A Date Which Will Live in Infamy

August 8, 2008, "is a date upon which I will not look back with a great deal of pleasure...".
These were some of the words (kind of), of Queen Elizabeth II after a good portion of her palace burned, as did the passions of the still-married Prince Charles for Camille. August 8th was the day that I decided to "step off the merry-go-round"..."lose a few cards in my deck"..."close the door on my life", hang a big "DO NOT DISTURB" sign on my door and stick my proverbial head in the sand. I called my boss and told him that I was not coming in to work and may not be back for some time. I called my closest colleague and friend and asked her for some assistance on applying for a leave of absence. Then I cancelled all of my appointments and speaking engagements for August and September and believe I spent the remainder of the day with my good friend, Peter Vella (if you're wondering, my lovely summer glow comes from a box of White Zin).

You see, this day had been a long time coming. Why it came on that particular day, I don't know. I do remember that the first real dog of my own, "Teke", was born on that date, and my Great Uncle Lot died on that date. I also had no idea of how next to proceed, how I felt or why I felt like I did. I've been at my government job for 20 years, settling labor disputes between everyone in the workforce from building contractors to dancing lobsters (No embellishment, dude!). All of my kids are raised, gone and have moved to the other end of the country. My mother died, my old dog died, most of my plants are dead and my husband better watch his step (just kidding - REALLY!) I'm fat, yet everything on me has developed a sudden obsession in taking up residence as close to my feet as possible. And menopause has become the cherry on top of whatever's left on top. Life is not good, and I can tell you I don't look good in ANYTHING with cherries on top.

I decided to do what any person with an ounce of remaining sense (considering I'd lost the majority of it) would do and called a counselor. I mean, I've not become a threat to society, don't wish to join a cult or apply for a job at the post office (not that there's anything wrong with that), but I decided somewhere in my fogged mind that I needed a little guidance. The first session did not exactly become "the first day of the rest of my life", but I'll admit, it was a start.