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

Brad arrived home last night from Binghamton exactly when he said he would--7 PM. He had no problem traveling home until he reached our snowbound area, and even then, managed to make good time. He brought home calendars for Dan and me (a schnauzer motif for me). Dan and I spent the entire day home, watching the snow fall and blow all over the place. He worried about how he was going to eat if we couldn't go out for a meal, but guess what? He didn't starve! I actually kept the man fed! We got an On Demand movie, The 40-Year-Old Virgin and really enjoyed it. Dan nearly killed himself shoveling snow, but we managed to get my car off the driveway and onto the street so Brad would be able to park Dan's car on the driveway (his is STILL in the shop awaiting repair). I was VERY grateful my son made it home safely, since I began worrying about him the second he left on Friday afternoon.

The shingles may have left my skin, but it's still bothering me in the form of weakness on my left side from hip to thigh, plus a general sensation of unpleasantness just under the flesh. When, exactly, does all that go away? It was so hard to return to work today, especially after slogging through roads covered in snow, ice and slush. I followed a truck down Route 110, which has been cleared with far less care than I expected. Snow flew off the top of the guy's rig, right onto my windshield. When I tried to wash away the mess, I learned that the washer fluid couldn't get out, so I made a grand ol' combo of water and salt that nearly blinded me. I turned my defroster on the highest setting and just prayed it would enable me to see well enough not to be a danger to others on the road. My prayer was answered--barely.

None of my co-workers had called to check on me during my 6 days out sick, but then again, that isn't the kind of group we are. Then again, yes, I was hurt that no one seemed worried enough to give more of a shit about me, or send a card or anything. Only Nancy, the gal from Buffalo who is secretary to our plant manager kept tabs on me, and more than once a day. She's proven herself a true friend, but she hates New York. It figures--I've made a good friend in a person who can't get away from New York--and Long Island--quickly enough! I was more or less welcomed back, me with my piss-yellow toilet seat butt protector (purchased for me by Dan) and cane.

I felt my energy flagging very quickly. To my astonishment, Bob Kasten told me they're paying me Rudyk's level for the next three days, while he's on Annual Leave! I can't quite believe that, but it's true! Of course, he told me after I'd punched on already, but he said that was OK. Let's see if they actually pay me the higher level! Colombo asked me if I wanted to work until 5 PM, but I was so exhausted by 3, I said no. I wanted to go home and take a nap! After all, I'm used to napping every single day, as I did last week--and both weekend days, too!

I have to check my e-mail, so I'll sign off now.

Here's to warmer days and melting snow!

Love, Robin

The snow has begun. The wind hasn't picked up yet, but the weather people have promised it will, and we're getting 10-15 inches of snow, plus lots of wind. We're having a BLIZZARD WATCH!!! Doom Thrill is everywhere. Dan saw it in the faces of those at Costco, the crazed people buying milk, bread, steak, frosting, candy. I noticed it reflected in the eyes of the crowds waiting on line at the Buffet in Levittown; !!!!maybe it's our last meal!!!! You have to laugh. When I was a kid, big snowstorms always sent kids out on our our Flexible Flyer sleds to buy milk and bread so we'd be able to eat. I guess we didn't have the wonderful snow plows/sand/salt we do today to clear the roads. Of course, the last little storm we had seemed to paralyze us, and the roads were pretty much crap for days, but that's probably poor planning, not lack of ability or equipment. Yet, every time we have reports of a bad snowstorm heading our way, we're galvanized to action, buying shovels, salt, food, etc. like we don't already have everything we need on hand and will be trapped in our homes for days, months, years.

All I gotta say is, damn that stupid groundhog, the shitty little rodent who saw his shadow! I blame him for this mess!

Dan just headed out to meet his friend, Mike, for a diner dinner. I really wish he hadn't gone anywhere. I'm worried, of course, about his safety, and Mike's. He asked me along, but as far as I'm concerned, one doesn't eat dinner at 9:30 PM. We ate "lunch" around 3 PM, which throws off the entire meal-planning day as far as I'm concerned. Breakfast sandwiches were consumed around tennish. During the week, I eat breakfast early, about 7-7:30. Anyway, to shorten a long story, I just had a bowl of cereal with non-fat milk and a low-sugar chocolate pudding with a dollop of Cool Whip.

I mentioned being diabetic, but I'm also overweight by a wide margin (that's a five word way of saying FAT). I've tried dieting, but it doesn't seem to work. Walking a couple of miles a day plus dieting worked for a while, but I think my body caught on to that trick and somehow made up for it. I spoke with Sharon, my best friend for 40 years, last night, and she says she and her husband are trying Weight Watchers. Connie, my co-worker at the PO, is also on that diet and lost about 45 pounds. She looks wonderful, so thin and healthy. Perhaps I should try it? I'm not much of a meeting kind of person. But I would like to lose weight and look better. And I hear Weight Watchers is a good, healthy plan.

How's my shingles, you ask? Well, while the rash is fading, the pain isn't. How weird is that? My butt still hurts where the rash used to be. And my hip REALLY hurts, especially when I rise from a sitting position. It's as if my sciatica and shingles have formed a wondrous sciingles to torture me! I'm planning to go to work Monday (assuming we don't get buried in snow), but wonder if I'll be able to tolerate a full 8 hours on the job. I guess we'll have to wait and see.

In the meantime, I have to worry about Dan and Mike making it back here safely, even though they only went to a local diner. I must fear for Brad, who will be coming back down from Binghamton tomorrow. (We will be monitoring the local schools to see if his is open or closed, just in case we can let him know he needn't rush home tomorrow).

Hey, thanks for listening, my friends.

Love, Robin