Mish-Mash of This-That

"And she said, 'Your debutant knows what you need, but I know what you want.'" - Bob Dylan (Stuck Inside of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again)

Okay, so maybe my doctor knows something. Well, of course she does and I love her so much that I sometimes think I'll never leave this one-cow town just because I don't want to lose her. My new dosage of Levoxyl was hell for two days, semi-hell for one day, bearable for about two hours, and completely unnoticable yesterday. And now I feel better than I have in months. Hell, I feel downright normal. The depression, fatigue and crankiness are gone and I no longer feel like I did when I wrote this. Hormones are mean little bastards, aren't they? So thank you all for bearing with me; we will now return to my usual banter and all that crap.

• I have a great link for you. I found it via Look At This, which is where I get a lot of ideas for posts that I usually never make. All the same, check out Porn For Women. It's safe to open at work. I promise.
  
  
• I'm about three-quarters through a glass of merlot and I'm sneezing like all gee-dunk (damned tanins), but I'm not about to give up red wine; I can take Benadryl.
  
  
• I just want to say that the smartest thing I ever did in this life was hitch my club car to Nettl's Peace Train. I literally don't know what I'd be without her.

• I realized today that I regard my cell phone minutes exactly the same way I do my bank balance. I use Net-10, a pay-as-you-go plan, and today, after spending 45 minutes on the phone with a client, I noticed that I have only 71 minutes left. They have to last until the 14th. God, I'd hate to bounce a rubber text...
  
  
• Have you ever thought that someone is angry with you and you don't know why? They don't comment, or respond to your comments, and then you feel all stupid because you know that their life is really complicated and that it might not be about you at all, and then you feel all stupid because you think it is about you? Did I do something? I'd rather you just punch me in the nose than freeze me out. But as I said, it might not be about me, but I'm a stu and can't help wondering.
  
  
• I think I'm entering my senior years. I have all the signs: body functions are growing increasingly interesting, the skin on my arms is turning "crepey" (although I don't have that loose stuff that flaps around), every now and then my skin grows something undefinable, and I get pissed off at the 15 year-old boy down the lane who drives around our cul-de-sac in the new red Jeep his cop dad bought him (but for which he has no license) with the hardtop off and the BOOM-BA-BOOM-BOOM playing. Yeah, old hippie me is getting old. I'm trying to do it gracefully, but let's face it: when you're a 33 year-old spirit trapped inside an old fart body, you just gotta get pissed off sometimes. Especially when I've wanted a new Jeep for nearly 20 years.
  

And that's the end of tonight's spiel.