While I believe in mind over matter the power of self-talk, sucking it up, putting on one’s big girl panties, dealing with it, turning that page and all that big tough love stuff, the cheese is definitely slipping off my cracker.
Big mistake, reading a New York Times article on today, well, basically, the bottom-line is nobody knows what they are talking about. Nothing but contradictions out there. One study says this and another says that. Wading through all of it, here’s the takeaway – they’re buying you time.
That’s it. They’re buying you time.
Time measured not in decades but in five year increments (if you’re lucky) or if you’re not so lucky in months, weeks, even days (my brother was given three months – he made it to four).
So as the cheese was definitely slipping, I gave in. I called my doctor and asked for some Xanax. First, the doctor decided he would give me a few. As I blubbered on, it he upped it and finally decided on giving me thirty.
My eye is twitching. I haven’t had a twitchy eye since 1978 when I left my husband and moved way across the country to start life anew with an eight year old in tow and a salary of $9,000 a year.