Just When You Thought I Couldn't Be MORE Awesome...

Princess, who LOVES Halloween.  She does NOT love being scared by this mask, however. 

Instead, she wears it, so that it cannot be used against her.

Last year, I was up to my elbows in blogginess.  I blogged, I loved it, it amazed everyone (well, all 7 of my followers.  Truly, I remember when I got to double digits with followers---I was so stoked!).

And last year, I shared one of my most amazing parenting secrets. But not too many people were able to experience it, because they were not hip to the FFW.  To date, only 26 people have ever read that post.  Really, it's probably only 20, because my Mom possibly reads me over and over, to bump my stats to make me feel loved. Sad, I know. So, to be super awesome, I will revamp, reshare, recycle one of my BEST tips EVAH.  It has pained me, knowing that so many of you missed my wonderfulness last year.

:::tear in eye:::

It's not the one about how to pinch your child up near their armpit, with teeny bits of skin, so that they do whatever you want, RIGHT THEN.  Although that works, too.

It's not the one where I tell you to tell your child they used to have a tail when they were born, and that you had it removed, because it interfered with diapers.  That one, not such a good idea.  More in this, later, when I hold a bake sale to pay for Princess' therapy.

Nope, this time, I am sharing with you the amazingness of The Great Pumpkin, in enough time to get over to Target, and remove gobs of candy from your kiddo's face and teeth crevices.  I am going to link the original post, here, so that you may see how immature my writing was, way back when, last year.  Then, I will cut and paste the whole damn thing, complete with repairs, and new and improved punctuation, so that you do not have to click any links to experience my genius.

Why? Because I'm genius, AND awesome.

Here goes:

I am a genius.  And, I forgot where I got my brilliant idea in the first place, so not only am I a genius, I am an innovator, because now I get to claim full and total credit for my amazing idea, that has become wonderfully mine.

"No", you all scream.

"Oh, yes!"  I reply.  Just wait.

Years ago, I had to spend gobs of cash on Monkey Boy's teeth.  They were crap---he takes after his father.  No, I didn't give him a bottle at night (never, actually).  No juice.  Nothin' bad, followed all the rules about shit you're not supposed to give your kids, except for an occasional snack.  I've relaxed quite a bit, moving into my deficient givafuck phase.  Still, massive dental bills, all before Kindergarten.  Princess followed suit (and ended up with a palate spreader, and braces).  Before Princess came along though, I was faced with a conundrum.

Both my kids have not only massive sweet tooths (sweet teeth?), but they have impeccable radar for junk food. So amazing are their sugar-locating skills, you could stash $10000 somewhere around the house, forget about it, panic when you desperately need it, just make sure there's a Snickers in there, so later my kids can help you recover it. Seriously, people, their instinct for sugar is....
 
 well.....

instinctual.

So, Halloween was drawing near one year.  I wanna say he was 3.  (Seriously, I want to say 3, because I know he was young-ish, and I have no idea how old he was.  Coulda been 2.  Maybe 4.  Most likely, 3.)

I was dreading all the candy in the house, and him dragging us around better neighborhoods than the one we lived in til all hours of the night, hoping to bring home a bag that rivals the storage space in my swagger wagon.

Then, it came to me-The Great Pumpkin.

The next day, I told MB the story-the Great Pumpkin NEEDS all his candy.  In exchange, MB gets a gift.  Kinda like Santa, but a more reciprocal barter system. MB gets to keep 5 pieces, and eat them all at once, or save them, whatever.  5 anythings---Krabby Patties, DumDums, full-size Snickers, anything.  The rest would get hung on the front door handle. The next day, the newest Transformer/Barbie/DVD would be waiting for them, and all thoughts of sugar madness were thrown aside (because, as you guessed, they ALWAYS choose to eat all five pieces that night-no matter how big.  In the grand scheme of things, what's one tummy ache?).

Well, each year, things have gone swimmingly. (always wanted to use that word in a sentence-did it work?)  Now that MB is older, he pretty much says, "Hey, can you tell 'The Great Pumpkin' I want the new Guitar Hero game?".  He even uses finger quotes. But still, a $40 game vs. days at the dentist?  Done. This year, it was some fancy over-priced Nike socks, and a Nike red drawstring backpack. Princess is getting a "Stuffie", that I specially ordered a month ago, from the stupid website that now SPAMs me daily.  Thanks,  Stuffies.  I REALLY love "As Seen On TV" shit.  Truly.

Then, the parents and grandparents get to go through the loot (in secret, of course, because the quality of the loot soooo determines the quality of the toy.  EVERYONE knows that. Raisins are still bad.  So are pencils, and coupons for crap like a cone at Mickey D's.  Smarties, however, rank pretty high.  Almost as high as a full-size bar.  I know, I know.  I don't make the rules.  The kids instinctively seem to know the rules.

They are sooo my kids.

So now, instead of running around the neighborhood, and then the next neighborhood, and the next, I walk with them for about 45 minutes, drinking wine, or Irish Coffee, meandering to houses, chatting with my husband, and anyone else that cares to join us.  Then, we go home, the BIG SORT happens, and they are done, excited about what wonderful gift awaits them in the morning.

All kinds of win. See?













You can steal this idea.  And, you can even pawn it off as your own-you can be all, "Duh.  Of COURSE I do 'The Great Pumpkin'. Why don't YOU?"  And then you can smirk at them, and shake your head, while you trot off to Target for the latest thing to trade the candy for.

And, your coworkers will totally thank you the next day.

As usual, you're welcome.

New Meds, Week One. Results: Highly Inappropriate, But Funny

Note: I have been less than inspired lately.  So, I start posts, then get around to them later.  Or, I do a bunch, then auto-post them for the future, so I don't overwhelm too many brains with too much crazy.  You're welcome.  Therefore, if you know me in Real Life, you may read this, and be all, "wait, I thought that shit happened LAST week".  It did, or else I completely lost my mind.  Or both.  Either way, don't trip.  It's all good. 

Huey Lewis would love my doc.  He, being a righteous dude, wanted a new drug-one without the crappy bullshit that comes with modern pharmaceuticals.

 I'm with Huey.  And I don't want all the shit that goes with these new drugs.  I basically want good drugs, that do the good stuff, and don't need a bunch of other drugs to undo the side effects of the new drugs.  Is that so much to ask?

I have my new antibiotics, which don't seem to come right back up, which is good stuff right there.  They also don't seem to give me nasty side effects, at least not yet.  Let's hope that continues.

And my new fave, my secret weapon?  I got it from a compounding pharmacy in Colorado, that compounds it by the bucketful, and sends it in the mail, lickity split.  It's LDN.  For more info, click here.  There's other info out there, on all the amazing things it can do for people with crazy problems. And, the side effects are supposed to be minimal.

So, I'm hoping I am one of the people it will help.  It may help with stress, anxiety, and depression, immune system issues, and pain.  Wow, right?  Sign me up, right?  Plus, there don't seem to be much in the side effect department.  And, it is supposed to help your body create your natural endorphins that seem to not be endorphin-ing.

The down side is, I have to take it, 2-4 weeks, before I may notice a difference, especially for pain control.  And, the downside is, I cannot take narcotic pain pills any longer AT ALL, because they will not work, and they will cause the LDN to not work, also.  So when crazy Aimee that does too much, commits too much, tries too much, takes over, and my body feels like it got hit by a truck as punishment for all the doing to much, I will be getting no relief.  Even though my energy levels tell me to do all this in the first place.

You see?  It's a wicked cycle.  :::insert frustrated scowl here:::

So far, I am too days in.  Pain? HIGH.  FUCKING HIGH.  But that is likely due to my over-do, over-plan, crazy ass self.

Immune system? No colds, which I don't get anyways.  Whatevs.

Anxiety/stress?  Meh.  Not noticing much of a change.   BUT.  I feel just a wee bit shitfaced, all day.  From about an hour after I take it (10 am ish?) to about 8 pm, I feel slightly tipsy.  You know that space where you live, when you are slightly intoxicated, Fun Aimee, shall we say?  That space where you get a little funny, a little too honest, say some things you usually wouldn't?

That's where I'm at.  10 hours a day.  Which is helping the wine bill.  But not my popularity.  I'm sure my Facebook friends will be dropping like flies soon, with my mouth getting the best of me.  For instance, I found this amazing quote from a blog I read, and made it into a card on the Someecards website:

Funny, no?

But not okay.  Which is half its charm, in my book.

But I can't be like this, every day, 10 hours a day.  I sometimes work.  I hang with parents and teachers when I do work.  I help at my kids' school.  This kind of shit?  Not appropriate. 

My already wide-open-shit-gets-through-all-day-long mouth filter?  Broke as a joke.

As a good friend said, my give-a-fuck is broke.

See?  Not okay, Me. 

See? I created two awesome ecards.  But, neither one is even mildly appropriate to be the image showcasing this fine blog post.  :::slowly shakes head::

It's a goddamn epidemic.

Pretty soon, someone is going to report me to the blog police or some shit, and I'm going to have to make people go that extra step clicking that they understand the the shit they are about to read will curl their toes.

Imma need an intervention.  But with booze.  Lots of booze. (Wait, does that defeat the purpose?)


Who's in?

Last Will and Testament

By the time you read this (sometimes I auto-post, based on all the crap that spews from my mind, and my lack of desire to document it...) I might be dead.

You see, I went back to yoga today, after a VERY long absence.  About a year.  When my body couldn't keep up (holy shit, yoga is totally good for body pain because you just go at your own level, but I couldn't even do that!), I stopped going.  Which made my body forget all the wonderful things it had learned. Like the bending, and the stretching, and the less groaning.

So I finally went back.  And damned if I couldn't even sit cross-legged.  So there I am, sitting on my mat amongst people twice my age, and I can't even sit criss-cross applesauce like a good little Yogi.

And now, I fear for my body.  I hurt in places I shouldn't hurt.  Places I'm not sure anatomy people have even named yet.  What if I wake up tomorrow, dead from over-exertion at yoga?

So I thought I would submit my will, in case shit falls the fuck apart.

Being of questionable sound mind,  I leave the following things to the following people:

To qfsp (quest for skinny pants)-I leave all my blog followers.  She always boosts me up (except for that time she assured me exercise would help me feel better) and reminds me to stay focused.  She has inspired me to track my food, write shit down, blog my personal business.  Actually, some of you may just have a bone to pick with her.  Go annoy her, here.

To Mrs. One Day at One Day I'm Gonna-I leave all my Twitter followers.  You are amazing, full of health shit too, understand me and my probs.  (Even though I've never met her in RL, she knows my shit, and loves me anyways.)

To Devi-my new local friend, resource, and support bitch.  I leave you all my supplements, and pharmaceuticals to put in your stash for a rainy day.  You are there whenever I need immediate assistance, and you KNOW.

To Steph, Jen, and Suzy-I leave all my gluten-free shit.  My family won't want it, and you all need it.  Plus that tasteless shit is expensive!  Thanks for asking me questions, listening to my whining, and reaching out.

To almost every Kim I have ever known:
Kim from 7th grade--you dropped me as a BFF when I went away to Disneyland, even though I brought you a Mickey pen and notepad set.  You hurt my feelings, when I was in the middle of puberty.  You suck.

Kim from college--you left utilities on in my name, which damn near prevented me from buying a house.  Still, I stuck by you.  When you asked if I liked your husband, I chose to be honest.  We haven't been friends since, even though you left that pompous windbag years ago.  I reached out to you, you ignored me.  You are a twat.

Kim from a while back--I helped you realize your dream of being a stay-at-home mom, by making you go the fuck away from me and my people.  FAR far away.  Then, I had to spend thousands defending my decision that WAS RIGHT.  Within weeks of your shitstorm, I developed excruciating pain that would go on to be diagnosed as chronic Lyme.  You are the suckiest of the sucks, the bitchiest of bitches, the stinkiest of assholes.  And I will forever fight the urge to run you down with my swagger wagon, provided I survive yoga.    You are the ringleader of Asshole Kims walking this planet.

You Kims? I leave all you bitches my yoga gear.  I hate you all, I want you all the suffer far more than I.  Wear my stretched out pants, sweat on my nasty old yoga mats.  Sirsasana your way into herniated discs and ruptured organs, bitches.

(My sincere apologies to Kim of the Mike and Kim, who is NOT an asshole.  I don't know what happened there.  Maybe you are the anti-Kim.)

UPDATE:  I checked my Facebook account for Kims.  It seems I know quite a few-and they are all pretty awesome.  I am sorry that all the Evil Kims have ruined shit for you.  Pretty much if we are friends on Facebook, you are NOT an asshole.  Sorry about the generalizations.

And to April---I leave you my Facebook account.  You have the ability, with your regular references to Urban Dictionary, to make even the most solid stomachs undulate.  I have removed all minors from my FB page, so it's yours for the offending.  May the force of a thousand retches be with you.

That just about sums it up---unless someone needs a bunch of VERY stretchy clothes in a wide range of sizes?


Who would you leave your craziest shit to?

The Yum and The Barfies

Why, oh why, does antibiotic-induced nausea only happen after I FINISHED the bowl of yum? 

Why can't I feel shitty, oh, say three bites in?  Save me some freakin' calories, yo.

Three bites:

The first, to really understand the yum.  Become fully enveloped in the mouth ecstasy.

The second, to completely relish the yum. 

The third, to drive away the hungries.

Then, nausea, so that I put DOWN THE DAMN FORK.

Instead, I eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, eat.  Then, I get up to get a drink of water.  Forget about bowl of yum.  Then, the barfies set in, and I have to plan around the barfies, see if my meds should be fully dissolved, which would determine WHERE the barfies, should they come, can take place. 

The bowl stares at me, enticing me.  Begging me to enjoy the remains.  The last bits of yum left.  Not just the dregs, but the GOOD STUFF that incited yum noises only moments before.

My plan of saving the best bites for last, like DESSERT bites, is foiled. 



At least I didn't finish the bowl.


:::sigh:::

Our New Pet. Or, The Thing Living Under The House

We have a problem.

You see, we now  (thanks to me, always wanting to up and move, every time I get pissy about mold, or asshole landladies, or whatever) live backed up to an Open Space.  Open Space means "dry grass and animals that will fuck you up" in some other language.

Our neighbor has already warned us about the baby rattlers she has found, like clockwork, each year (I can't even recall when each year, because I was too busy mentally craigslisting a NEW new place to move to).  She also mentioned the coyotes.  Smaller than dingos, not into stealing babies. 

And I have grown used to skunks, being in the country-fied 'burbs.  So, when I smell skunk in the wee hours of the night, I'm irritated, but acclimating.

But when I get home, and outside smells fine, but there's a strong odor inside, I get pissy.  And the fleas.  We now have fleas.  WTF?

In what I thought was unrelated news, there has been a strange sound in the early mornings, coming from the backyard. 

Turns out, it's this sound, here:

http://www.outdoor-photography-topic-gallery.com/animalsounds.html

Scroll to the bottom, turn up your speakers, and click on "skunk".

Here's what we think is happening----Mr. Stinky is climbing into the undercarriage of our house.  By Monkey Boy's room, judging by his complaints of "scratching noises".   We thought he was just being dramatic.  There's a vent, with the chicken wire bent back, with little tufts of fur stuck.  And in our closet, where the smell is the worst, the floorboards are extra creaky.  So, Mr. Stinky is probably all, WTF is going on up there, it scared the piss outta me!  Hence, our smelly home.



Not okay, Mr. Stinky.  Not okay at all. Your time under our feet is coming to a close.

Health Update, Oct 2012

Here I am, (not so) eagerly knocking on the door to 40.

In 5 days I will be 40.

A couple years ago, I remember thinking to this time in my life, and thinking, "I really would like to be at my goal weight for 40."

Being a little slow on the uptake, it took me until a couple weeks ago to make any progress toward that goal.

Wait, that's not entirely true.  This time last year, I had lost 22 pounds, significantly changed my diet, and had about 20 pounds to go.  Then, I fell off the gluten-free wagon, knee-deep into yummy fatty goodness. I had a hell of a time getting back on track.

And here I am.  I am 189 pounds of lovable Lyme.  Luscious Lyme.  In fact, if I could only grow a foot taller, I would be at my idea weight.

Since my plans to get taller have stalled, I figure something had to give. So, I went back on my detox diet.

I'm almost three weeks in, and I have lost 9 pounds. Phew!  It's possible!

And, I'm 3 weeks off my anti-depressants, and no one got stabbed.  Not a single person.  This is nothing short of a miracle, people. If you know me in Real Life, you know what an amazing feat this truly is.

And, I haven't been Psychotic-Swearing-Bitch each morning, for like, three days running.  This has got to have set some records.

Here's the rest of my health crap---

I'm off antibiotics, until my vision returns to normal.  We are 14 days in, folks, and I still get dizzy every time I change my view.  So, driving, and scanning mirrors for traffic and shit? Not fun.  I highly recommend NOT hanging out in crosswalks in the greater Sacramento area for a spell.

As soon as my eyes get better, I can go back on the drugs, but I will have to work harder on detoxing.  This means that, I actually have to TRY to detox.  Beyond drinking water a lot.

So, to achieve this, I am drinking lemon water, tangerine-mint water, taking Alka Seltzer Gold, and I am contemplating getting in a hot tub.  Lyme HATES heat.  So, hot tubs and infrared saunas should be my best friends. But, the heat makes my body ache.  ACHE like a giant body headache.  So, I avoid them.  And, being peri-menopausal, I'm pretty toasty already, so my showers tend to be cold-ish. Unfortunately, it's time to ramp things up so that I can increase my core temp, killing these little curly motherfuckers faster.  :::sigh:::

I have been somewhat fortunate, not herxing much.  But, I am avoiding things likely to make me herx.  I KNOW this is not right, that I have to do more detoxing, more frequently. That the more I kill the little bastards that have been wreaking havoc in my body the more I need to flush them out of me, which is where detoxing comes in.  But also where herxing comes in.  It's like the elaborate foot tattoo of the detox world-the better things are, the more shit hurts, the better you will be in the long-term.  Makes no damned sense, but whatever.

I even worked this week!  And not the usual, 'stop by, see everyone, make sure no one's completely pissed off at me or needs something desperate from me, so I can leave before I get sleepy' kind of work.  I went in right after dropping Princess off, and stayed until 6ish, covering the phones, doing my usual stuff, dealing with paperwork and bills, and did all the cooking for 100 kids for 2 whole days.  And the dishes, because our dishwasher is on the fritz.  Then, I picked up Princess, because Sky King was off with Monkey Boy on an extended field trip, and so I was on my own. I did this for two full days, plus my usual stuff.  All on the heals of a very busy weekend and first part of the week.

Here I am on Saturday.  Things hurt.  But, I'm out of bed before noon.  This is the biggest boost in energy I have had since I can't even remember when. Now, I just have to make sure I don't overdo it so much that I go backwards.

UPDATE:  I still have eye issues.  So, Dr. Lyme is scrapping the Rifampin and Doxy (Yess!!!  Not a fan of the staying out of the sun), and trying all new stuff.  Including LDN (Low Dose Naltrexone), which is supposed to make my whole world wonderful, filled with infection-fighting bodies, and happy thoughts, and unicorns farting glitter, and less anxiety.  I'm excited for it.  He also added two new drugs (new, to me, anyways...).  One is cefuroxime, which is a standard abx.  The other is Levofloxicin, which has a website devoted to tendon problems.  So, I guess that means no marathons in my future.  Damn.  Not.

And, I get the jump back on the rollercoaster of seeing what new side effects I get to deal with.  But the point is, new drugs means potential getting better-er.  Which I'm a huge fan of.

Instead of Being Creeped Out....

Big Brother is a pain is my ass. He's slowing down my roll. Seriously.

Her I am, surfing the interwebs for "how to make an upright bean bag toss game" for my kids' carnival.  Then, smack-dab in the middle of the page, I see a bunch of shit for Maui.

You see, Sky King and I are going to Maui in November to celebrate becoming 40. And I have been spending an obscene amount of time Googling "cheap souvenirs in maui", "best road to hana trips", and "tommy bahama menu pricing".  I'm a preparer, y'all.

And now, in the middle of VERY IMPORTANT school work, I am dragged over to some link about "amazing sunset cruises for less".

GAH!

Now, I should be entirely creeped out that The Internet is OUT TO GET ME.  But I'm not.  I'm more irritated that my, "Oh look! A chicken!" brain had me on a website about beanbag toss games (it's really going to be this amazing game with orange balloons, attached in the shape of a pumpkin, where kids pop the balloons to reveal useless shit----thank you, Martha Stewart!), then all of a sudden, I'm clicking the link to the sunset cruises.

Then, I'm like, "oh shit, if we go on a sunset cruise, I might need a shawl.  I wonder if I have one that will match that new sundress?"  So, then I'm in the closet rummaging around for some random shawl, I may or may not have thrown out on the last move because I was DONE PACKING SHIT.

Then, I'm like, "hey.  Where the hell are my favorite brown sandals?"

Pretty soon, I have a week's worth of Hawaii crap spread all over the bedroom.

And the pumpkin board game? Forgotten.

This is why my kids don't have what they need, until the last minute, or right after that.   And why parents can't get their shit together.

Stupid internet.

The One Where I DON'T Stab People In The Brain With An Ice Pick

So, I'm off Cymbalta.  Off, off.  Done.  As in, I told the folks down at CVS they can keep their $6/day death pills, because I want to have a little more control over my symptoms. Even if it means all the pain relief I was getting will be gone. 

Which it is.  Pain? Back like a crazy stalker ex-boyfriend, with the same amount of passion and persistence.

And, because I couldn't get my latest primary to call me back, and guide me through the step down, I muddled through it myself, as those of you that hang on my every word will remember.

I was thrilled to not have the agonizing headaches that everyone online spoke of.

I was super stoked about getting off, and I seemed to be able to talk myself off the ledge when I was feeling like the only thing the people around me were missing was an ice pick to the eyeball.  I could be all, "Aimee, you're getting off the crazy juice, it'll be okay.  Put down the ice pick".  And that worked, mostly.

I also got kicked off my antibiotics, for the first time since January, because of eye issues.  Namely, every time I change my focus, like from a person to the TV to the wall to the computer screen, I would get a teensy bit dizzy.  (Currently, I'm at Day 15 of the dizzies, btw.  They are getting better, but not gone.  Or, I'm used to them.  Whatev.)

So, I'm detoxing, almost done.  Down 9 pounds.  Liver should be doing a happy dance (I recently got some labs that showed that my liver is pretty pissed off right now.  Not sure where to go with that, because just about everything I take taxes my liver.  Not to mention the wine.  Oh, GOD, the wine....).  But, I REALLY want to sometimes, occasionally, violently, persistently drive my car into the side of a building, especially if people that are pissing me off are hanging out in front of the building. And, I have tears building up in my eyes, pretty much constantly.  And not only during sappy commercials. 

I can't think straight (even less straight than normal), I'm not making sense even to myself.  So, Dr. Google and I have a little chat.

Seems that, coming of Cymbalta?  Pretty fucking epic.  All kinds of crazy shit happens.  It's like Big Pharma decided, "take our pills, please!  In facts, have a month on us!  But don't give them up, because we will fuck your world.  You will NEVER give us up, NEVER!"  Without the Rick Roll, I promise you.

(BTW, have you guys seen the Mad Men Rick Roll?  Fucking awesomesauce.  Truly.

Right?)

Anyway, these can be the symptoms of going off Cymbalta (they even have a fancy name for it, SSRI Discontinuation Syndrome) (I was super helpful to your eyeballs by only listing the symptoms I have, you're welcome):

•  Brain zaps-these can be like vertigo, or a dizzy feeling, and can completely throw off your thought process.  A true joy, I can assure you, especially when speaking to a group professionally.
• Dizziness
• Eye and vision problems (!!!!!)
• Agitation and anxiety
• Hostility
• Worsening of depressive symptoms
• Sudden-onset dyslexia 

And some other shit, that HAS to be related.  Gah.

Phew.  It's been a hell of a week, right?  Top it off with Sky King being gone for a field trip, and me having to work excessively for three days straight, and I'm borderline homicidal. And weepy.  Which, as I am sure you can imagine, one of my favorite qualities in myself.

My saving grace?  I recently met a fellow Lymie, I will call her D, that has had tons of success treating her Lyme with natural treatments.  And, while I was in the middle of trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me, she popped up online.  Our convo was like this:

Her: What's up? Sorry, had a computer break for a few days...
Me: No worries.  I'm in the doldrums, I'm thinking it's from coming off Cymbalta, did you have this when you kicked it?
Her: Yep!  5HTP, you need it.
Me: :::consults Dr. Google for contraindications::: Awesome.  I need something, because I'm a wreck.
Her:  here's my number, check in in a few days, let me know how you're doing
Me: k. Thanks.

I hit a few more sites, looking for things that will help me feel less stabby, while NOT shriveling my liver like a 5-year-old-raisin under the couch.

This is what I found:
Bach Flower remedies.  Way back when, I worked in a few health food stores, soaking in the hippie-patchouli-granola vibe.  And everyone was totally down with the Bach Flower remedies, especially Rescue Remedy.  But, I didn't think some diluted flower juice would help me with shit.

Today, I was desperate.  And since the looney bin doesn't have a weekend drop box like the Pound, I thought it was worth a shot.

I careened on down to the local Hippie shop, and picked up some goodies: Rescue Remedy, Mustard Remedy, and 5HTP.  The girl at the counter was gabbing about Rescue Remedy and it helping her with anxiety, like, MINUTES after taking it.

So I got in the swagger wagon, and ripped that shit open like a junkie after a score. Drop, drop, drop.

And here I am, 2 hours later.  Feeling a teensy bit serene.  Certainly less homicidal. And, if things keep going this way, I might follow up with all my birthday celebrating I have planned for this upcoming week, I probably won't kill anyone this month, and I will likely attend my awesome vacation at the end of the month that I have been planning for over a year.  The trip I have wanted to cancel for a few days now.  Yep, it's been THAT seriously shitty. 

This shit? Not for the faint of heart.