hungry yet?
Not entirely.
When I'm home alone I really have no desire to eat. Floating about the house, tapping on the keyboard, petting the cats, maybe washing laundry or reading a book or zoning out ..I just don't stop to think about eating because it doesn't interest me enough to expend the energy to MAKE something for me alone.
Sure my stomach is growling a little bit, getting that clutching feeling sort of like the cramps (ladies, you know what I'm saying) but it's tolerable. However I'm not having this awful need to scarf down a plateful of mashed potatoes yet. It's only been 48 hours which is hardly a long time seeing how there were times when I've been sick with the flu and unable to keep food down for days.
Maybe I would choke down some chicken broth or a few saltines, (jello too) but essentially we all know when we have the flu no one wants to eat we just want the blissful sleep of the dead.
The night before I joked that I should put myself into a Benedryl coma for the next several days to help me get through my fasting but ummm that could be really bad since the effects of the "Cleanse" really takes you to a place that should not be IN your bed.
Makes you wonder about the sanity people have when they purposely make themselves defecate for days and days, doesn't it? The saying Your Full of Shit goes a long way in situations like this, seriously if we stop and think about it we really are.
Research states that our colon and intestinal tract holds several extra pounds of fecal matter, a regular flushing is quite healthy to do a couple of times a year. These new age hippy freaks that talk about it (going for colonic- or colonic irrigation) really swear that they feel so fantastic afterward doing them.
I bet y'all didn't know one of the earliest proponents of the colonic was the founder of the Kelloggs cereal company? He frequently lectured about the therapy of it's use for many conditions including depression and arthritis! (no shit - pun intended!)
It was said that Elvis had upwards of 40#s of dung in him and even John Wayne did too - however if you check Snopes.com this is all bullshit (hahaha I am enjoying my use of the word crap today).
John Wayne's family would not even allow an autopsy to be done so no conclusive evidence to this rumor, but it really can't be true.
Elvis did have quite a bit of poo in him, his intestinal tract was stretched out far more than the average person due to his ridiculous eating habits of fried, greasy foods (can I get a grilled peanut butter and banana sandwich somebody?)
Colonics are used for the prevention of constipation, stops harmful bacteria and yeast growth, and they cleanse stagnant toxins absorbing into the bloodstream through the colon wall (that's called autointoxication).
Butt (hahaha) I'm not shoving a tube up my ass by a stranger and blowing fluids in only to have someone massage my gut and then report to me what color and consistency my turds are as they flow back out. Instead I'm popping a few pills several times a day that are chock-full of weird stuff I'd never put in my mouth as a meal.
This afternoon my stomach rebelled a little bit, I've never been a happy pill taker. I'm actually taking a candida cleanse (that's yeast) and a liver cleanse (hey, okay so I drink a lil bit. no harm trying to reverse some of the mistakes of Crown Royal) and the colon cleanse..those are 3 gigantic pills PLUS I also have my gazillion other pills for my various issues.
Anyhoooo - I take a great big ol' swig of water and try to choke down one of these horse pills and it gets about half way down and the next thing I know - GACK it's coming back up. WOOSH!! Water and some stomach fluid with smelly bile come flying out.
I even manage to do the 'out the nose' trick like you would if you heard a great joke - and I'm going full-on projectile squirting across the living room as I sit on the sofa where I've set up my shop of pill horrors.
Not to be outdone, I have an audience (as usual) and here come rushing several well padded naked feet to my rescue to sniff and delicately taste my none-to-delicious explosion.
what's in this crap?
Fennel seed powder (I hate fennel), licorice root powder (I hate licorice), Irish Moss root powder (what the fuck is that?), a couple of barks (woof woof -- fucking TREES?) a couple of unpronounceable fruit powders, marshmallow root powder..huh? I thought marshmallow was yummy puffy Sta-Puft man from Ghost Busters! red raspberry leaf powder..well okay that's not so weird and cayenne powder..but hey wait - I just figured out I'm nightshade sensitive and cayenne is a nightshade.
Fuck me raw..oh wait. that's what this stuff is doing to my bum!
pass me the Boudreaux's Butt Paste
Friday, October 2, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
this is not a funny blog -
punishment can come in all sorts of forms:
physical (anatomical)
emotional
psychological
moral
and on and on...
I've recently been physically punishing myself for my years of gluttony, which has been in response to years of emotional and physical discomfort.
In June 2008 a photograph was taken of me while attending an event. While at the event, which was an awards ceremony that I was receiving yet another commendation for my dedication to the bastardized feline association that recognizes you only if you stuff cash into their coffers. Originally they awarded you for true revolutionary marks in the breed but as in all things, it just gets down to ass kissing and one-upmanship.
Anyhow, where this is going though is that I still like a good party and enjoy attending because I did make 'friends' and this is the one opportunity that I have always allowed for a formal photograph to be taken yearly of my hubby and I. All of my years I've been pretty much against photos because I'm not a huge fan of my appearance.
Some of this stems from the 'punishment' I received as a child, statements like 'your ordinary', 'plain', 'not a beauty', 'no beauty queen' ...I even knew a boy that once said that I looked like a rat because my eyes were beady, too close together and my nose was aquiline.
I grew up a strange child, spent a confused year trying to ignore my budding womanhood by hiding it under men's suitcoats and Ace bandages strapped across my chest to try and trap my bosom. Hard to do when your hooters are honking like Canadian geese in the fall.
...I've trailed off, the pictures were returned a few weeks later and in them stood my husband who is always recognizable. His dome nice and shiny and eyes twinkling. He practically looks the same year after year just add a fresh shirt/coat, he doesn't age except for a few new gray hairs in his mustache and a few more smile lines/crinkles near his eyes.
However the woman standing next to him was unrecognizable, who was she but a bloated perspiring version of me? it was as if the movie magicians from an Eddie Murphy comedy got a hold of me and made me into one of his characters like Sherman Klump in The Nutty Professor.
For months my hormones were going absolutely crazy, the hot flashes were unbearable which I'd pretty much attributed to the hysterectomy I'd had a few years previously. This was a partial hysto - to put it lightly I erased the artwork out of the frame. My uterus was taken but those 2 delightful ovaries left behind, like miserable lumps of toxic globs.
Some of this sweating misery can be attributed to the surgery but for the most part, I believe is directly related to my enormous ass.
Back when we were first dating we used to say that we'd never let each other blimp out and be grotesquely fat! Yet, here we are a decade later and both of us are easily 100#s heavier than we were in our youth. Our health is failing, our looks not nearly what they were and certainly our sex appeal not what it was when we met. I know that I don't feel attractive when I look in the mirror. I hate that person that looks back at me, that's why I don't look at her anymore.
When we met I'd just been going through a good period in my life when my pain was tolerable, I'd been taking care of myself and staying active. Even though I still ached I was quite fit. That time has since lapsed and it has spiraled into years and years of long lasting pain, it is so extreme that I finally succumbed and allowed for one pain specialist to give me caudal epidurals.
That is the worst mistake I've let a doctor suggest and will not repeat again (and recently suggested to me again). If y'all didn't know, in those injections they are putting prednisone (anti-inflammatory)into your lower back, the lovely side effects of this medication is that it can make you ravenously hungry (even quoted from Health.com).
Did you know that individuals that are on long term medications varying from sleep medications, antidepressants and anti-inflammatories also suffer from 'Snug-Jeans' syndrome..or let's just spell it out - we get fat from our illnesses.
You take a pill to cure symptoms of one problem and instead you have another problem which then starts another problem, and then that problem (the obesity) will cause yet NEW problems..and it's a never ending vicious cycle.
While visiting a new pain specialist the month before, a rather abrupt fellow, he immediately suggested the caudal epidural which I quickly declined and he poo-pooed. I described my dissatisfaction with results (no pain relief, incorrect placement of needle insertion and future sciatic pain and weight gain) and he ROLLED HIS EYES! he said that weight gain is temporary is minimal and rare in most cases, additionally that predisone does not stay in the system that long.
Funny statement because my family doctor disagrees and says the half life and side effects stay with you a lot longer, including those hunger feelings, irritability and sudden tiredness. Why would I want these symptoms when I am already someone with chronic fatigue and pain?
That's like giving free needles to a dope-fiend!
Then the bastard says, you know if you lose weight you'll feel better.
To which I begin my onslaught, Look here Mister let me give you a little insight. Once upon a time I was fit as a fiddle and I hurt like a mutha fucker. I stayed active, played sports and lead a semi-normal life and I hurt. I hide and cry when I'm alone and I don't lead on that I'm dying inside because I don't want pity. For years I've avoided doctors because I don't want to lower myself and ask for help. There are worse things in life than some pain but when I finally ask for it, help, then I damn well expect to get some.
Whether I'm 135 pounds or 280 pounds (at my worst) I have had equal amounts of pain and I am now here, asking for you to help me.
So I'm back to punishing myself years and years later. The doctors don't really want to help us other than to put a pill or a needle into our bodies, these just cover up some of the symptoms but don't cure the problem.
I know now that I am not going to get better. I read books, look online and read other people's stories, listen to other folks experiences and all I can do is make choices that can and possibly should help me.
For the last 13 months (on and off as I can tolerate through my pain, depression and desire) I've tackled exercise both the gym when I can afford it and then just good ol' fashioned walking, a reduction in some junk food and increasing my vitamin intake (FUCK I HATE PILLS even if they are 'good for you) and have managed now to lose 75 pounds.
This week's punishment - i.e. torture, is to cleanse my body of impurities (shit myself)
if the Muslim's can do this for 30 days I'm sure I can make it for at least 3 days and push it for 5 if possible. if I can't then I'll try to do 3 days every month. Maybe that will be a healthy change.
Walking is killing me and I would definitely appreciate any donations to obtain a low impact exercise machine, every night at the 2 mile mark (45 minutes) I am weeping in pain. I don't like to cry, especially in view of others but the pain is unbearable. My knee is singing Figaro and there is no beauty in this opera.
I beseech thee to bolster my strength and stave off the tears.
and find a cure
and if anything - perhaps I'm ready to try for another picture with my husband and I'll recognize myself again.
physical (anatomical)
emotional
psychological
moral
and on and on...
I've recently been physically punishing myself for my years of gluttony, which has been in response to years of emotional and physical discomfort.
In June 2008 a photograph was taken of me while attending an event. While at the event, which was an awards ceremony that I was receiving yet another commendation for my dedication to the bastardized feline association that recognizes you only if you stuff cash into their coffers. Originally they awarded you for true revolutionary marks in the breed but as in all things, it just gets down to ass kissing and one-upmanship.
Anyhow, where this is going though is that I still like a good party and enjoy attending because I did make 'friends' and this is the one opportunity that I have always allowed for a formal photograph to be taken yearly of my hubby and I. All of my years I've been pretty much against photos because I'm not a huge fan of my appearance.
Some of this stems from the 'punishment' I received as a child, statements like 'your ordinary', 'plain', 'not a beauty', 'no beauty queen' ...I even knew a boy that once said that I looked like a rat because my eyes were beady, too close together and my nose was aquiline.
I grew up a strange child, spent a confused year trying to ignore my budding womanhood by hiding it under men's suitcoats and Ace bandages strapped across my chest to try and trap my bosom. Hard to do when your hooters are honking like Canadian geese in the fall.
...I've trailed off, the pictures were returned a few weeks later and in them stood my husband who is always recognizable. His dome nice and shiny and eyes twinkling. He practically looks the same year after year just add a fresh shirt/coat, he doesn't age except for a few new gray hairs in his mustache and a few more smile lines/crinkles near his eyes.
However the woman standing next to him was unrecognizable, who was she but a bloated perspiring version of me? it was as if the movie magicians from an Eddie Murphy comedy got a hold of me and made me into one of his characters like Sherman Klump in The Nutty Professor.
For months my hormones were going absolutely crazy, the hot flashes were unbearable which I'd pretty much attributed to the hysterectomy I'd had a few years previously. This was a partial hysto - to put it lightly I erased the artwork out of the frame. My uterus was taken but those 2 delightful ovaries left behind, like miserable lumps of toxic globs.
Some of this sweating misery can be attributed to the surgery but for the most part, I believe is directly related to my enormous ass.
Back when we were first dating we used to say that we'd never let each other blimp out and be grotesquely fat! Yet, here we are a decade later and both of us are easily 100#s heavier than we were in our youth. Our health is failing, our looks not nearly what they were and certainly our sex appeal not what it was when we met. I know that I don't feel attractive when I look in the mirror. I hate that person that looks back at me, that's why I don't look at her anymore.
When we met I'd just been going through a good period in my life when my pain was tolerable, I'd been taking care of myself and staying active. Even though I still ached I was quite fit. That time has since lapsed and it has spiraled into years and years of long lasting pain, it is so extreme that I finally succumbed and allowed for one pain specialist to give me caudal epidurals.
That is the worst mistake I've let a doctor suggest and will not repeat again (and recently suggested to me again). If y'all didn't know, in those injections they are putting prednisone (anti-inflammatory)into your lower back, the lovely side effects of this medication is that it can make you ravenously hungry (even quoted from Health.com).
Did you know that individuals that are on long term medications varying from sleep medications, antidepressants and anti-inflammatories also suffer from 'Snug-Jeans' syndrome..or let's just spell it out - we get fat from our illnesses.
You take a pill to cure symptoms of one problem and instead you have another problem which then starts another problem, and then that problem (the obesity) will cause yet NEW problems..and it's a never ending vicious cycle.
While visiting a new pain specialist the month before, a rather abrupt fellow, he immediately suggested the caudal epidural which I quickly declined and he poo-pooed. I described my dissatisfaction with results (no pain relief, incorrect placement of needle insertion and future sciatic pain and weight gain) and he ROLLED HIS EYES! he said that weight gain is temporary is minimal and rare in most cases, additionally that predisone does not stay in the system that long.
Funny statement because my family doctor disagrees and says the half life and side effects stay with you a lot longer, including those hunger feelings, irritability and sudden tiredness. Why would I want these symptoms when I am already someone with chronic fatigue and pain?
That's like giving free needles to a dope-fiend!
Then the bastard says, you know if you lose weight you'll feel better.
To which I begin my onslaught, Look here Mister let me give you a little insight. Once upon a time I was fit as a fiddle and I hurt like a mutha fucker. I stayed active, played sports and lead a semi-normal life and I hurt. I hide and cry when I'm alone and I don't lead on that I'm dying inside because I don't want pity. For years I've avoided doctors because I don't want to lower myself and ask for help. There are worse things in life than some pain but when I finally ask for it, help, then I damn well expect to get some.
Whether I'm 135 pounds or 280 pounds (at my worst) I have had equal amounts of pain and I am now here, asking for you to help me.
So I'm back to punishing myself years and years later. The doctors don't really want to help us other than to put a pill or a needle into our bodies, these just cover up some of the symptoms but don't cure the problem.
I know now that I am not going to get better. I read books, look online and read other people's stories, listen to other folks experiences and all I can do is make choices that can and possibly should help me.
For the last 13 months (on and off as I can tolerate through my pain, depression and desire) I've tackled exercise both the gym when I can afford it and then just good ol' fashioned walking, a reduction in some junk food and increasing my vitamin intake (FUCK I HATE PILLS even if they are 'good for you) and have managed now to lose 75 pounds.
This week's punishment - i.e. torture, is to cleanse my body of impurities (shit myself)
if the Muslim's can do this for 30 days I'm sure I can make it for at least 3 days and push it for 5 if possible. if I can't then I'll try to do 3 days every month. Maybe that will be a healthy change.
Walking is killing me and I would definitely appreciate any donations to obtain a low impact exercise machine, every night at the 2 mile mark (45 minutes) I am weeping in pain. I don't like to cry, especially in view of others but the pain is unbearable. My knee is singing Figaro and there is no beauty in this opera.
I beseech thee to bolster my strength and stave off the tears.
and find a cure
and if anything - perhaps I'm ready to try for another picture with my husband and I'll recognize myself again.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Moo moo buckaroo
Cattle - the general public appear to be cattle.
No matter where I go or what I do - if there are other people involved in the situation I'm usually left with this complete amazement at how utterly pathetic the public is.
examples:
Driving - everyone stops because one disabled car has stopped. Back-ups happen on the road because one individual has had a vehicular hiccup, instead of pulling to the side and traffic continuing on; the entire stream of motion is completely interrupted ...
Banking - waiting in line and no one moves forward unless the teller says NEXT PLEASE. It's as if no one can make a decision without being told what to do.
Then we have the people that decide to have children only to have them complete certain tasks because they've become too fucking lazy to get off their ass to do it themselves.
Mow the grass, wash the dishes, start the laundry. My favorite - this last Saturday on a trip out of town to purchase massive quantities of cat litter - we stopped at Arby's, this particular cafe was severely understaffed. One on the drive-thru, one in the back making the food and one up front on the register. (I'll mention ahead of time the one on the register was of a different culture than you'd find in this part of Texas)
We must have made it there in good timing on our part because right after we placed our order 6 different cars with 4-5 people in each came in. WOW did I feel a little sorry for the 3 employees, ha ha - not really. It's Saturday morning, and we were in a town known for heavy military presence, a new shopping mall and the weekend had a big classic car expo. Poor scheduling if you ask me.
We have our seat and get ready to dig into our meal, watching the line start to back up and the foyer fill up with bodies and the room growing loud with the sounds of dissatisfied voices. Next to us were a family of 5, parents and 3 children ranging from about 11, 8 and 5. They ordered directly after us and were starting to look anxious when we were half way through our meal and by this time I had seen a few trays of food already go out.
Cattle.
Mom's foot is starting to tap, quickly...knee is bopping and toe is slap slap slapping and she's starting to gnaw the inside of her cheek. Her 2 youngest children have gone up to the fountain and refilled their cups for the 2nd time with soda. (oh boy I hope they have a nice long drive, the kids will be full of liquid caffeine).
Now the oldest is sticking his finger into a paper cup of ketchup and dad is saying under his breath to mom, "where is our food?" to which I am laughing with my husband because these 2 are so lazy and afraid of confrontation that they will not get up to inquire about their meal. I also think that they are especially intimidated by the employee I'd previously mentioned.
Arby's is NOT low cost, if you're going to eat fast food you could have at least 2 visits to Burger King for the one meal at Arby's. Marketing goes a LONG way..Arby's IS Different!
...another couple of minutes pass and mom finally gets her middle child's attention and says, "Can you go see where our food is?" she gives him a puppy-dog sad face replete with full pouting lip.
In typical lazy kid fashion, he got up and walked about 5 feet and looked through the employee entryway and didn't see a tray of food out on the counter and came back and said - "Nope"
The mom was SO ANGRY that he didn't complete the task the correct way she had to get her ass up and do it herself. She gave EVERYONE at the 2 tables a horrible look including her husband, obviously he should have gotten up to do this, and went up to get the food.
When she returned she was victorious and explained that indeed their food HAD been given to someone else but they remade the entire order for her.
We were finishing up (clearing our own space just in time because now a family with a squalling baby had come in) and left listening to them argue over which sandwich belonged to whom.
"HEY that's mine and don't eat that...that's MINE"
Years ago I knew a woman that had 6 children; she let them run all over her. Every time I spent any time with her I left with the most unpleasant taste in my mouth. She had absolutely no spine. She didn't even know that the kids disrespected her, living in her own little world everything was perfect and she absorbed the damages.
I tend to be hotheaded and hate to be walked on.
In fact, the more someone abuses me the more I get pissed off. I'm either going to explode or I'll bottle it up and wait until the right moment to unleash all of my anger like an erupting volcano - the bubbling lava ravaging everything in it's path.
Don't let me become a Cow! I already belch like a pig, one farm animal is probably enough.
No matter where I go or what I do - if there are other people involved in the situation I'm usually left with this complete amazement at how utterly pathetic the public is.
examples:
Driving - everyone stops because one disabled car has stopped. Back-ups happen on the road because one individual has had a vehicular hiccup, instead of pulling to the side and traffic continuing on; the entire stream of motion is completely interrupted ...
Banking - waiting in line and no one moves forward unless the teller says NEXT PLEASE. It's as if no one can make a decision without being told what to do.
Then we have the people that decide to have children only to have them complete certain tasks because they've become too fucking lazy to get off their ass to do it themselves.
Mow the grass, wash the dishes, start the laundry. My favorite - this last Saturday on a trip out of town to purchase massive quantities of cat litter - we stopped at Arby's, this particular cafe was severely understaffed. One on the drive-thru, one in the back making the food and one up front on the register. (I'll mention ahead of time the one on the register was of a different culture than you'd find in this part of Texas)
We must have made it there in good timing on our part because right after we placed our order 6 different cars with 4-5 people in each came in. WOW did I feel a little sorry for the 3 employees, ha ha - not really. It's Saturday morning, and we were in a town known for heavy military presence, a new shopping mall and the weekend had a big classic car expo. Poor scheduling if you ask me.
We have our seat and get ready to dig into our meal, watching the line start to back up and the foyer fill up with bodies and the room growing loud with the sounds of dissatisfied voices. Next to us were a family of 5, parents and 3 children ranging from about 11, 8 and 5. They ordered directly after us and were starting to look anxious when we were half way through our meal and by this time I had seen a few trays of food already go out.
Cattle.
Mom's foot is starting to tap, quickly...knee is bopping and toe is slap slap slapping and she's starting to gnaw the inside of her cheek. Her 2 youngest children have gone up to the fountain and refilled their cups for the 2nd time with soda. (oh boy I hope they have a nice long drive, the kids will be full of liquid caffeine).
Now the oldest is sticking his finger into a paper cup of ketchup and dad is saying under his breath to mom, "where is our food?" to which I am laughing with my husband because these 2 are so lazy and afraid of confrontation that they will not get up to inquire about their meal. I also think that they are especially intimidated by the employee I'd previously mentioned.
Arby's is NOT low cost, if you're going to eat fast food you could have at least 2 visits to Burger King for the one meal at Arby's. Marketing goes a LONG way..Arby's IS Different!
...another couple of minutes pass and mom finally gets her middle child's attention and says, "Can you go see where our food is?" she gives him a puppy-dog sad face replete with full pouting lip.
In typical lazy kid fashion, he got up and walked about 5 feet and looked through the employee entryway and didn't see a tray of food out on the counter and came back and said - "Nope"
The mom was SO ANGRY that he didn't complete the task the correct way she had to get her ass up and do it herself. She gave EVERYONE at the 2 tables a horrible look including her husband, obviously he should have gotten up to do this, and went up to get the food.
When she returned she was victorious and explained that indeed their food HAD been given to someone else but they remade the entire order for her.
We were finishing up (clearing our own space just in time because now a family with a squalling baby had come in) and left listening to them argue over which sandwich belonged to whom.
"HEY that's mine and don't eat that...that's MINE"
Years ago I knew a woman that had 6 children; she let them run all over her. Every time I spent any time with her I left with the most unpleasant taste in my mouth. She had absolutely no spine. She didn't even know that the kids disrespected her, living in her own little world everything was perfect and she absorbed the damages.
I tend to be hotheaded and hate to be walked on.
In fact, the more someone abuses me the more I get pissed off. I'm either going to explode or I'll bottle it up and wait until the right moment to unleash all of my anger like an erupting volcano - the bubbling lava ravaging everything in it's path.
Don't let me become a Cow! I already belch like a pig, one farm animal is probably enough.
Friday, September 25, 2009
sleepless again
While all of you sleep I'm fully awake.
I wonder to myself most of the time, Wow, how wonderful it must be to rest my body and mind from the trials of life and relax at long last. Letting my soul recharge, just as you would plug in a set of nickel cadmium (NiCd) or nickel metal hydride (NiMH) -
but I can't silence myself that easily; I keep going, and going and going until I'm disposable.
May as well be disposable because I burn myself out like the hot ember of a struck match. Flaring ferociously, immediately combustible in bright red and orange, settling into blue.
Finally the flames lick and devour everything around me just like they do the thin paper stem.
All that is left is a smoldering puff of ash.
That is what's left of me when I've finally wasted every last ounce of my crazy energy.
Ashes - extinguished but quietly ready to rekindle with just a breath.
I wonder to myself most of the time, Wow, how wonderful it must be to rest my body and mind from the trials of life and relax at long last. Letting my soul recharge, just as you would plug in a set of nickel cadmium (NiCd) or nickel metal hydride (NiMH) -
but I can't silence myself that easily; I keep going, and going and going until I'm disposable.
May as well be disposable because I burn myself out like the hot ember of a struck match. Flaring ferociously, immediately combustible in bright red and orange, settling into blue.
Finally the flames lick and devour everything around me just like they do the thin paper stem.
All that is left is a smoldering puff of ash.
That is what's left of me when I've finally wasted every last ounce of my crazy energy.
Ashes - extinguished but quietly ready to rekindle with just a breath.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
drowned
Who knew that when the weather finally switched from scorching to soaking wet that my mood could sink so quickly. Well actually anyone could I suppose, no amount of Zoloft or Xanax can fix my mood swings.
Typically I love the rain, in fact the first 2 days of this deluge I was grinning like the Cheshire cat, and now my smile has turned upside down into a frown.
My sleeping habits are screwed completely up, my general malaise is at it's all time worst and those aches and pains I whine about are kicked up into the highest gear. If
I were a motorcycle I'd be one of those crotch rockets that is being revved up into the red-line zone and squealing with the tires burning rubber.
Mother Nature? Could you possible consider doing something called BALANCE? It sure would do wonders for screwballs like me...thanks darlin'!
Typically I love the rain, in fact the first 2 days of this deluge I was grinning like the Cheshire cat, and now my smile has turned upside down into a frown.
My sleeping habits are screwed completely up, my general malaise is at it's all time worst and those aches and pains I whine about are kicked up into the highest gear. If
I were a motorcycle I'd be one of those crotch rockets that is being revved up into the red-line zone and squealing with the tires burning rubber.
Mother Nature? Could you possible consider doing something called BALANCE? It sure would do wonders for screwballs like me...thanks darlin'!
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