in which i pick my new poison, among other things

over our dinner of pesto pizza, i reached across to smell justin's hefeweizen, and i didn't smell the *ick* i usually get from his imported beers. so i took a swig. guess what? it's good. the next time we go to our neighborhood microbrewery, i'm trying their wheat beer, instead of a fuzzy purple lotus or whatever the $9 drink du jour is.

i just became a slightly cheaper date.

*****

i lost hours more of my life today on the search for the right therapist. the therapist i want called me personally from god knows where and explained she's actually traveling through thanksgiving (after we talked, i found a bajillion google items about her as a renowed sexologist[!], and she has quite the conference speaking schedule lined up for the next month, so i guess she was telling the truth), but she recommended three other people to me. one's not on my insurance, another's a man (which i don't think is the right fit for me right now, although it just occurred to me i've always had male therapists before...hmmmmm), and the third one may not be taking patients, but i left her a message anyway.

i've tapped the american psychiatric association, the ohio psychiatric association, the american psychological association, the ohio psychological association, therapistfinder.net, hygeia, and SHARES. i've perused the staff rosters at the three closest hospitals. i just keep banging my head against a wall. justin asked me why i hadn't called his mom. she's the office manager of a psychiatric practice. duh. it would be weird to see someone in that practice, but they could tell me who's who and maybe make a call to get me in with someone good rather than waiting forever. so i called my mother-in-law, and she's going to call me back tomorrow.

please let something, the right thing, work out. i'm running out of legal coping mechanisms.

*****

i'm blushing from my fellow bloggers' compliments. i didn't think it was a particularly flattering picture, with the previous night's makeup melted and smeared into my face, but apparently some of you out there dig that sort of thing. which may say more about you than me. hmmmm.

and to jill: my eyebrows only appear groomed when i wear makeup, which currently is only for special occasions, which is about once per quarter. you should get a load of them without makeup. or worse yet, without being plucked. *shudder*

i wrote to gabesmama a little about my relationship with cosmetics recently, and it's been on my mind since then. i came of age in texas. in the 80s, for pete's sake. the images to which i aspired all involved blue eyeshadow and pink foundation and big hair. i wore makeup every day of my life, from the day i turned twelve (when it became legal with my mom and i could stop applying it in the locker room when i got to school and wiping it off in the choir room restroom before i went home) until hans died, when i was 35 years and four months old. a few weeks later, i took care with applying liquid eyeliner and waterproof mascara and won't-kiss-off lipstick for hans's memorial service; i felt like i needed to be as pulled together as i could be that day, for him.

after that day, i just stopped.

i never thought it would be so easy. for two-thirds of my life, i wouldn't even run into the grocery store without makeup on. but just that quickly, it was over.

my grief has been like a razor. after hans died, that razor was dangerously sharp, and it pared away everything non-essential to me. apparently, the makeup that i thought an inherent part of my existence was actually just an excess. i can't speak for the people who have to look at me at work all day, but for me, it's been a lovely gift from hans - the freedom to not care about it any more.

i think that my grief/razor has gotten rusty lately. after the tadpole, the razor stopped cutting things away so cleanly; instead, it just keeps nicking me, and i think my nicks are getting infected.