, slightly tinted green; i'm talking neon sign green. that smells like rotten eggs. and not just a dozen rotten eggs. like 100 dozen rotten eggs. this is only slightly less disgusting than breast milk poo, which is cottage cheese-like, but yellow. that goes right through them (which is especially amusing when it goes right through them as you are changing their yellow poop diaper and a pound of more yellow poop comes shooting out of their baby butt, in the general direction of your face).

but wait, wait! my id is saying NOT to write about baby poo. my id is saying we are NOT defined by baby poo...we are still a whole, individual human being and it is aaaalll about us. still. but my ego is telling my id to shut up; we'll incur the wrath of those Who Judge Other Mothers For Not Being As Super Fantastic At Mothering As They Are.

and my superego is making me feel guilty because the baby is beginning to cry, letting me know: she needs her formula so she can go make green poop which she will shoot out at me as i change her green poop diaper. but my id and ego are totally ignoring her and keep typing.

i am one steaming pile of psychological mess lately.