Self-diagnosis

I think I speak for a few of us when I say we have a tendency to fall into the self-diagnosis trap. We read about some ailment, see the symptoms, compare them to our situations and realize we are afflicted. Most of us don't do this everyday (those people are hypochondriacs for crying out loud), but some of us run across a plausible disease, and we sometimes see a link.

I don't usually fully diagnose myself as having the problem at that moment. Instead, I see the warning signs and realize I will likely contract the disease before too long. I go into this long description because I am telling you all right now, before it even happens, I will catch MRSA. What the hell is it, you all gasp. Oh, just a little infection that is resistant to most antibiotics and can take on a flesh-eating form.

Actually, I am pretty safe when it comes to this because I wash my hands, bathe, use soap, don't share towels, etc. I made it almost all the way through the People article (a damn reputable source for medical advice) without fear or worry. I scoffed at the poor, dirty souls who became infected. Then I read the quote from a Dad whose sons both contracted it. Al said, "If your kid has a painful pimple, see a doctor. Don't wait, because MRSA won't."

I put the magazine down and thought to myself, "I've had painful pimples. Hell, I have one right now" - the kind that develop deep under the surface, turn red and swell a little.

Life can just be so damn miserable. Not only am I a 29- (soon-to-be-30) year-old with constant bouts of acne, but I am going to die from it. I write this not as a sad mourning of my life but a warning for those of you out there with pimples that hurt. Good luck and good riddance.

My Teeth, My Pain

Yanking out each tooth in my mouth, one by one, is an inviting thought right now. I visited the dentist for the third time in less than three weeks today. Obviously I am not yet satsified with the outcome of these visits.

It started so innocently, routine really. I had a small cavity in my back molar, top left side. I went in for the filling, a small one, the dentist said. It went fine. No problems. Then the pain hit. My jaw ached and cold and/or hot made me cringe. I tried to deal with it and made myself deal because we went on vacation. What could I do there? I took shit loads of ibuprofen, that's what I did.

We arrived home Sunday, late. At 10:30 am Monday, I was in the dentist's chair getting an adjustment. I had to go back today for another adjustment. Both sides of my mouth ache. I can't explain it. The dentist can't explain it. The x-ray showed the tooth should be fine. She uttered the miserable words - root canal. Yet she said that seemed improbable. So, here I sit with the pain, the ache, the dull gnawing sensation.

I finally realize why people are afraid of the dentist. Next time I will have more sense.

Dreaming of Days Gone By

My recent trip back to Wyoming has made me miss my carefree childhood and happy high school times. I miss certain parts of living there, which I realized as I spent time taking in the country, breathing the fresh air, spending time outdoors and taking pride in my home state.

This always happens when I go back there. I remember the good times and think that I could recreate them for myself, for my daughter. Of course, that usually doesn't happen, but I imagine it anway.

Wyoming is great. The summer weather is perfect. It was in the 80s or 90s in the day then cooled to 50-60 at night while we were there. Crime is much less. My daughter could walk anywhere, ride a bike all over, without worry. Schools are small, safe and good. Family is there. Good memories are there.

As much as I let the nostalgia reign supreme, I know I could never move back to the small town of my youth.
A few reasons:
1. The wind blows all the damn time - makes people cranky.
2. I would have nowhere to shop.
3. Winter.
4. Zero professional sports teams reside in the state.
5. The closest large airport is over 3 hours away.
6. Mosquitoes.
7. I couldn't find a job.
8. If I did find a job, it would pay $10,000 less a year.
9. Everything is run-down or will be that way soon - stores, houses, schools.
10. You can't recreate the past (to quote Nick in The Great Gatsby).

It's been six years since we moved to the scorching desert (98 degrees at 9:30 am today). Of course, as one might figure, I have some complaints about here. The fact is, the grass is always greener. I don't care where I live, I am sure I will always think some other place offers better weather, less living costs, a better life. Whether that's the average person's belief or the cynic's belief, I don't know. I just know I usually imagine what is not me, what is not mine, is better.

Woman You Say?

Time away from the home front does wonders. I was able to get out of the house a couple times in the last few days and that truly improved my patience factor. I am happy to report that we are now on day two of peeing in the toilet and wearing panties. She has only had two carpet accidents (even though the house is over half tile) as of yesterday and none today. That, my friends, is good news.

I spent a large chunk of time and over $100 at the bookstore the other night. I love bookstores. I know not all people get as excited as I do about books, but I can't even tell you how much I anticipate and cherish looking through the titles on the shelves. I picked up a few I was looking for and stumbled upon David Sedaris' Naked. His sense of humor really fits what I think is funny, so I have actually found myself laughing out loud while reading his essays. So good.

I also spent over 2-1/2 hours at the hair stylist yesterday. I was growing my hair long but got tired of it, so I had her cut it short again. It's probably been over a year since I had my hair this short. Certainly it's due to the impending 3-0 that I looked in the mirror and decided I looked old. I have never, ever cared about my age or if shorter hair makes me look older, all that crap. Now, damned if I am concerned about the prospect of hitting 30 and being older. I don't feel like a woman. Even saying the words seems ridiculous. I call my friends girls. Referring to them or me as ladies or women is laughable.

When do I reach the stage where I no longer feel like a girl? Maybe it's the day after 30. I suppose I will find out soon enough - a month and a half to go in the twenties.