Dear Michelle

There are days I really need you on my time zone because I want to talk about something that I just can't talk to anyone else about but of course this only happens at 8 a.m. and I wouldn't dream of waking your household. And then I move on to the office or whatever, trying to wait it out, but my attention deficit kicks in and I don't remember that I wanted to talk to you until bedtime when I'm about to pass out from exhaustion.

Every 6 months, I go through my scanning and sonograms and poking and prodding, over about 4 - 5 different appointments. Today was the last of the tests before the appointment next week for my exam where my gynecological oncologist lets me know the results of all the tests. During the sonogram, they take so many pictures and keep moving around and typing and backing up and doing over or so it seems to me...so I was a little panicked, this morning. They totally should've done the test, then had me stay and talk to the doctor, letting him read the results right away. But no, I had to leave there imaging that all that typing was scary stuff and I was calling to tell you that I was terrified. I hate these fucking tests and I'm happily healthy until the moment I need to have a sonogram and then I'm dying again. Nice, positive attitude, eh? Of course there's the Everyday Normal Helene who thinks "this is really a pain in the ass, I need to get back to work, why are they wasting my time, there's nothing there." And then there's Panic Disorder Helene who's imagining her funeral and how sad my baby will be after I'm gone and will Jorge let my parents see Rachel often enough or will he give them a hard time and start fights and and and....

you get the picture.

Anyway, thanks for being there to let me vent and I know you're reading this and are at the other end of my spillage.

Where the Hell is My Happy Place?

This is the point of the weekend that we no longer appreciate it being the weekend at all. The Sunday Night Blues have begun and there's no pretending that work isn't just around the corner. My eyes are drooping from the exhaustion that comes with the "I don't want Saturday night to end" dance. The problem with going to sleep is that we're one step closer to Monday morning. And Monday morning means work, and that's not where my happy place is.

I searched high and low all weekend for my happy place. Friday night I was suffering from "I hate my job" syndrome, and truly believing that misery loves company, I invited my friend over so we could be cry to each other...and then eat. A nice little visit to the diner and we were much happier. Saturday morning I tried yoga for the first time, and I really had a momentary spiritual awakening where happy thoughts flowed through my mind, almost bringing me to tears. Later that afternoon, I treated myself to a facial that was a little bit of Heaven while my zits were being popped. The topper was shaking up the dating strategy by going out with a man 6 years younger, with no kids, and then taking him home for my own pleasure.

As lovely as that sounds, this is the point where the downward spiral begins. I remembered why I don't do first date sex, have one night stands, don't date younger men, and don't stay awake past 10 pm most nights. The Sunday Night Blues has enveloped me and tomorrow I move from Happy Place to Fake Happy Face. Flashbacks of a strange naked man in my bed not living up to my hopes and premonitions of debates with my boss and another senior manager will replace the sheep that I should be counting as I hit the sack.

So much for positive thoughts and my happy place. But this is my own fault, I'm letting it happen. I need to take a stand and say no to these thoughts and not let them in. And in that process, I will learn to appreciate Sunday nights and Monday mornings and deal with the fact that I'm fighting myself and could possibly have split-personality disorder.

And with that, ladies and gentleman, good night.