WARNING: long meandering post ahead. To paraphrase the beloved zoot if you are looking for pithy, move along.

On the face of it, yesterday was much like many days of my life. It was a Tuesday-- so as I woke up my happy anticipation of a fresh cup of coffee with an illicit cigarette out on the deck was overlaid with the "grind" mentality that it was mid-week and I had to get dressed and go to work. And, my ear was still fucking killing me.

But then, of course, there was a much anticipated opportunity to kick George Bush's-fucking-ass-back-to-Texas-detour in my regular morning activity-- Which T and I did (to whatever extent our two boot marks had enough oompf to oust the bloated evil hiney of Cheney) in the white clapboard town hall where a tray of cinnamon doughnuts and paper cups of warm apple cider were laid out on the table for us. I know it was meant to be hospitable, but it made me feel like I was on my first day of kindergarten. Still, at that stage I was willing to try anything so I poured the warm cider in my ear-- but it didn't make the pain go away.

Then I headed off to work and there most of all, the day took on its monotonous, indistinguishable gray pallor as I moved through the very predictable activities and conversations of my day. At lunch I tried to work out and ended up in the bathroom feeling sicker than sick-- no worries, just me being a total wuss and having not one athletic bone in my body and so wanting to be one of those people who can work out every day like clockwork but I'm not. And that was my first epiphany of the day.

I cannot do anything regularly like clockwork.

It is absolutely against my nature. And this strange wiring of mine that renders me unpredictable, inconsistent and erratic contributes to the fact that I am such a quitter. Yes, as I sat in the john of the gym feeling wretched I decided I needed a t-shirt that read "QUITTER" across the chest. (I think I'm going to have it made in 3 colors, gray, white, and navy). That way, people know when they meet me and don't harbor any expectations.

Finally, my innards calmed down and I got dressed and went back to work. My ear continued to plague me all afternoon. At 4pm T IM'd me and told me I had to go see a doctor that minute no matter how much I didn't want to. So, I did. And as I entered the clinic I broke out in an absolute panic and I realized yet again that I HATE going to the doctor and only go to the doctor when I absolutely have to: need stitches or antibiotics. Really, as I sat there in the waiting room I was having a fit and holding my jacket around me tightly and imagining the nurse putting me into one of those little rooms and telling me to take all my clothes off and put on a paper gown and I visualized how I would tell her to fuck off and that I wasn't putting on that fucking humiliating gown and I was just here for the fucking cartilage of my ear and because my husband was tired of hearing me whinge about it.

And, I had my second mental connection that seems pretty obvious to me now but somehow never came in quite as clearly as it did last night-- but I was molested by a doctor as a little girl. Fancy that. No wonder I freak out and get so enraged. And so odd that it would click in my head the way that it did last night.

But, as it turned out, my hyper-defensiveness was not necessary. The nurse was darling and warm (even though I did not respond in kind) and simply took my blood pressure. No mention of any paper gowns was made. Doctor came in--- quickly assessed that I had a pinched nerve in my ear and gave me a subscription for horse pill motrins-- and I was on my way. Popped one of those babies, and within 30 minutes the PAIN WAS GONE.

Ohhhhhhh, the relief. Which brought me to my next revelation as I drove to my massage therapist. When people are in pain, they are so snarky and mean. These past 4 days with this CHRONIC fucking knife-action in my ear-- I just was so tense and sharp and unpleasant. And I realized, forget physical pain, people who are so nasty and mean and bitter must be carrying around such emotional pain. And, just like the Grinch, my heart grew a wee bit in compassion (but only just a wee bit).

Then, at the massage woman's (who I absolutely adore and who I have been seeing for years) we talked about her brother who was killed in a freak accident this past summer and how she is dealing with it. My pathetic whines and rants and "problems" seemed even more pathetic in the face of what she is dealing with.

Then, when I went in and dropped my clothes without so much as a frisson of discomfort, I looked at the contrast between this environment and the cold clinic I had just come from and how utterly differently I responded to each opportunity to disrobe.

When I got home--- the country was covered in red. And there's not much I can say about that except I hate all the idiots who voted for Bush. I really do. And I wish with their vote they got a duffel bag and dog tags and were shipped straight over to Iraq to fight in his fucking war.

But all of New England came through for Kerry-- so I am not moving, yet. In fact, moving to the 82 seems more like inspired genius every day.

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