And join me in Cymbalta-ville...I'm the mayor

So, I went to the doctor today regarding my general apathy toward everything....and she took me off Prozac and put me on Cymbalta. If anyone reading this has had symptoms or side effects from Cymbalta, such as anal leakage or spontaneous urination, please let me know so that I might be somewhat prepared....Otherwise, I'm tentatively hopeful that this might help my depression and possibly decrease the frequency of migraine headaches I seem to have had over the previous two months...Migraines are horrible. For anyone who has them mildly to severe, it's like you're having a panic attack or stroke...but not....Had them since I was 15...thanks, Daddy...as he is the only other person in my family besides my sister, who only has them like once every two years, and me.

It's a bizarre thing to tell your doctor, "Look, I'm not padded-room crazy, I just need something to balance out the nonsense in my brain," which is almost verbatim what I told her. See, this is why I buy contact lenses from Canada on-line. They don't require a doctor's write-off, which is fine...because I know what strength contact lenses I wear. If you explained anti-depressants in a way that didn't make me want to stick a pencil in my brain and swirl it around, I'd likely be able to diagnose what dosage I need...I'm sorry, that sounds silly, but I HATE doctors. More often that not, they are complete jackasses who don't listen to what you're telling them, and this trend of high-heeled pharmaceutical representatives heading to the back of the office before me makes me more livid than I can voice.

On a separate note, tomorrow I hope to be cleared from wearing this infernal ankle brace. A lesson learned: Watch where you walk....even if you think there is no way there could be a gaping hole where you normally walk, you should still mind where you walk and always wear sensible shoes unless you have a job interview or a date with someone that you love. However, the latter is not true for me, as Smitty would much rather I wear shoes and clothes that are comfortable to me than sexy and of the spiky nature. He knows that I have trouble with simple tasks, like walking across the floor in bare feet without tripping, or not running into door frames when I am completely alert. I've accepted it. Somewhere in my late 20s, I lost all the coordination I ever had. I'm fine with it; others are slow to get on board. C'est la vie. I cannot dance or run quickly or walk a straight line or wear heels....unless they're like Easy Spirit-Orthopedically approved heels...otherwise...can you not just let me wear flip flops? It's like a medical condition....

Define crazy...

So, here's the thing. My dad died a little over a month ago, and at the time and in the following weeks, I thought, "I'm okay, I thought I would be in a padded room, but I'm fine...Ha, death....you can't beat me." Fast forward to the last few weeks....I am soooo not okay. I'm not like rocking back and forth and unable to form complete sentences, but here's what: I'm not sleeping well at all, and when I do, I have dreams that have gotten exponentially worse...I woke myself and Smitty up about a week ago yelling from a dream that consisted of being at my parents' house and if I was able to get to the kitchen, my dad wouldn't die...and I didn't make it. I'm telling you, I would like to be part of an experimental Swedish trial for some type of drug... because I can't freaking sleep. If I can actually go to sleep, I can't stay asleep...for above reasons...

How do you eradicate messed-up dreams? Even if I saw a psychiatrist, which we can't afford, it wouldn't help. I have an imagination that cannot be talked down. It's a good thing in some ways, but in other ways, I can't have my mind just wandering around on its own. It's bad enough that when I have some free time, I think, "I need to call my dad," and then I remember, and it's like a knife in my chest, but when I get still and try to sleep, I actually hear his voice and see his face...I swear, I'm not trying to be morbid, I need to get this stuff out, or I will be forever doomed to never sleep and be an anxious weirdo...that's the other thing, I'm wound tighter than Joan Rivers' face. I'm jumpy and agitated and my legs and feet won't stop moving...

Sooo, now here's me, admitting that I'm not really that okay, but I will be. I think finally acknowledging that I'm not okay helps a little, that instead of smiling and saying, "Well, I'm okay, it's just hard," and just taking out the "I'm okay" part is a step towards getting out all the stuff that's making me sad and antsy and unable to sleep. And the thing is, my dad would say, "What the hell are you sad about? I'm as happy as I could be; I'm fishing and I got to see my mother, and I'm just waiting on you all to get here. Snap out of it and eat some good food and watch some good movies and don't wallow. That's stupid." He always used to use the phrase "at play in the fields of the Lord" to describe anyone who had died or where he would be if he died early, and that phrase has made a rotation through my mind for 6 weeks as a comforting mechanism, because I have no doubt whatsoever he's in a better place and that he's at peace, I just wish I could still see him and talk to him.

I guess I just didn't fully grasp how hard the finality of not seeing him would be. I wanted him to be pain-free and in a better place, I just wanted to still be able to talk to him and tell him what Norton was doing. I realize that's a somewhat selfish outlook, but I can be somewhat selfish when it comes to people I love. One of the hardest parts of this is my imagining what will happen when I lose Smitty, and it makes me do weird stuff, like watch him sleep and poke him while he's sleeping if he's not breathing loudly enough. He does the WEIRDEST thing where he barely breathes...it freaks me out.

I swear, I will be okay, but I want you to know that when you say goodbye to anyone close to you, you need a strength that you don't think you have and may not have for a while. Just breathe in and out, live one day at a time, make sure no one in your life doubts your feelings for them, and make yourself happy, however that is possible. I'm still working out a lot of these things, especially the happy part...don't get me wrong, Smitty makes me happier than I ever thought I deserved to be, but I need something for me, that fulfills me and my interests and needs, that makes me a better wife and eventually (soon) a good mother.

This was such a sad post, I feel I need to add some levity: after falling in a hole nearly two weeks ago, I should no longer be required my brace this week, I no longer need my cane; I have developed a strange affection for Bret Michaels recently, he's been through so much; if I could be on any season of "The Real Housewives" except Atlanta, only as an extra, I would be super happy; flip flops should be the accepted "future footwear," much like those silver suits always depicted in movies/TV based in the future; I don't understand the "Lost" obsession, it seems like a cult; I have discovered a new-found love for cauliflower that sustains me a great deal; yet, asparagus still kinda grosses me out; I'm thinking more and more how we would  be with a baby, and Smitty does not hyperventilate at this prospect; I want to be the aunt that gives the best presents EVER; karaoke should be more integrated into my life; I need more shoes; and we need to either separately or collectively, work into a scenario where we have a pool. There.

Murphy's Law is alive and well

So, I have some bad luck. A week ago, my dentist fired me. I admit it, I've rescheduled my 6-month cleaning three times in the last two months. First of all, as my friend Amy Beth pointed out, how can your dentist expect you to commit to a time and appointment six months in advance? That's ridiculous. You could have any number of things going on in six months' time. In my case, my father was DYING. I'm not being melodramatic, he literally had 1-2 weeks to live, and I explained that to the overly-perky person who answered the phone at my dentist's office and thought that I pretty well hammered it home, that I couldn't commit to an appointment while my father was DYING. Nonetheless, when I had to reschedule my last appointment, I received a very polite, very nice letter informing me that due to a number of scheduling conflicts in the past year, I might need to find another dentist who could meet my scheduling needs...You know what, that's fine. Your stupid office is incredibly far from where we live now. I tried to keep you as my dentist to be nice, in the face of this economy, but you have lost your proxy into my dental process. Screw, may I add...YOU.

Secondly, on Tuesday morning, I was very happily going out to feed our lovely dogs, Norton and Zooey. I stepped in a hole that Smitty dug to plant a crepe myrtle, but yet the crepe myrtle had not yet found its cavernous home....and I twisted my foot against it, throwing dog food and water all over me, while I fell on my back, and Norton, who is my loyal dog for TEN YEARS, continued to eat, while Zooey, bless her puppy heart, tried to break down the fence to rescue me...long story short, I went to the doctor after realizing that even though I could put weight on it didn't mean that it was A-okay...I tore a ligament in my stupid foot...my same foot that I broke the ankle in about 6-7 years ago...I have to wear a brace, there's a cane involved...don't get me started....I am really fine. I have painkillers, that I only take half of a night, and I have a cane I only use part of the day...I am fine..I am a rock....

I lost a job within my company I applied for today. That is such a poorly worded sentence. I applied for the job like 3 weeks ago. I came down to the final two, and they went with the other person. I say...boo. that is your loss, and I will keep the ambition that is innate within me, and I will keep plugging. I know that I am meant for better things. I am so not critical of my current company, because I actually think this will be my salvation because I have proved myself...and continue to do so...I really do think, that sometimes, optimism and working toward what you want are good things...

I say, in the words of, I believe Ralph Waldo Emerson, " Beware of an enterprise that requires new clothes, other than a new wearer of clothes."

I am saying, despite the fact that I keep getting messages and texts that seem to indicate that I am always involved in problems, " I am happy and positive and dealing with life in a realistic manner." Join me....

Why you should remind yourself you're impressive

I had a job interview today. I'm not telling tales out of school; it's with my current company, so I am relatively safe in not being fired for having the interview. Job interviews are weird. It's one of the few times when it's socially acceptable to tell someone else why you are awesome. I actually had to give myself a rank from 1 to 10. Apparently, my 8.5 was modest, but that's a daunting question. Think about if, if someone said, point blank, "Rank yourself as an employee/friend/wife/girlfriend," what the heck do you say? I guess I said 8.5 just because if you say 10, you sound like a jackass, and anything below 7 sounds like you think you're average. I guess I should've said 9.2, which would've more accurately demonstrated what a weirdo I am, because I actually could've quantified where the .2 entered in the picture.

Job interviews are kind of like dates, which, thank the LORD, I don't have to do anymore. I was wretched at first dates, but I am actually strangely at ease with job interviews. I think it's because I can chatter to no end about things, which seems to be frowned upon on dates, but eases the weird, awkward tension in interviews. And much like dates, you can tell when an interview has gone bad or there is no chemistry. That's death, because you have to finish (both the date and the interview), but you both know it's not going to happen, so it's like making conversation with a weirdo on an elevator. It's forced and uncomfortable, and all you want to do is run away.

But, I really think it's good to exercise your interviewing skills every so often. I don't suggest exercising your dating skills every so often...well, it's okay to do that if you're single, but I literally have zero desire to ever go through the torture that was dating again. I digress; I think reiterating to yourself and others that you are a smart person, you  have useful skills, and so on and so forth, actually is quite helpful. If nothing else, when the interview concludes and the person tells you "You are really impressive," that's pretty awesome. It's actually sort of something you should tell yourself in the mirror every day, much like Stuart Smalley "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me." Only, it's the less lame version. Actually, speaking of lame and perhaps indicative of my neediness, I have a piece of paper in my wallet that came from a hippy-dippy motivational exercise that said, "Write down three words that describe you positively and carry it with you so that you don't forget." That was like 3 years ago, and I still have a piece of paper in my wallet that says "Funny, smart, and kind," and I don't use it so much as a reminder as things to which I was at one point and still aspire to be.

I guess since my dad died, I've been on this wild, introspective roller coaster, and I use him as a benchmark..would he be proud of me? Would he like that I did that? Would he agree with that assessment of me? It's not entirely unhealthy; I actually think it's the opposite. If you experience a tragedy or something that it seems the end of is not apparent, there can always be a positive twist. And I'm not even remotely an optimist. Optimists irritate me with their incessant smiling and game show host attitudes, but at heart, I think I do hope for better things, and the promise of that keeps me from hiding under the bed.

Example, before I turned 30, I said, and I wasn't kidding, that I would wear a black veil that day and weep for my lost youth. On my actual 30th birthday, I celebrated with my husband, who I still think is a delayed hallucination that I haven't quite deserved, and I didn't have a nervous breakdown. I mean, I didn't get up and put on a black veil. I got up, enjoyed my day, and in retrospect, wanted to enjoy the day. I think I have an optimist's personality wrapped up in a cynic's blanket.