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At today’s rheumatology checkup, which I nearly missed due to misplaced certainty that it was scheduled for early next Tuesday morning, the doctor asked how I’ve been doing.* I confessed that my left SI joint was bothering the hell out of me but declined a steroid injection, telling her I probably caused the problem myself […]

With a title like this I should probably write something sweeping and poignant about current challenges and how little of myself I sometimes recognize in my own existence. But I think that would be premature and needlessly dramatic, because some of what’s been nagging at me lately could be due to medication problems caused by

There are professional lectures of Crankenstein’s I could deliver in my sleep, so often has she rehearsed them with me. My responsibilities range from timing her to critiquing her performance or double-checking the slides for errors, and I usually try to anticipate the questions — from the inane to the adversarial — she might field

It seems appropriate that Mother’s Day coincided with the anniversary of Muriel’s adoption this year, seeing as she’s probably the closest Crankenstein and I will ever get to having a child. One of the first things I learned about her, even before the shelter’s coordinator put me in touch with her foster mom, was that

This afternoon, with some trepidation, I checked my texts, DMs and a couple of email inboxes, looking for unanswered (and often unopened) messages that have accumulated over the past few days. It’s become a familiar pattern recently: I don’t really want to talk much with family or friends. Nor do I want to grocery shop

Holy mackerel, I mostly slept last night! Despite a completely irrational fear of jinxing tonight’s prospects by acknowledging it, I felt obligated to share this momentous development after all my endless complaining here about sleep over the past 12 months. If I can keep this streak going for, say, a week, we’ll have to come

Here’s the conversation Crankenstein and I had about The American Look earlier this week, along with a discussion guide for anyone who wants to skip around: Unfortunately, I had to delete about 60 seconds of additional Angels talk that Muriel disrupted. In it we referenced Police Woman’s rampant sexism (which Crankenstein wants me to write

There’s not much to report today, other than last night was even more sleepless than usual despite a big improvement in physical comfort post-Botox. I’m currently almost too tired to see straight, which hopefully bodes well for tonight. If I can erase just a little of the sleep deficit that’s ballooned over the last couple

Bravely stifle your tears, just as Melissa Manchester taught you — for the first time in 89 years (though it probably feels like 800), I’m not sharing any photos of strange objects tonight. But I’ll be back at it soon enough, because a post I’m currently working on includes an anticlimactic reveal of the sayonara-to-student-loans

We’ll get to the Madrid Open in a minute, but first let’s take a look at something I had to correct prior to finishing the cottage. Crankenstein will probably squint and ask “What’s the difference?”, which I suspect is also what would happen if I switched places with any short brunette — or maybe even