tobermory's Diaryland Diary

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Red Faced

So today is the big day Ė I go to see the head doctor. Iím a little nervous because I donít know what to expect Ė or maybe Iím a little nervous because I have anxiety issues. I only know a couple of people who have been to therapy sessions (or at least only a few who have TOLD me they went to therapy sessions) and I didnít really feel like being a noodge and asking them prying questions about what itís like. I figure that Iíll probably just burst into tears about 5 minutes into the session and sniffle and schnorkle my way through the rest of the Ďhourí. Maybe thatís normal. If it is, therapists must buy their Kleenex at Costco.

Itís officially fall because yesterday I made a giant cauldron of stew thus ushering in the season(s) of cooking. Despite repeated hand washings and a shower, my hands still have a faintly garlic whiff about them. I wanted to eat the stew last night, but it took too long to simmer so weíll be eating it tonight Ė and for however many more nights it takes to deplete the bottomless pot. Tonight I have to cook for the dog too Ė I swear the dog eats better than we do, although the unending sameness would probably lose itís appeal pretty quickly. I make a bunch of brown rice with chicken broth in the rice steamer, brown lean ground beef, and steam some peas (although recent inspection of her poo reveals that the peas seem to come through in roughly the same state they go in so I may have to find a different veggie), combine it into per/day portions in a ziplock baggie and freeze it. I give her some regular dry food too in case Iím missing some crucial vitamin that dogs need to exist. What a pain in the ass Ė I am so not a dog person. I could also do without having to let her in and out or walk her Ė too bad I canít train her to use a litterbox - and donít suggest to me that some small dogs can be litter trained. At 12 years old, deaf, and mostly blind I donít think learning new tricks is on the agenda Ė plus I donít think the cats would be very good at sharing their litterbox with dog turds.

Ugh Ė how embarrassing was that? I just had to tell my dad that he had spilled something on his pants Ė right in the crotch - and it looked like he peed himself. I left out the, ďyou look like you peed yourself,Ē part, but it was inferred. Geez Ė heís a mess without my mom. I recently had a conversation with my sisters-in-law (sister-in-laws?) about embarrassing moments Ė one had walked from the train station to work with her skirt tucked into her pantyhose, and one had the elastic on her slip give out as she walked across Daley Plaza and her slip fell down around her ankles (she gracefully stepped out of it, picked it up and tossed it in the trash). Me? I once decided that a pair of jeans had one more wear in it before wash day and plucked them out of the trash and wore them over to my in-laws. Unbeknownst to me, the underwear (cotton thong style) was still somewhere in the leg and they fell out in the front hall of my in-laws house to be found later by one of my sisters-in-law. Both gross and embarrassing. Hereís to hoping you have an uneventful day.

1:59 p.m. - 2006-10-09

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