Half Empty

I live for the weekends these days. A bit of wine, good music, tasty food, and smart conversation are all I really need for a good weekend. By Monday, however, all those good vibes quickly disappear, and I feel like this wine glass--half-empty, shot, beat, kicked, you name it. I don't want this entry to turn into one of those cliche "I-hate-Mondays" rants, but I'm seriously already zapped before the week has begun. Last week was a bear. I had a conference to attend, 8 days to think about whether or not the "spots" on my mammogram were simply "spots" or bad, evil, eating-me-alive spots, papers to read, grade, read, grade, read, etc. It was a bear. Because I'm simply too tired to write normal paragraphs this evening, I'll just give a list of things that I've been up to since my last post about dogs.

1. Mammography: a torture machine. Waiting over an hour for a doctor to read your results in a waiting room with 6 other women wearing the same flowered robes watching Martha Stewart: even more torturous. Being the only one left out of the original gang of six in my robe watching reruns of Seinfeld? Terrifying. And, finally being told that I need an ultrasound to clarify whether "spots" are liquid or soft? Well, anyone that is remotely acquainted with me, can already guess how I took that news. Cried like a baby--in my car of course, since I had another hour to kill before the little breast that could be crushed no more was once again put under the spotlight. I feel thankful for the thoroughness of the doctors, and will continue my yearly check-ups, but there's nothing like that phone call telling you of "spots" that can quickly turn any good day (or 8 for that matter) into a paranoid, fretful, stew of worry and dread.

2. The Conference: this occurred the Saturday before #1, so I was caught up in the stew of worry and dread, but bound and determined to read my paper, and continue to forge ahead with professional duties. I, unlike many of my friends, loathe conferences. I love the cities and the sight-seeing, but somehow I don't really enjoy the conferences themselves. This time was no different. However, I did get to spend some qaulity time with my former diss advisor and her husband--and learn about their trip to Venezuela. The Bolivarian Revolution is pretty damned fascinating. More on that later . . .

3. Walking: Smith Jones has J and I walking all over this village. I've been up one street and down another, into one subdivision and out the other, up one major hill, in two different town parks. Rest. Sleep. Pant. Drool. Do it all over again! Having a dog sure beats a Y membership . . . I guess.

Those are the major personal things that have me at half-mast this Monday evening. I'm just spent from a week of worrying, writing, and walking.