Red Hot Mutha'

So I open my purse today to pull out my lunch. I always put it in a blue Wegman's bag and then stick it in the fridge. Right before I walk out the door in the morning, I pull it out of the fridge and put it in my purse. No big deal. Today I reach in to pull it out, and it's cold and squishy. I consider that odd, because I packed a can of ready-made chicken salad and crackers, an orange, a fresca and a bottle of water. (I'm doing the low-carb thing during the week so I'm trying to lay off the bread. No more sammedges for a while!) I poke at it again. Did my orange get crushed in the car this morning? It begins to leak and then I notice that it's not orange juice at all. Raw chicken juice oozes out of a hole in the bag, creating a bacterial nightmare within my purse. I realize that in my haste to leave, I've grabbed the blue Wegman's bag that held the slowly defrosting chicken for tonight's dinner. It's still wrapped neatly in its white butcher paper. I bury it beneath bits of papier-mache soaked newspaper in my trashcan, after a brief pondering of the five-second-rule, and if it applies in this particular situation.I decide to spend four dollars and go out and get more chicken later this evening. (Sorry, Steve.)
I have to eat lunch because of the whole stupid low blood sugar thing, so I drive down to the Grab-n-Go to find something. I should've known that a place called Grab-n-Go wouldn't have fresh fruit. On the way to pay for my meager and marginally disgusting Breakfast Sandwich, I notice the cashier and another woman talking about Jesus. "That little bastard!", one says. "He better take what he can get this morning.", said the other. In walks Jesus, looking very much the part, only younger than I would've thought. He stares through his scraggly hair and beard, and I notice that he's staring directly at me. "Jesus, go turn the headlights off!", says the fat one, and she shakes her head at the other, as if this were some daily occurance. Jesus goes out and I follow shortly behind after I pay. (I didn't take the sweltering-in-its-wrapper cinnamon bun that I could've got free with my coffee.) Jesus looks at me and asks me how I am, and I say I'm wonderful. He's still staring at my car as I pull away, only this time he's inside the other vehicle with his large companion.
All I can say is, I'm glad they had the 20-ounce Fresca.

All I have to say is: go to http://truthdig.com and click on the Atheist Manefesto.

That elegantly expresses what I've been trying to reason out in my head for quite some time.

I wonder if everyone who has a full-time job and raising a kid (that's 2 full-time jobs, really) feels like their skull is exploding. I do sometimes. I love my family and I have everything I need, but still for some reason I feel like Is This It, am I destinied for a life in which I feel like I am not quite awake, not quite adaquate, not quite enjoying it and not hating it at all. I can't explain it...I'm not real good at putting my thoughts into words. But know this: what I certainly DON'T MEAN is that I in ANYWAY REGRET having a child. Read that sentence a gazillion times if you have to, I don't care. My family is the highlight of my life, if you don't already know. I can't really put my finger on what's going on in my head. I'd guess by definition I'd describe this as a midlife crisis, only I'm not even near 40 yet and I hate that term because it's so 80's. What do women do when they have midlife crisises? I have no desire to get a sports car or leave my family. But I feel like that dog I saw on an episode of The Dog Whisperer once: it wore a rut in its yard traveling the same path day after day. I think the poor thing lost sight of where it had to go and why and its owners didn't even realize the problem, even after the grass was all tore up and there was nothing left there but dirt.
Or maybe this is real life, only I just now arrived?

Okay, so I end up getting the wrong amount of Celexa about a month ago. (I got only 20 mg. instead of the 40 mg. due to a mistake...long story...) I figured I'd try it, see what happens, if there's a noticable difference, whatever. I wasn't trying to hide it for any vile reason, just to see if I could do without. So here's a list of things that I've been noticing lately:
-I'm increasingly obsessed with the amounts of food I've been eating. (I cut my lunch down to half a sandwich and a piece of fruit and a cup of miso soup. Even though this sounds like a lot, by the time I get home at the end of the day, I'm famished.)
-I look at myself in the mirror and reflections more, and hate specific body parts.
-I'm starting to "check and re-check" stupid stuff again, like the iron and the alarm clock.
-I'm more irritable and quick to get pissed off and unable to deal with common obstacles, like traffic or being behind a slow person somewhere.
-I'm thinking about myself too much (hence this blog entry!)
-I'm getting a weird craving for alcohol. I was thinking about this, and this happened to me when I was going off paxil a long time ago. I don't know if it's just coincidence, but I know it's not like me.
-I have the worse friggin' cottonmouth ever.
-I want to sleep alot more than I would like.
-And the one that bothers me the most: I'm worried that I can't be the best mother for Vince if I've got all this stuff going on in my head.

I'm going to see the "regular" doctor on Monday. Through the past three weeks, I've been trying to be all smiles and keep it together, but if I can notice these things, then I must not be doing a good job. (And if I can notice them, why can I control them? That's the billion-dollar question!) I'm not really one-hundred-percent in love with my job, but I know there's worse out there. I just get caught up in the daily monotony of it all, and it makes me want to scream. Monotony hurts me worse of all.