Mid-Week

Eeeeeeeeeesh. I am on the verge of gouging out my eyeballs with my little black staple remover because that is the only way to truly communicate how desperately bored I am right now. I actually just typed a silly little scenario about how they'd find me dead and eyeless and know right away that boredom got the best of me, that I died of boredom... but in light of recent events I decided to not go there. I sort of just now went there, though, by even saying anything. I'm sorry. I'm bored. I'm not going to kill myself with an office supply, though. Life is precious, and Office Depot can't take that away from me!

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Seriously though. I locked my keys in my car ALL DAY the Saturday before last. I had just come home from the store. I got out of the car, locked the door out of pure habit, set my purse and my keys in the driver's seat, got Ethan out of his car seat, put him on my hip and held him with my right arm, grabbed some bags with my left hand, started talking to our mysterious neighbor who we never see or talk to and STUPIDLY OH SO STUPIDLY (but kind of understandably, right?) proceeded to slam the car door shut with my foot. It wasn't until I started looking for my cell phone a half hour later that I realized what I had done. Because we live in the extreme outskirts of the city, no locksmith would come to my rescue. "No ma'am, we don't travel that far." "Heh, heh... sorry, we can't help ya." "Whoa, you're way out there! The manager is very strict and you're not in our zone." Such fucking fuckery! I called the non-emergency police line and asked if a cop would try to unlock it with his "jimmy" stick or whatever the hell it's called. I call it USELESS PIECE OF CRAP because the officer poked and prodded around in my door and the MANUAL lock didn't even budge a half-centimeter. "Sorry darlin', looks like you'll have to find a locksmith." After calling and calling and calling every locksmith in the state of Louisiana and finding only ONE willing to travel to our part of town (though for a bend-over-and-I-am-not-using-lubricant fee of $140), I had a moment of insanity and decided that a yard stick crammed through the crack of my door would work like magic if we could wiggle it just behind the lock and then manage to pull forward. Somehow, with my mighty strength and pliers, I managed to pry the door open just enough for D to squeeze the yardstick through and bump the lock OPEN OPEN OPEN for the love of gawd OPEN. It was like we'd just cured a child of cancer or some shit, the way we were bouncing around the yard and hugging and cheering and whatnot. Really, anyone watching from afar would have totally thought we'd just won the lottery. It kind of felt like we did, for a moment. Such relief. I didn't even want to GO anywhere, I just wanted my damn cell phone and to know that I could go somewhere if I wanted to. ANYWAY!

Then last Saturday I had the tequila incident, which happens probably twice a year. I drink tequila only two or three times a year, TOPS... just enough to remind myself why I don't drink it regularly. "Oh yeah. I remember now. This sucks. Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalph..." And I was hung over for Earth Day and puttered alongside a very energetic toddler under the hot sun amongst a crowd of what seemed like eighteen thousand people. Oh, and I finally gave in to the whole "have a drink to cure a hangover" thing and bought a "wine" ticket, which cost $4, and then I trucked it over to the wine booth with a quickness, asked for some "Serenity Merlot" or some such nonsense, handed over my ticket and was handed back the TINIEST cup of wine I have EVER seen. You know those cups at the dentist that they give you with that nasty fluoride cocktail in it, for you to swish with? Yeah. That's the size I'm talking about. Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaajor rip off. The wine was gone in 3 swigs and I didn't feel any better.

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2 or 3 weeks ago I started taking the anti-depressant Welbutrin XL. That's really all I have to say about that. I have my ups and downs, like everyone does, but I felt I could benefit from a low dose of a little something-something. I'm super anxious, and this stuff mellows me out and helps keep me balanced. Not that I'm crazy, or if I am crazy then perhaps now I am slightly less so. Anyway, good stuff. Also, expensive stuff! But, totally worth it, at least for now. I also really feel like going on an anti-depressant around the same time that I started my non-diet was a smarty McSmartypants thing to do. I anticipated that I'd freak out and become a calorie Nazi again by week 2 (didn't happen). I figured I'd gain eight million pounds after week 1 (hasn't happened). I expected to walk around with a dark cloud over my head for awhile, which sort of happened but only very briefly, as I learned to let go of everything that half-way held me together before. That dark period has come and gone and I believe that the anti-depressant kept everything from pouring down on me all at once, gave me a more balanced and optimistic perspective, kept me going. Now, oddly enough, I can't IMAGINE measuring out my food again. EVER again. I can't fathom writing down each and every morsel I consume. I have absolutely, 100% used up ALL of my dieting abilities. I now declare that I am honestly and truly INCAPABLE of dieting. Like, ever again. And for that I am relieved, a little sad, a lot happy, and finally able to focus on other, MORE IMPORTANT things in my life. Like: chasing Ethan through the yard. Deciding what the hell I want to do with my life, career-wise. Finishing school. Kicking ass during my workouts. Enjoying good, healthy, UN-measured meals without a second thought. Calling my grandma, for the love of gawd! See what I mean? I guess I've just decided that I have better things to do than constantly worry about fitting into size 6 jeans. Pretty mature, eh?