And now, a sexy story for you

A couple of days ago I was getting out of the shower, and while I was changing, I noticed that I had cut the top of my toe. (Not the big toe. A lesser toe. I don't know why this detail is important.) Scott noticed it as well, or maybe I stuck my toe in his face and shouted "LOOK I AM BLEEDING PLEASE HELP" (I sometimes do this) and he said, reasonably enough, "How did you do that?"
I hesitated. Then I thought, you know what? We've been together for seventeen years. It's about time he knew this about me. "Well," I said, "I…I must have nicked it with the razor."
"The razor? But why…?"
"Because," I said. "Because I have furry hobbit toes. And I shave them."
"You ... shave your toes?" I have never seen him look more confused.
"DON'T JUDGE ME," I did not shout. But I thought it. Maybe I said it?
"It's better that you don't know too much about this," I said. "But yes."
"But I don't understand," he said, "why would you shave them?"
"As opposed to what? Waxing? Burning?"
"No," he said, "I would think you would pluck them."
And then I backed slowly out of the room, then out the door, then down the stairs, and now I don't know where I am.

No, but seriously. Pluck them? I don't even know where to start with this. Does he think I have one or two weird aberrant hairs that sprout up on my toes? I have tiny mini-forests that would sprout on every toe if I didn't maintain them. Should I not have told you that?

Perhaps the sexiest detail in this story is that I was getting ready to go to the OB/GYN.  Yes, I was shaving my toes for my doctor. No reason she should have to deal with anything less than the most hairless of feet in her stirrups!

Aaaand I've just lost my last male reader. My work here is done.

It turns out I'm a zombie, probably

I went to the doctor for my insomnia/back pain/headache because Scott insisted, even though I was pretty sure she wouldn't be impressed and would have nothing to say to me. And wouldn't you know it, I was right. ME. RIGHT AGAIN. I switched a few months ago from the insane grubby doctor who thought my name was "Alice Bundles" to a fancy doctor group wherein you can get spring water in the waiting room and make online appointments and get your blood taken whenever you feel like it. The service may be better, but no one's heart seems to be in it. The two doctors I've seen there are thorough, but detached. I need some hugs or maybe just concerned looks! Stop cleaning your beautiful offices and learn to love again!

This doctor I saw the other day was a new one to me, a (very clean) little wisp of a thing, just adorable, and she did a neurological test and saw that I was normal-ish and she basically said "meh" and I was like WHAT ARE YOU THE INTERNET and she concluded, "I guess I could give you Ambien?" Just like that. With a question mark. Ambien? I could give it to you? If you want it? Hmmmmrgh? I am terrified of such medication, however, especially since my Trazodone experience--

WAIT, did I tell about when I took Trazodone? I see by my archives that I did not! My psychiatrist prescribed this medication to help me sleep. He said, AND I QUOTE, "It's very benign. Some people feel a slight hangover the next morning, but it quickly passes. Very, very benign." Then he said "benign" a hundred more times until I was lulled into agreeing to take it. I took it ONE TIME and I woke up the next morning feeling as if I had been on the bender to end all benders. And I had not been. My head throbbed and ice-picked and did everything that heads should not do. I couldn't bear light, or movement. OH, and I had an interview with PBS that day. In the morning. In my home. So although I was in agony and nauseated beyond all belief, I had to clean my place. Do you know what it's like trying to vacuum when you have a migraine? I hope you never do. And then the pain did not fully go away, despite all the pain relievers in the world, until the day after that. I am not so happy with my psychiatrist, after that little episode. ANYWAY, back to my doctor story--

--and anyway you know I'd sleep-blog if I were on Ambien. I'd sleep-blog while eating through my pantry and scaring the cat. I asked her about melatonin, and she shrugged. She shrugged at melatonin! Even though you guys said it's awesome! Then she said it's used for jet lag mostly and she said this while she was typing into her computer, and I'm fairly certain she was on Web M.D. Maybe she wasn't a doctor at all? I should have asked to see her credentials.

The only time she seemed to really pay attention was when she couldn't feel my pulse. She was moving her tiny little doll-fingers all around my wrists for about a minute, and let me tell you, that got her attention, and it felt good. I suppressed my pulse some more, just for the hell of it. Have I not mentioned that I can stop my pulse at will? The surprises keep on coming, with me.

I got out of there pretty quickly once I could see that she was unconcerned nor did she particularly feel like talking to me. Oh well. At least it was covered by insurance? Question mark?

So since then, maybe it's my righteous anger at the doctor, but I seem to be feeling better. I've learned that I need to avoid wine, especially after dinner. For some kooky reason, even a small amount of wine at night will make me anxious. It revs me up! What can I say? A large amount of wine, by the way, will make me nauseated and anxious. Also, I often lose my pants. I've also figured out that Benadryl helps. I can relax enough that I don't freak out if I can't fall asleep right away. It didn't stop me from waking up before dawn this morning, sadly. But I guess you can't have everything? Question mark?

I know that many of you have touted the benefits of acupuncture, and I'm going to look into it. Remind me to tell you about the first time I went to an acupuncturist, though. And then you'll see why I've hesitated to return for so many years.

Giveaway results! And more!

The winner of my The Internet is a Playground giveaway is…

Erin! Fierce Beagle Erin!

She told her sister to buy the book. THAT COUNTS. Erin, be prepared for an email from me, in which I will solicit your mailing address, and promise you that I won't actually show up at your home. But then, who can say what I'll do? I go wherever the day takes me.

I will write more soon. My writing is being impeded right now by two factors. One, my son is home from school, and as he's going to two-week sleepaway camp (SOB) in a few days, I want as much quality time as I can get with him until then. SO HE DON'T FORGET ME. And oh my goddamn heart, I almost can't take what a delight he's being. We're really enjoying his company right now. I kind of didn't realize how much of a drain second grade was to him until he was done with it. Academically it was fine, but as we were wrapping up the year I spoke with a few disgruntled parents about yelling and teasing going on. From the teachers. (He had two this year.) He never shared this with me. Then the other day I asked him what he learned this year, and he said, "Keep your head down and don't make trouble." Crap. Here's hoping he learns next year to keep his head up and make trouble when trouble is called for.

Two, I'm having a truly irritating relapse of arm/hand pain. I wrote years and years ago, back when my blog was in its infant stages, about my two-year adventure with repetitive strain injuries. I got to the point, back then, where I was completely incapacitated, despite loading myself up with meds and lidocaine patches and daily therapies of various kinds. Then someone recommended John Sarno's The Mind/Body Prescription, I read it, and within months my pain was completely gone. Gone, never to return.

If you have any chronic pain, you should read this book. It's all about how certain types of pain syndromes are often rooted in the emotions. He gets a little Freudian and maybe he's a tad angry with the medical community, but I just discounted the parts that didn't resonate, and it still worked for me.

ANYWAY. So I totally buy that the pain is in some way caused by stress, not any structural defects in my body or whatever, so why is the pain still shooting around in my arms? I'm so onto you, body! Cut it out!

Probably what I should be doing is writing even more to show my arms that they are FINE, and they can CALM DOWN already. And I will, as soon as I'm done building Legos with my son. He's teaching me how. Every few minutes he looks at the lopsided little structures I manage to build, and he exclaims, "You're getting really good at this!" I really like who he's turning into.