{{{Gud}}}

Glad to hear the girlie bits are OK, Calli.

That is such a sweet offer, and I may take you up on it. You're planning on being at the dinner for Abi week after next, yes?

I just can't stand to see you suffer. :) AFAIK, yes. Have we firmed up a time and place yet?

t /clueless

{{{Gud}}} I don't have anything to add to all the advice/questions people have already posted, but I hope things improve for you soon.

To be all mememe, can someone convince me that life isn't quite as crappy as it feels right now? I know a lot of this is just back pain and heat talking, but I'm convinced I'll never get a job interview and never sell a novel, that my back will hurt me till the day I die of whatever the megadoses of ibuprofen are doing to my kidneys and/or liver, and, what's more, that I'll always be fat, frumpy, and ugly, with stupid hair.

This isn't panic-angst, BTW, just a sort of bone-deep weariness over being in pain, and rushing to the phone every time it rings only to find the local calls are DH calling to say hi and the long distance ones are people who want me to donate to something, and seeing someone on a writing list squee over finaling in a contest I'm entered in, which tells me I struck out yet again, and if I can't even final in these contests in which a good chunk of the entrants don't know how to write smooth, grammatical prose, who am I to think an editor or agent will like me, etc.

I'm just grumpy and discouraged is all. And I do have stupid hair at the moment.

Some Bitches may be interested in my latest blog post, which deals with a possible therapy for MS and other autoimmune disorders.

Susan, the only solution is clearly to get a haircut. And a pedicure.

And no, I'm not kidding. It helps with the bone-deep blahs in the short term.

I thought we loved Hec FOR the flattery, and of course the spicy brains, and stuff, J. And for his fabulous musical generosity, hint, hint. Well, if I was already feeling put-out, and somebody asked me one. more. dumb. thing, I might feel like " Do you want me to chew it for you, too?" But I'm not nice.

I definitely need a haircut, but I'm hoping to get some freelance money first--I hate having to ask DH for money for a simple little thing like that! (See another source of my blues--no job yet=no money yet.)

Susan, it's been in the 90s and humid here for a couple of weeks, and I've been sick for 15 days, and Scott was sick for about 7 of those. I've been having a lot of pain walking, and picking up things like drinking glasses, for the last 5 days of it, and prior to that my kid was sick, and prior to that, I had back pain, and prior to that, my husband had horrific I-thought-it-was-a-heart-attack back pain. I never got to see my breast-cancer-survivor/in treatment for stage IIIB ovarian cancer having sister-in-law when she visited for 2 weeks, because I couldn't infect her, and I felt like shit. My mother is moving out of the house where I was conceived tomorrow, and selling it come Tuesday. We're broke, and we're having our house reroofed out of necessity (which means my kids haven't been outside in a few days), with money we should be using to pay off debt from updating the electrical. Both cars are having problems, and dh is having a lot of trouble at work.

My positive outlook is rotting in the backyard, waiting for us to bury it. And it'll have to wait, because I'm too sore to lift a shovel and dh will throw out his back if he tries.

You should feel no shame about asking for money for a cut. Consider it something you need to do before you can interview for any of the positions that will no doubt start calling you in the next week or two.

Well, if I lined up an interview, I would go get the cut, either with DH money or on a credit card, just so I could look professional enough. But it's a pride thing. I hate being so fucking dependent. And being a one-income family means that DH is putting such gargantuan chunks of his paychecks into paying the bills, and feeling the same frustration I do over not being able to do anything for himself, that I hate to ask for just another $30, please. Did I mention I hate being dependent?

Wow. I have never once thought of myself as being dependent on my husband or about our money being his money. I think I might have to stop reading this part.