I blog gluten-free

Friday, August 31, 2012

Growing Up

Around certain times of the year, as the leaves change, as the flowers bloom, I find myself staring at the "Oh so simple" image that tends to get me "Miss"-ed by teenagers, I want to look like an adult. Without looking hard or jaundiced. Maybe it's staring uncertainty in the face: I've been told I wouldn't make it this long, I have lists of symptoms and take medications that make people blanch. If I were to photograph my morning or evening meds, I'd assume people might be like "WOAH!" --and that excludes monthly shots and daily vitamins! I like it sweet and simple... it gets complicated enough, you know... people's cracks beginning to show, or knowing that you can't do much but recharge and be strong for yourself---that I'm afraid I'm sending up too young of a look... and I'm the one who can go from appointments to impromptu hiking, all with nice clothes, mascara, makeup, carefully done hair, mani, the works. I can't do a full on "va-va-va-voom!" because I wouldn't be comfortable. But since I'll be doing fall shopping, I suppose it couldn't hurt to add in some things out of the usual black-white-gray-pink and dark jeans ensembles. Maybe even do what I was joking about and buy a Guatemalan belt... I can always use more belts, anyway.

Even my perfumes tend to be simple... I have, for example, a bottle of Grandma's Miss Dior from the late 40's, and even if it were new, I'd probably not wear it... because it's not the clean scent I know, although I loved Grandma-smell.
I've loved the "Grace" fragrances from Philosophy forever... Pure Grace has become the favorite, clean, soapy, with a hint of musk. Greens and violets, waterlilies. The added bonus is people who get close to me---a slippery slope!- who say "Oh, what is that?! I like it!" Not, "Lady, your perfume greeted me at the door!"

MY FAVORITE SMELLS IN LIFE: Cookies, fresh baking smells, oranges, "cold"---that smell around December, full of pine needles in the air... chocolate, coffee brewing, soap, freshly washed babies, just-washed cotton sheets. Pert Plus. "Man Stink". (You get it, or you don't.)

FRAGRANCE NOTES I AVOID: This might explain why I dislike French perfumes... those "sweat" notes. They're fine, fresh... but how long is sweat fresh? Those aren't reminiscent of sexy for me, but of  "Woah, dude, shower much?"

So, I think I need help. I am an adult, while I can easily blend into a crowd of teenagers, and get kids' tickets sometimes, I like to be an adult. My mom tells me I was born 90 years old. I want to send up that I am, above all, a happy, sunshiney, pretty woman... nothing old-ladyish, nothing too tomboyish... I see that I may add some plain (not checked) flannel in, so will have to add something interesting visually. And maybe try some skirts before it gets too cold.

I forgot how to be social... because I had to recharge. Because I am recharging. I am trying to bring my confidence up.

Yeah... I'm working on it. Because in spite of everything... I don't want to lose what is essentially me. I'm scared of losing myself. When people tell me I've changed, like it's an accusation, it fucking hurts. Because it's humanity...not perfectible, but able to grow, to improve. And that's what I want.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Karma, Karma, Karma Chameleon

I see posts regarding karma a lot. "You'll get what's coming to you, you, you...wayward foot fetishist!" (Nothing against them, I wanted something sillier than the usual epithets.) "Karma will kick your butt!" Well, here goes:

If I were to believe in karma, (I mean, I have not only studied divine crime and punishment, but am a Catholic, after all... we're taught not to be superstitious. Or at least we're supposed to be. Stop giggling.)
I'd have to acknowledge good and bad.

It's not a sweet fuzzy blanket for the hurting!

I never know why so many people use "karma" as a stick to hit a person with. Yeah, you get what you give, all right, but isn't it a bit wrong to want someone to be harmed? (Answer: Yes, and not a bit.) Isn't there enough misery in the world without wishing that if Joe Schmoe from Bumfuk decides to screw you over, that Joe ends up being screwed over? It sounds lovely, like a little fuzzy comfort blanket: "The wrongs you do will be punished in this lifetime! By a force greater than you!" But... in the same basic way, isn't wishing wrong on a person a good way to get this same punishment applied to you? 

I've been told, a few times I'll be punished unimaginatively. It brought to mind a scene from Monty Python's Spanish Inquisition sketch: "And now, the comfy chair!" That is, I translated "unimaginatively" to boringly.
Thanks, dolls... God bless.
Karma is this: Simple cause and effect! Explain little kids suffering and bad things happening to good people.

When Being A Mystery Wrapped In An Enigma Sucks

It is not what I can't do.
It is not what I can't do, yet.
Here I am. There's a lot to me, humans are complex, and I, I am a human. I have my bad days, my ups, my downs, my anxieties. I can be weird and confusing, and maybe frustrating.

I wander the world mostly in t-shirts, jeans and those classy Merril shoes I picked up for $50, comfortable, feels like nothing, and can be dressed up with a skirt.
I occasionally braid in the morning with a "beach spray" and let the wind dry and style later. I like simplicity, I want shiny, clean, touchable curls, without worry they'll be "messy". I love to play with my fingers, whether twisting, or wringing, or just tapping out Iron Man without thinking. The fingernail tap isn't altogether a bad method for picking out music, Dolly Parton basically wrote 9-5 on her acrylics. They'll break occasionally, my nutritional values need to catch up. Until then I'll play with color.

I'm going to mess up here and there. And I'm going to learn not to beat myself up.

Sometimes, I may go through a crisis- I am now. I'm working through it. It's tough, I always was taught not to discuss it, and I feel a little a-drift, so sometimes, it might come out all wrong. I'm not easily understandable. I can only promise I'll try. After one person so nicely decided to turn everything I said into phrases I'd never mean, or use, like "I'm better than you", and things that made me so sick and uncomfortable, I had to stop myself before I said, "My mom is the only one who can talk for me, and I hide my irritation only because we shared a body once." I also detest when I feel people are talking at or around me.
I'm not attempting to be an enigma, or to confuse... I'm simply fighting through. It's been a lot to take in, of late, family friends who have sudden brain aneurysms, trying to deal with fears, new victories, new sadnesses, uncertainty, a need to do things I'm incapable of now.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Sod That!

Last time I went to my neurologist, it turned into this delightful routine.
"Well, (Full first name censored) Beth, we don't know what to do with you. Your EEGs are messed up, and the MRIs are a little... funky..." (I'm translating doctor-speak, although I prefer this one over Dr. This-Is-Your-Life-And-Here-Sign-This-Waiver-So-Sorry-A-Pretty-Girl-Like-You-Has-This... Your-Life-Is-Over. I walked out, of course.) But, we are reasonably sure you have...*whisper* black-outs..." I face-palmed, literally. The cracking noise must have been horrid. "Don't do that! You'll give yourself a migraine!" "That's also why I'm here," I said, and calmly collected my stress ball, my purse, and my phone, which I'd been whiling away waiting time with with a 1,500 point game of Space Invaders and was feeling good about until I was rudely interrupted and they killed me. Boo. Well, sod that for a game of soldiers. Before I left, I was given the new Demon Medication So Vile It Was Brewed In Satan's Asshole-Du Jour... which ironically, considering the effects I got, besides fever, chills, vomiting, dizziness and confusion... is billed as a mood stabilizer as well. I just wet myself. Congrats, best Neuro in the region! Your bedside manner makes me wish for a referral to Dr. Mengele, and that's pretty bad indeed. But, that had actually been a "good day" for me, characterized by me not wearing sunglasses indoors or wincing (too much) at lights directly in my eyes.

But September 5th: Double booked as usual...for this and the B-12 shots for pain (they've begun using smaller instruments for me... they're a little freaked out that I'm so easily bruised.) it's time to look them in the eye: "You are my doctors. I pay my insurance company, it pays you. I think that makes you my employee. If I feel wrong about your treatment, I have the right to say something. Nowhere does it make it right for you to make ridiculous assumptions. And any medication, in any dose, can mess with anyone. Period. Anti-seizure drugs are serious business, not a packet of Smarties. You are going to do something, not run tests you know lead to bad readings, not assuming... you are going to get to the bottom of this, or I will find someone who will."
That's right, as much as it pains me: I'm going to have to face down a healer with an attitude.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Broken Hallelujahs

My body is weak, and while uncertainty of any sort drives me to insanity... lord knows, I lost myself somewhere last week... to those I frightened... it's later... I was a shit. I can only be humble. Trying not to say "I'm sorry," so I imply it when needed.
 Still attempting to sort through the muck and find my center... which also sort of got lost, but the rosary bracelet, and my prayers, however teary and frantic they may well have been, my broken hallelujahs, were sent up.

Spending time down by the water didn't give me that "Sad Walking Music"/ "Dust In The Wind" type thinking... in fact, as I've often told friends: "Do me a favor: don't let me think"... I simply was entranced by sunlight dappling the leaves and the calm creek I climbed down rocks to be closer to. That's another thing: I am going to do those things people often warn me not to do... "You're fragile, you break easily, physically... you really want to trust that your broken pelvis healed, considering that it was helped along by a congenital pelvic deformity?" Yes, yes, I do. I want to climb, I want to jump, clamber, dance to my internal composer. (I have the shoes to do it in, too... and don't think that 15 years of gymnastics will let me waste their flexibility.) I want to get out there and kick ass as only I can. See, I'm nothing if not stubborn... life has not let me have it on a silver platter, but I am blessed, and that, that lets me know that I will be blessed again. I may be shy around some right now, I may screw up... but I am finding my peace as needed. I'm not fragile mentally... God knows... I can't be. I may take my frights and bumps, but I will dance, and I will show joy, hope that I can make people smile, (there's no use to having a tendency towards really weird sarcasm if you can't wring out a belly laugh occasionally.)
I'm hoping to an end to tests and uncertainties, although I know, after getting a diagnosis, I will probably be tempted to send "I have a disease!" texts that to the wrong person, could be really awkward!

See me? There's more than the sad girl, the sweet girl, the girl who lets others emotions tear her. I am going to be a little surprise, and if change in me saddens you, tough shit.
I am a bad ass mofo!

And this? No reason, but it's among my favorite lullabye songs, and it isn't heard very often.

Cold Comforts

Do not look at me and think of all I cannot do, either now because things went funky and I'm fighting, or because I'm simply not capable, yet. Do not look at me as the sum of all my parts... she's sickly, she's scary to me, she... *gasp* isn't perfect, has had a hard time here and there, and sometimes, sometimes, she'll see people in pain and hurt like hell for them. Look at me, for what I am...stubborn, willing to fight for what's right... if I am wrong, I can apologize later. I am not perfect, but I think I'm pretty damn fabulous, and I can pick myself up after it's been rough... yes, I'll be sad, or have confusion. I am human.
Don't give me bizarre half-promises and fill me up with all sorts of nice things... "You're sweet, you're strong, whatever you do, don't become jaded, I want you in my life, I feel... guilty..." don't tell me not to say goodbye a million times and then get to the point where apparently, I'm too real, too open, too sick, to be looked at properly. Don't think I'm only after one thing... I don't look at people and see what they can do for me, the sum of their parts. I am frightened and confused.

See... I want very much to run from this. To not be worrying about more answers I don't have, to not have this feeling like I'm being... avoided until I no longer cause a sense of guilt.

I don't see people as simply people who can do things for me... I get emotional, because I can see good, even when it's hidden. I don't like gentle lies. I can't gently lie.

I want answers, treatments, not to be worried, or frightened that I lost a friend. It does get to me... I do get frightened. That I am apparently so embarrassing, that to say "She's my friend" has lost luster. I don't want uncertainty! I'd like to run from me, be healthy, be able to smile and avoid things that are too real for a while.

Look at me... I am not physically strong, but I am spiritually so... I can fight, I can be there. But understand, I am not just a sick, sweet girl. When I give friendship, it's because I saw something... goodness, joy... I care nothing for pasts, for what you must apparently show to the world... it's the person, plain and simple.

No Storms Here

People keep insisting I must be depressed... and while I've had my fair share of lunacy, lack of answers, made tough decisions that may or may not have been needed, and tried to keep out of others' ways while I attempted to sort my problems out... I'm not actually sad, really... not anymore. I guess I'm not saying it correctly, or people are looking for that smell of blood. I'm merely attempting to do more than survive and wait. I'm trying to simply laugh, appreciate the small victories, sort through things, work on the Centering Project, and find my places where, after the lunacy of it all... "We don't know, but here, try this medication", and wanting simply to feel normal, eat normal... yeah, I might be anxious. Thing is: this is not the first time I've dealt, won't be the last, and I know there's something good out there. But other peoples' anxieties and/ or their diagnosing... it's why I've perpetually hated "What's wrong?" "I have no answers, I need a little help, see... life is being crazy, and sometimes, yes, I need to break away from it for a bit." is not in my vocabulary.

Sure, there may be other thoughts and worries, but that's something to take up with the appropriate parties. Not attempting vagueness... this just makes noses twitch for blood. But I'm taking time for the happier things... not focusing on what's wrong, what's iffy, what sounds really strange to me right now but might be explained later. Maybe I sound immature and stupid to others, or like a dreamer on one hand... I'm not letting the discord get to me.

And if it's all too much, and too crazy, I'll find myself down by the water, where I'll be calmed instantly. I'll do what I have to, but I trust my soul, and I am going to smile. It's not what's right for anyone else, it's what's right for me.

Monday, August 20, 2012


Prepare the Kleenex.

No Other Road, No Other Way

I'm not where I need to be... and lord knows, it's taking time... but answers I will get, and I have a light ahead of me, and no more darkness in my soul. I trust my soul, if I can trust nothing else. There's been enough hatred, anger and bleeding... what's not humanly understandable, I offer up to my God. I have no record of wrongs to keep, sure, some sadness, but it's time to go forward. It is now, here, that matters... the uncertainties and the whirlwind... well, come what may.

People go nuts... there's a need to chatter, the thirst to see the pile up on the Thru-Way. It's not the way. While loud voices may shout, a quiet voice needs to speak: It is now, it is the future, whatever's ahead, that matters. Not what coulda, woulda, shoulda, not baying for blood... see, loud voices go hoarse, and in the dark, you can hear a whisper. 
I can't handle the anger of a multitude, or the hate machine that surrounds so much... that tends to infest, to cause fear, to cause self-loathing. This is true. But I learned a lot. 

I am ME. I am whole. Not the sum of my parts... I am my bad, my good, my silly, my anxious. I am stronger than I know. I am not my illness. I am affected by my illness, but it is not me. 

It is the now, the time of reaching down deep and recharging, that matters. 

I will not miss life, I will not live in fear. My heart is what it is... and it heals, and it grows to make room. Hatred is no answer... hatred kills, hatred robs. 

There is NOW. There is life, in her beauties... and there are so many. 

. Ich weiß nicht, was soll es bedeuten,Daß ich so traurig bin

,--- I know not why I am so sad, but I move past that... towards my center.

My health? Nothing yet. And I square my shoulders and move forward. 

Saturday, August 18, 2012

You Might As Well Live

Is there sadness and grief in the world? Too, too commonplace. Can the heart grow heavy? Yes.

I'm going to try to think about simple joys... staring up at the stars, natural or artificial, places where I know I can eat like the picky minx I seem to have become, and not only will my mother, who I try to distract from life with a partner who is in what seems to be end stage Parkisons and can let the world eat at her, worry, but I will be kissed and chatted up a storm. I am not spiralling down a vortex, I won't, can't let myself. Things aren't perfect... Captain Obvious diagnoses and runarounds can drain you of a lot of spirit, constantly searching for answers and walking into brick walls, being exhausted, trying to break out of a shell you accidentally got into again... these aren't good, aren't fun. But won't hold me back. I won't look back... I'd like to be useful for something other than seasoning food.

Even spent five minutes laughing a little at Dorothy Parker and her beautifully sharp gallows humor, although my brain never went in that direction... life, and living it, at all costs, is too precious to me:

Razors pain you; 
Rivers are damp; 
Acids stain you; 
And drugs cause cramp. 
Guns aren’t lawful; 
Nooses give; 
Gas smells awful; 
You might as well live.
 _Resume, Dorothy Parker

But I was given an odd sense of humor for a reason, and what helps helps.

It's sunny, it's beautiful, I have fight, I have answers to get, asses to kick, and a life to live. The "I don't know you but I am an expert and you are___" opinions can all go where they belong. What's in God's hands is in his control, not mine. What is in my control, is how I choose to look at and react to the world. I am growing. I am healing. I am learning to just laugh when I must, to give myself what foods I want if I want them, and to not worry if I'm eating a bite or two at a time. I did hear vodka can open throats and stimulate appetite, and did joke that I might try this method, but I'm not the kind that drinks alone.

Friday, August 17, 2012

Curse of the Double Full Moon

At the moment, I am attempting to settle me down... I think the last of the gunk is clearing the system, which is great, because between the sweating, ague, and the original problem, and the issues with putting food down being made worse (I managed a full bowl of soup in one sitting at last, but it sure took forever.) - and of course, attempting to clear out fog and get myself back on track... ok, looks like that's all there is... what's humanly possible has been done... I leave the rest to God... and attempting to ensure my tension with illness and attempting to get myself back to normalcy... there's so much I need to do, I can't be fighting the cure that is worse than the disease, worrying about when I will get answers, worrying about life... yes, it hurts... like hell... yeah, it tears me up... any friendship I end up bidding Godspeed does that to me... I hate others' hurts... they hurt like hell and I understand that my internal struggles and theirs can't coincide.

I would like to call this all by the oh so dramatic and delightful name, "Curse of the Double Full Moon"... but I think it's odd coincidences that I tend to get slammed really bad in August. But yeah, the fabled "blue moon"... while bearing no scientific basis, sure didn't help me. And I love the stars and sky.

I have to face forward. Work on correcting the health issues...all of them. I shouldn't dread shopping and eating, shouldn't worry that I'm taking too long and looking picky.
I shouldn't be irritated by "Captain Obvious" answers and runarounds... by now. But I see a time when I may have to give in, be jabbed, poked, prodded, tubed. I don't want that tension around anyone, really, the worry, the fear... after all the times I've dug myself up, I'm giving in to fear?

I'm thinking I may get me a good ticket and meet a friend in Nashville. A little time over coffees and spending time in the mountains may be good for me. And there's a secret affinity for Dolly Parton, but mostly for her pluck!

I do not give up, I do not give in... if I let myself grow broody, if I am in the dark too long, I am grateful, I have a friend who gently kicks my butt and makes me hug her tight. I am not a quitter... I wouldn't be on this earth. In 5 months, I will be toasting a special screw you to my very delightful doctors with a big bottle of wine, hopefully one about my size. I am going to make it to 30. And beyond 30. I am going to kick ass. I'm going to bliss out with Bob Marley, minus the cannabis, enjoy kids' movies, get down and boogie, dance in my underwear, sing "Like a Virgin" in the shower, be silly, be wild. (which is a side of me that many will claim does not exist.) I am going to get answers. I am going to be me. And with the right signs ready in ASL for those who dare to act like assholes at the ready.

Wednesday, August 15, 2012


When you have this itchy feeling that there's something in the air...and the denials ring false. There comes a time to say goodbye, even when you know that that was a friendship you hate to see die... when you know, that all of the good is swept from the memory, and all that is remembered is the bad. So, goodnight, and goodbye. As for the rest, it'll have to be sorted in time, not my task. I don't like feeling like... like... I became too sick to even be looked at properly... too real... and it's dark in my soul... because I never like saying goodbyes, and will stick with anything else if I can. If God allows, I'll wave hi one day across a crowd. If not, remember something cheerful.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Caging the Bird

I was sent on a massive loop-de-loop with Lamictal XR. This is after being given a warning of massive scary rashes, and a little orange folder complete with pills and an information packet that would make Dr. Mengele horrified.

Now, look... if I'm going to have my chain yanked and end up on a trip, I'd like to trip the light fantastic. People tell me all the time I haven't lived, I am so vanilla, blah blah blah. I hate to quote Mr. Mackey here, but one bad trip is enough for me, thank you, and I consider popping a fever and chills, to go with other fun reactions, to be enough for me, and I'll happily stick with caffeine. Drugs are bad, mmmkay? (Unless I need a spinal tap,  am coming out of surgery or am giving birth. In that case, load me up, Scotty!)

Look... I'm not sure... but I am almost certain I wasn't supposed to be dizzy, have trouble with confused thoughts, teary, anxious, and certainly not still struggling with blackouts. Nor should I have been so sore and exhausted I had no choice BUT to sit still unless I had to. I know a cup of soup does not take 30 minutes. And that I am not supposed to be sweating and shaking when the AC is on 66. So thank you, doctor, for taking me off, not wanting to put me on anything else. But um... the Topomax? Hint... hint... I would like to eat like a human, sil vous plait. And a conference call? So I can be yelled at for being anxious? You people get me sicker than a damn dog... and I have witnesses...and this is my fault as it was "such a low dose". Yes, I was popping Smarties each night. Sure! So I can give you one, Nurse Ratched? I'll advise you to remember: 1)The very instructions state: "If you have had an allergic reaction to any anti-seizure drug, do not use..." I developed hives and breathing issues on dilantin. 2)I have half the usual compliment of kidneys and process medications differently.

As for some things: yes, I was lucid, I remember, I meant them. I take full responsibility. I feel a little caged in myself, and I do know that needs to change.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Capturing Lightning in a Pill

I tend to pose questions to myself, to distract myself from the crazy. This means that I've pondered the Mars atmosphere, turning carbon dioxide into oxygen into a far too simplistic approach, and, due to dealing (but, it seems I am on an upswing--- my appetite arrived and I pigged out on beef stew, a tall glass of milk, pasta and plum for dessert!) and pondered the idea of somehow using magnets and electricity, in a safe way, so that they can be used in a far more miniaturized form than the usual VNS implant, which has gotten smaller. Sort of capturing lightening in a pill.

 Of course, this couldn't be swallowed. In some people, the electrical system is screwed up, and "wires" slip. How could we rewire and over-ride, and avoid an overload, and perhaps, keep a person from suffering as severely? And perhaps, saving them from untoward, dangerous, and scary side effects? One would have to go to the source, an extremely localized connection.

 I realized, as I almost relished a mad scientist/ eureeka! moment, that another scene was getting through... the older sister of the Marquis De Sade's Juliette, in that particular installment of his unusual... philosophy, is struck and killed  by lightening at the very end, after a life of trying to live good and being accidentally whored out, the opposite of her sister, who sort of had to act like a good girl for a bit. The lightening enters Justine's mouth as my fabled first draft lightning wonder pill did. And exits her anus. Being the Marquis De Sade, a good---um---bad? time was had by all but Justine. And so ends my career as a mad scientist, and begins a radical scrubbing of my mind.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012


Tell me, weary traveler,
Has the road been too long
The night too dark
Have the Furies flown 'round your head, screaming at you
and whispering in your ears all the things you are not
and all the beautiful things you fear you'll never be?

Have there been,
When you pull yourself up wearily
Ready to face a blinding new sun
Those who repeat your darkest fears
and hint at buried nightmares
And those demons we all leave in our wake?

Weary traveler,
There's peace, somewhere
Don't harden yourself
Even when it hurts to feel
It's not what you aren't
It's not what you can't
It's simply what you are.
There's no shame.

Friday, August 3, 2012

Cicadas and Chain Saw Melodies

It's August. The dog days are upon us, and the tree frogs croak merrily while cicadas vibrate through your very bones with their chain-saw songs.

You may notice by now, many with a healthy caramel shade, who may be delighted to show themselves next to you (In my ultra pale pinkish-white German-Slav-Welsh skin.)- but wait--I too have a dash of pink in my cheeks!
Kids are getting ready to go back to school and all is a hubbub.
But the days aren't over yet.

What am I up to?

The occasional stargazing... even if we do get light pollution, damn it, I'm gonna try anyway!
Forget the moon, you wanna impress me? Take me out and show me the stars.

Letting the wind blow through my hair, and on my heated skin. The bonus here is: If you start with freshly washed, towel dried hair, and a light touch of a leave in conditioner of any sort (I used a silk extract.) and braid it back until nearly dry, then let it out, you get an honest to goodness "Beachy style" and people actually are asking about it, because apparently "Beach Hair" is in. And your stylist is the wind in your hair.
I also like the assorted salt and silk extract beach sprays in small doses so I don't mess myself up (since I chopped my hair to get rid of medication-induced damage and it's healthy now. No, it's not short, just not where I want it to be.)

I am enjoying sweet air, hot days, cool nights, strawberry lemonade with mint sprig that reminds me of the mint that grew wild by my child hood home that I'd pluck and chew on without thinking. I love... freedom.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012


Sometimes, life gets hectic. You can tell yourself, "Breathe, breathe, breathe"... all you want. I know... it's tough to keep from doing it when I see others with the issue (Be patient... it's tough getting out of those dark places.) and can sometimes make things worse before they get better...because you want to snap, "I KNOW!" (And try, good lord, to avoid the Oprah route... I start laughing in a rather scary way when someone intones: "I feel your pain".) But you can only sit around in your dirty Pampers so long before you end up getting irritated with yourself. Alrighty, let's grab the Boudreaux's Butt Paste, clean up on aisle 3!


Find it where you can. Get mad at that pillow! Show that pillow whose boss! Watch something childish and silly. Find good reading material. I recommend anything that doesn't involve "Slim down and be sexy in 12 hours by drinking horseradish and tobasco sauce!" 

Find a new toy.
Find an old toy you haven't played with in years. 

*Play with your balls. (Are you awake? :-P ) I keep a stress ball in my purse (it's a surprise, my purse is dinky and I tend to pull some odd items out of it.)

(Music to my ears!) 

Are you a stressed out nerd? Android Market has a wonderfully brilliantly colored version of Space Invaders, with all of the explosions your little heart could possibly desire.
Something in killing little aliens in flying saucers, who I like to assign little faces (Sort of like I do when I play darts) that sneer and stick out their tongues and say "Nah nah nah nah nah nah"- (but to you will simply be a little flying saucer shooting little red pellets.) 

Bath Time. Baby yourself. Johnson's (or a drugstore brand, don't go crazy.) calming baby bath can do the trick nicely.