"I fear the man who drinks water and remembers what the rest of us said last night." - Unknown

So there was not much rejoicing when my alarm went off this morning. I was in complete denial about it being Monday. The weekend had been that lovely, rainy sort wherein it was perfectly acceptable to sit on the couch all day and hurl insults at the TV while sipping tea – what? The Oscars were on and Beyoncé was wearing a leotard with some business near her lady parts that looked as though her intestines were making their way down her legs after having been bedazzled. You cannot tell me you watched that spectacle without going, “Sweet tap-dancing Baby Moses! Do these people not have full-length mirrors?” I required a damp cloth on my forehead to get through her number. It was just such an assault on my retinas that I was afraid they would shoot out of my skull in a desperate attempt to save themselves. Thank the sweet Lord in heaven that Hugh was there to soften the blow of the Leotard From Somewhere Across the River Styx…

Anyhoo, it was difficult to get up this morning, if only because I felt like I needed just one more day to loiter around the house before returning to work. Plus, I have another deadline looming and WAAAAHHHHH!!!!!! Poor me.

Actually, get THIS. I’ve been struggling with some health problems for the past few years, the details of which I will spare you, and a diagnoses was just made that is probably more definitive and certain than anything else I’ve been told as I’ve made my way in and out of doctors offices for the past decade. And if there is one thing I can say with great conviction, YOU ARE IN CHARGE OF YOUR OWN HEALTH. Our medical industry has been completely fucked by the insurance industry, and I’ve come to realize that I cannot depend on a doctor to give me all of the answers. You have to research your issues and come armed to your appointments with questions and not let your doctor out of your sight until you get what you need. I’ve literally said to physicians, “No, you need to sit down. I’m not done yet.” I don’t blame them, even if I’m sure they get all feral when they see my name on their appointment list. They are in the impossible position of being overworked and having to bill so many hours that their heads must be in much worse shape then mine when they have to get up in the morning.

My point is, though, that I’ve been put on a strict eating/sleeping/vitamin/living regime that denies me several things that include (but are not limited to): 1) any and all alcohol, 2) sugar, 3) coffee, 4) chocolate, 5) bananas. Seriously - WHY GO ON LIVING? I mean, #1 is enough to make me homicidal put me in a foul mood permanently. You should see the List of Things I Cannot Eat; besides feeling very sorry for me indeed, you’d also understand why I might feel stabby for the time being, if not forever.

Of course, if all of this gets me to a place where I feel less like crawling back into bed as soon as I get out of it, then Hurrah! I will acquiesce and give up All Holy Foods! All I can say is that there had best be a GREAT pair of shoes (size 8.5), or a new pony or a shiny, SHINY object at the end of all of this. Or someone will die. I’m giving up tequila, after all, which is my great equalizer. You’ve all been warned.