Misery Loves Company

It's necessary for me to post a disclaimer before I whine. Here goes:

THE BELOW WHINER REALIZES SHE HAS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO WHINE ABOUT BECAUSE COMPARED TO THE STUFF GOING ON IN OTHER PEOPLE'S LIVES, HER PROBLEMS ARE TRIFLING.

Now that I've posted that, I have to say it's true. I have no major problems right now other than my crazy brain. I'm not feeling sorry for myself either, just venting a bit. If I can make anyone laugh, all the better. I admit it. I'm a laughter whore.

Now where to start?

Oh yes, there was the post about how much better Paxil made me feel. It did.

I returned to my doctor with glowing reviews and asked him if it came in generic. It did. A generic prescription is five-dollars. A name brand prescription is on a formulary basis. In my case, the name-brand Paxil is forty-dollars. That's a decent price difference. So I started taking generics.

Then I started sleeping more, approximately twelve hours a day. I didn't want to log on the computer or talk on the phone or read or watch television. (I should add in the interest of disclosure I DESPISE talking on the phone anyway so it became more of an issue but by no means a new issue.)

Really I wanted to sleep, eat carbs, sleep and eat more carbs. Around two weeks into this I woke up in the morning and realized I was depressed. It was like one of those Oprah light bulb moments without the millions of dollars and the adoring fans hanging on my every word.

Now I am back on the regular Paxil. While I am still mildly depressed, it is much better. I'm sure I will soon be whistling zip-a-dee-doo-dah out my rear end again.
********************
One of the dogs, we suspect Mandy, had diarrhea this week. Diarrhea happens to everybody. I don't hold that against her.

I do hold it against her that she didn't wake me up. Instead she apparently dragged herself around the whole house with her ass rubbing the floor.

I thought it had all been cleaned up, silly me. Yesterday, while cleaning Azure and Sammy's room, I kept finding little surprises in random toy-piled corners and under the beds.

It was like the gift that kept on giving.

There is nothing like a fun-filled Saturday playing Find the Feces. Really, y'all should play it.
********************
There's a new Target store near us. I need to go. The only problem is it is where all the beautiful people shop. I don't feel beautiful today. I feel fat, lumpy and bloated.

Yes, maxi-pads are on my shopping list.

May I just go back to bed please?
********************
Back around to despising talking on the phone, I wasn't always that way. But it seems the more I rely on e-mail, the less I use the phone.

Also, with e-mail and blogging I can look closely at my message, choose my words with care and try not to offend.

In real life, on the phone, I am a blathering freaking idiot. I worry about saying something stupid, get nervous and say something stupid. Then I avoid the phone more. It's a self-perpetuating cycle.

Yesterday a lady called wanting some gluten and casein-free information.

During the part where you do the pleasantries, I blathered like a mindless idiot. It was a spewing of utter dumbness, appalling in its sheer volume.

After the "pleasantries" were over, I gave her some good information. I know my gfcf diet pretty well. There is always room to learn more but we seem to be sailing along smoothly.

She gave me her e-mail address to send some attachments to her. I repeated it back to her.

The attachments won't send from any of my e-mail addresses. I called her cell and left a message. She hasn't called back.

Here's the thing. I sincerely want to help her child and I may have blown it by scaring her off with my ditz attack.

Should I call her one more time? Should I give up? Should I pre-warn anybody who calls me on the phone that there is no damn filter between my brain and my pie hole?

What would Scooby do?

And somebody please let me know if you also give bad phone. It would be nice to know I'm not alone.