What a weird day. I was so out of it today, I really felt as if I were dreaming I was awake! Maybe it's the Topamax. I wonder what would happen if I just stopped taking everything cold turkey. Instant death? Insurmountable pain and depression? Blood sugar so high, my blood vessels would burst? I guess I'd better not try it. But wow, it sounds like a whole lot of interesting stuff might happen all at once, doesn't it? Too bad I don't dare give it a shot.

Connie, my co-worker at the PO, took off today. She's already back from her cruise, but got back so late last night, or even early this morning, she didn't want to come to work today. I don't blame her. She's probably exhausted from all that warm weather and all those king-sized pina coladas. I wonder if she gained back the 10 pounds she allowed herself. She lost over 40 on Weight Watchers. She's done that twice that I know of, but always gained it back. I wonder if this time will be different. For her sake, I hope so. Sharon's on WW, too, and very thrilled with her weight loss thus far. The problem with losing weight is, you have to keep on with it. Once you return to old, bad habits, the weight returns.

I went out yesterday with Jane, Steve's old girlfriend, to see Woody Allen's MATCH POINT. This was far from a comedy, although it did have its funny moments. Most of the cast was British. It was a compelling movie, too, and gave Jane and I plenty to discuss. I really liked it. Plus, it's the kind of movie that lingers with you long after you've seen it. I'm sure I'll be thinking about for quite a while. That's the mark of a good movie.

Dan went to the gym tonight. Brad will be home about 9 PM, I think. He's taking over classes for a teacher who won't be in tomorrow. He seemed eager at the thought. The very concept of student teaching terrified me when it came close to being my turn, as I recall. I was actually relieved when my guidance counselor advised me NOT to get my teaching degree, although in hindsight, I sure wish I had.

I am hoping SO hard that one of Brad's resumes pans out for him, snags him a terrific teaching job. Ideally, I want to see him win a job right where he is, in the Bellmore-Merrick school district. He knows the faculty, the kids, everything there so well already! It would be perfect!

Here's an amusing thought to round out this entry:

I've noticed a lot of people write about sex in their blogs. I could do that, too, very easily. I used to write sexy stories for men's magazines, thousands of them! I hate to disappoint you, but those tantalizing little tales you read in PENTHOUSE, FAMILY AFFAIRS and such aren't real; they're written by writers like me, totally fabricated. Why, you wonder, don't I write about my own sex life? Well, I could, but there isn't much to write about these days, and frankly, after slathering my gigantic, pox-covered butt with lotion to stave off the shingles, I suspect my husband will never again see me as the sexy, sweet young thang he made love to with such fervor when we were newlyweds--nor do I blame him!

So, you will have to look elsewhere for the stories of how he thrust/pushed/pumped his cock/piledriver/tree trunk into my pussy/hole/canal, because frankly, my friends, I'm just burnt out on the whole fucking genre!

Love, Robin

Dentist this morning. Dan went in first, for x-rays and cleaning, while I read trashy magazines like US and PEOPLE (I do love delving into celebrity lives, for some reason) and talked to strangers entering the office. I see Angelina Jolie as a human fly trap. She just gulped Brad Pitt right down into her maw, like she did that Thornton guy, cock first. Pretty Jennifer Aniston didn't stand a chance.

We used to go to this dental place when it was owned by an elderly guy named Dr. Markowitz. He yelled at his employees, conducted fiscal business on the phone, threw instruments across the room, talked more than he worked, and denied doing any of those things. I suspect he was a victim of Alzheimer's, and we were very close to choosing another dentist when he sold his practice to two younger fellows. We were very happy with them, especially when they accepted as full payment our insurance company's offering for a double crown I needed. I had no idea they only did that because we were one of only a few of Dr. Markowitz' patients who stuck with them after he left the practice, and when I needed another crown a few years later, they told me I owed them nearly $500 over the insurance company's payment--after they had done the job. Because they had built up the practice by then, they no longer needed to be so generous to us, and finding this out after the fact infuriated Dan and me so much, we told them we no longer wanted to use their services.

We tried a dentist at the local mall, but all he wanted was to replace our existing silver fillings with ones a color that matched our teeth and were plenty more expensive. He wasn't pleased with the crappy compensation from our insurance company, and we really didn't want to line his pockets with our hard-earned money when we didn't have any real cavities, so we didn't see any dentist for about a year.

We decided to go back to our old dentists today, and were delighted to see they'd entered the 21st century with computerized x-rays. It was so cool to see my teeth, with all my thousand fillings and caps, right there on a computer screen, in all their plaque-covered glory. The dental hygienst, whose name escapes me, calls the spit-sucking device, "Mr. Thirsty", and was so peppy and cheerful, I wanted to choke her. That would be considered assault, so when she sweetly inquired, "How ARE you?!?" in a singsong voice, I replied, "Well, I'm still getting over a bout with shingles--it was real nasty--big pox spread over my left ass cheek!" That sure made the sparkle in her eyes dim somewhat. I know, I'm a total bitch, but who needs that kind of overwhelming cheerfulness when you're sitting in the dentist's chair? I mean, REALLY!!!!

She chattered endlessly while torturing me with her pickax and water pick and Mr. Thirsty sucked everything up eagerly, but I must say, it was the most thorough cleaning I've ever had. My mouth was killing me when she was done and is still very sore. I need one tooth filled, not too bad, as does Dan.

I saw my best friend of over 40 years last night. I love this woman with all my heart. We went out for dinner at Friday's and talked. I told her about my overpowering depression for the past few weeks, and how my period, which finally arrived this week after a two and a half month absence, was so heavy, I really thought I was going to pass out and need a transfusion. I told her how Bugsy had bitten Dan on his toe and me on my fingers, drawing a lot of blood in both cases, and how I fear we're going to have to give Bugsy back to Last Hope and how much that thought terrifies me because neither Dan nor I don't want to see him ending up being put to sleep because he has a problem that can't be overcome.

I can tell Sharon anything. She understands about Bugsy, yet when she came home with me, Bugsy wouldn't leave her alone. He kept nipping her shoes, the bottom of her pants, circling her, stalking her. I believe it was because he wanted her attention, but she was afraid to touch him, and he barked at her, wanted her to pet him, but she was afraid to do so because of my stories about him and. . .the vicious circle continues.

Dan is bringing Snaps to the Bide A Wee Animal Clinic March 10th, alone, for his shots. I want him to ask the doctor about Bugsy. Perhaps there is Prozac for dogs? I don't want to give him back, but we can't keep him if he keeps regressing like this! We can't take a chance on his biting a stranger and having that person sue us. We can't take a chance on him biting Brad badly, either. I was in agony when Bugsy bit me, believe me, and furious with him, but my anger dwindled and I wanted to just hold him and assure him I still love him. Bugsy didn't come upstairs that night to sleep with us, and I suspect he knew I was angry with him and didn't want him around. But if he knows he did a bad thing, why did he bite me in the first place? I think I hurt him somehow, but I was PETTING him when this happened! My nails were long--did I scratch him by accident? Why would a dog I love so much attack me so badly, I'd bleed and have trouble stopping the flow? Hey, I already have low iron; I don't need any further trouble in that area.

And the crazy thing is, I still love the damn pooch!

More tomorrow, if I have time. I'm going out with Jane to lunch and a movie.

Love, Robin

It's been a while since I've posted. Sorry. Ideally, I'd like to post every other day, but I've been working overtime, I'm tired, the things I want to say I figure I'd better not say. . .aw, all excuses, I know. I'm here now, so heigh ho, let's go.

The latest animal atrocity is the piece of shit who trained a male pit bull to fight in future dog fights by hanging pit puppies (probably fathered by their torturer) over the bigger dog's head so it could bite and attack them. When found, one pup was missing an eye! The mother dog was tethered to a leash so short, she couldn't even lie down, so she choked herself to death because she was so exhausted!

All this in the name of dog-fighting, which is illegal--and immoral.

This man does NOT deserve to live. The most he'll get for this kind of animal cruelty is a slap on the wrist in the form of a year in jail.

The penalties for these crimes MUST be made stronger. Personally, I vote for frontier justice. Just let us have at these sons of bitches and we'll make sure they pay adequately--and painfully--for the agony they've inflicted on these poor little creatures who only want to live and let live.

OK, I'm calming myself down now. There are times I think I might have a stroke when stuff like this happens. It makes me so angry, I want to kill.

More later.

I'm beginning to think I'm losing it. My mind, I mean. Yesterday, I had the day off and watched a bunch of guys running around my yard beginning at 7:15 AM, slicing branches and limbs off ancient trees. It was a warm, windy, gray day, eerie and somehow colder than the frigid day last weekend that preceded the blizzard.

The guy in charge, George, was so kind. He kept asking me, "Do you want that shorter? Do you want those limbs shorter? More off? More?" I kept saying yes, because the trees had overgrown the house, overgrown into my dreams and made me fearful every time the wind blew hard, rain fell, hurricanes threatened. I dreamed of the 60 foot tree in the middle of the yard falling on my house, turning it into a duplex. I joked about it, but the thought scared me into the kinds of nightmares that awakened me, sweating, shivering and near tears. So I encouraged more cutting, trimming, and they were here far longer than their absent boss, Chris, who gave me the $1500 estimate, expected them to be. He stopped by the house and stared in horror at the gigantic amount of wood chips in his truck. Angry and upset, Chris conversed with George. Chris asked to see my copy of the contract. I brought it out. George was never given a copy of the contract. Apparently, we were supposed to have lots of trimming, not topping. "I really don't know the difference," I shrugged, "topping is what I put on a sundae!" It looked like George was going to get into trouble, which made me feel bad, so when Chris asked for another $150 to defray the cost of getting rid of the wood chips, I dipped into my stash of winnings from the Super Bowl pool and gave him the extra. The truth is, I did know that I was getting more than I was supposed to, but I also sensed George kind of liked me and wanted me to be happy--and I took advantage of that. And feel guilty about it.

My moods lately have been so dark, my laughter forced, my merriment gone. Is it the iron pills? The shingles, STILL? The new drug I started, Topamax? Peri-menopause? I am so overly sensitive to everything in my world. Nothing makes me happy, but so many things make me sad, depressed. After the tree guys left, I went food shopping. I found skirt steak for a great price. That pleased me. I found an excellent cake I knew Dan, Brad and I would enjoy, and bought it even though I knew none of us should eat it. Fuck it, I said to myself, if that cake makes me happy, damn it, I'm having some!

I brought my stuff up to the 10 items or less register. The woman surveyed my basket and got kind of nasty. "10 or less," she spat. I felt tears beginning to sting my eyes and had trouble counting, but it came out to exactly 10. I tried to tell her without sounding like I was about to burst into sobs, and she smiled and nodded. A bulletin board was behind me, and I read about two female pit bulls in Levittown in desperate need of a new home. It was a lovingly-written plea and started my waterworks going in earnest. I quickly paid the bill, noted that no one had taken any of the phone numbers cut into the bottom of the page, and walked my basket into the impossibly warm sunshine. I cried driving home, trying to comfort myself. I had stopped crying by the time I arrived home, but I still have this depression bubbling on the back burner of my mind--and yes, I'm crying now.

I hate me this way! I try to always be an upbeat, funny person who sees the humor in life. It's the way I work, the way I survive. And now, it seems as if that part of me is broken. When I mentioned it to Dan today, he talked about having a mortgage burning party next year, and how much fun we're going to have in California. He knows I need to look forward to things, so I have to give him credit for that. I just wish I knew what was triggering this massive bout of depression. I do feel PMSsy, but this is way above and beyond my usual. Perhaps this is the new, improved PMS, since it appears that I am starting to go into menopause, and my periods aren't giving up without a fight. PMS now is going to be KILLER PMS, with KILLER MOOD SWINGS to make the party all the sweeter!

That's a bit more like the old Robin.

I might survive this yet!

Love, Robin

Haven't written in a couple of days. I worked two hours overtime yesterday and the day before. I covered for a supervisor who took off Monday through Wednesday, and while I wasn't up to the two hours OT Monday, I forced myself to stick around Tues and Weds. It wasn't too bad. I still feel that weird numbness/pain on the left side of my hip, buttcheek, abdomen and upper leg, but it seems to finally be fading a bit, and today I even tried to take a fast walk in the parking lot during my lunch break. It felt strange, but not bad. I think I might be able to start my regular 30 minutes of walking again, to the tunes I've added to my new MP3 player, by Tuesday, after the Presidents' holiday break. I think that would lifT my spirits a great deal.

They do need lifting, but I'm not sure why. I've been feeling very crampy lately, like my period is waiting impatiently to make an appearance. We threw out the 2005 calendar on which I'd painstakingly written down my last couple of periods, so I have no idea when they were, but I CAN tell you I haven't menstruated yet in 2006. That's at least 47 days without a period. Wow. And I have no idea when I last had my "friend" in December. Given that I've been getting it since I was nine years old, it's hard to believe it's starting to stutter and might really stop altogether. I lost it for the nine months I carried my son and that's been pretty much all. Freaky, huh? It's my personal belief that menstruation should come equipped with an on-off switch that should only be operable when a woman wants a baby. There would be no 13 year old girls getting pregnant, no menopause (hell, no menopause!) babies, and woman would only have kids when they wanted them. When she was done, all she would have to do is turn off the switch and never turn it on again. If she changed her mind and wanted a kid at 100, and it was decided she was in her right mind and her body could still handle the pressure, she could flip the switch again and get herself knocked up.

I didn't intend for this to be a flippant entry. I want to tell you something that happened yesterday.

For the past several years, I've been my block's American Diabetes Association collector. All that means is that every year, I mail out diabetes information and donation envelopes to 25 people on my block and wait to see how many of them mail me money to return to the ADA. They always canvas me to to this project and even though I beg them to stop asking, they inevitably call me back and say, "We couldn't get anyone else to volunteer," thereby hooking me once again. I half-heartedly mailed out the envelopes again, enclosing, as I always do, a hand-written note explaining that, since my husband, son and I are all diabetic, this cause is very near to my heart and ask them to donate generously. As of a few days ago, as usual, I hadn't received one donation. Although many of my neighbors seem to have plenty of money, they either don't like my family or don't want to spend it on diabetes. Yes, it stings, and embitters me, but I'm used to it. Yesterday, one of the familiar envelopes appeared in my mailbox. I opened it and found a note from one of my elderly neighbors. She explained that she and her husband both have diabetes, are on a fixed income and taking very expensive diabetes drugs. She thanked me for taking up such an important cause for all of us, and said she and her husband wanted to contribute, even only if in a very small way. I unfolded the other piece of paper in the envelope and found a check for $5.00.

I burst into tears and couldn't stop for more than half an hour. I don't know why. Perhaps it was PMS, leftover discomfort from the shingles, the shitstorm of emotion I've been going through from peri-menopause or everything combined. I felt like that couple had, instead, sent me a million bucks for the ADA. If that's my only contribution, I'll be disappointed, sure, because I want to see diabetes eradicated as quickly as possible, especially in my son's lifetime.

I don't like people most of the time. But that $5.00 has, for a little while at least, resurrected my faith in human beings. It won't last long, I know that. But I'm going to savor it for now.

Love, Robin