I get the helpless, sinking feeling that has become all too familiar in my years of watching Santa Cruz.
When I look back over last two decades' worth of money-spinning Sandler product, I get that helpless, existentially bleak what's-the-point feeling I only otherwise suffer when I'm pondering the 31 movies Elvis made: OK, Jailhouse Rock for the title number, Flaming Star because Don Siegel made it, and Viva Las Vegas because of Ann-Margret.
Try to get a helpless baby.
Over the next week, whenever I was not otherwise occupied or in conversation, my brain replayed another of Miranda's verses: Boy, you got me Helpless.
I admittedly skimmed some of the passages on farming to get back to these helpless love junkies, whose doomed relationship is startlingly well-written.
We may have national interests (not letting bad people invade our NATO allies, for instance, which we haven't), and we should profess universal values (not letting helpless people get killed in large numbers, for instance, if we can realistically hope to stop it).
Or you may know someone who just seems to go out of his or her way to be helpless and get rescued.
Of course, babies can't get addicted, since a helpless infant cannot pursue drugs despite consequences and doesn't even know if what he craves is drugs or a diaper change.
If you ever feel overwhelmed, or utterly helpless, consider getting support from a professional.
Heavily medicated, she was struggling to get her bearings and increasingly helpless and afraid.
