well, duh

About bloody time, really (oops - swear to god, no pun intended there). There is now, finally, an approved oral contraceptive to be used for periods (oh, damn. I didn't mean that one either) of longer than 21 days!!

Well, approved in the US. Note that this doesn't do me a damn bit of good, but it provides the possibility that one day a comparable prescription drug will be available north of the american border.

Having a birth control pill that can be safely, effectively and officially taken for 3 months straight just seems to make too much sense. It just begs the question - why hasn't anyone done the necesary studies, testing and submissions earlier? Okay, some"feminine hygeine" products might suffer a few losses in the marketplace. But, this is kind of question about pill use that's been around forever - well, at least since at least a monophasic birth control pill was made available (the kind where all pills contain the same levels of hormones). What would happen if you just didn't stop taking it? Apparently, nothing. Duh. Some comany just had to invest the initial outlay of capital on a series of double-blind, controlled studies over a significant length of time in order to market their pill this way and to justify putting safety and efficacy claims on their packaging.

The odd thing is, from the quick glance I took around the webstie, this particular company doesn't seem to manufacture other brands of oral contraceptives. I would have thought that one of the big companies already in the field would have been one of the first ones to come up with a contraceptive to be taken over a longer stretch of time.

What are the drawbacks? There would have been the initial investment, but I would have thought that would have payed off. Perhaps there's a worry that the general pill consuming public will not be overly appreciative of this new option. (why on earth not is beyond me but then, that is only my opinion) Perhaps the cost of marketing, wooing doctors and jumping through hoops made of red tape simply wasn't a priority for companies already in the market.

Whatever the reasons, this pill is here now and the marketing game is in full swing. I hope this new pill does well. I hope it gets approved in Canada. I hope I'll still have a use for it by the time it does.

Pass the Ben Gay

It's been a while since my last post and it's not for a lack of wanting. We've been inundated with guests (and that's fine) but I'm not surviving as well as I used to. I need my sleep these days. And it's not even beauty sleep. It's sleep purely for the purpose of being able to function. I'm getting old.

I got my mid-life crisis over with last year for my 29th birthday with the acquisition of my (first) tattoo. (There have been no subsequent ones, but I'm not about to rule out another one or two.) This year, as my 30th birthday approaches, I seem to be simply accepting the fact that I will now start to fall apart.

If the guy who changed the oil alters the driver's seat, my shoulder gets sore. If I have a nap on the couch, I'm risking an achy neck. And now, for no apparent reason, my right ankle is boycotting normalcy. Even this one has my chiropractor stumped - I haven't bought new shoes, or even worn any heels lately. I've never been athletic enough to have traumatized it in some previous sports career. I don't remember twisting it recently ... mind you I never remember where any of my bruises came from, so anything's possible. I'm not the best at recounting recent history - another sign of deterioration, I'm sure.

At least my usual ailments have reasons for being and have known methods of recovery. This, however, seems to be purely a failure on the part of my aging joints. There doesn't seem to be any inherent message to slow down, or to stop, or to adjust...something. Instead, it's more like a whiny "I just don't wanna do it".

Well, too bad for you, ankle. I need to walk, drive and hit the sustain pedal on the piano. I'm not asking anything of you that is particularly taxing. Think of all the poor athletic ankles over in Athens right now.

Oh dear. I may have to get used to talking to various body parts over the coming years. First, an ankle, next perhaps a wrist. My eyes are already slacking off; maybe I'd better get on their case sooner rather than later. This is going to be a lot of work.

I've less than two months left of my second decade. I'd better enjoy it while my body lets me.

A solid shade of grey

There are a few things in my life right now that have the slight potential to be magically fixed with a good solid dose of self-esteem. Now I'm not knocking good old-fashioned hard work, because that would certainly have to be involved too. But, in order to put myself out there for the critcism required to improve, a little confidence in my ability to acheive a level of competency would be an asset.

My overly cautious wall-flower behaviour applies, in this case, to any of my more "artsy" endeavours: writing (here or poetry) and music (playing and singing). Not every artistic thing I attempt is crap. Some of it most definitely is crap but some of it has potential. However, the trick is deciding how to best extract that potential and present it in a refreshing, enlightening and entertaining way. Oh and, by the way, the entire process is subjective.

There are some things that will just never have mass appeal in sound or print. Neither a complete lack of timing nor a complete disregard for spelling will ever get anyone very far. Beyond that, though, everyone has a different personal appreciation of music and literature.

Let me correct that: everyone should have their own appreciation of music and literature. God help those whose work instantly appeals to the masses. It's only likely to disappear just as quickly.

So, to recap:

1. Fame is not success.
2. A success is not likely to appeal to everyone and so criticism will follow.
3. Criticism is required to improve beyond an initial success.
4. Everybody's got an opinion and they're all going to be different.

This whole adventure seems to be a matter of striving toward an undefined goal of good or best, with nothing but scads of varying input from (cross your fingers) worthy inspirations.

So, to hell with black and white. Almost everything has potential for something and meaning to someone, damnit, including my half-rhymes and squeaky high E. Nothing I do will ever be solidly right or wrong, but some combination in between grey - all that counts is that I'm sure about it.

My application for the Darwin awards

I've been antsy. I've been sleeping poorly. Everything, both at work and at home, seems to have been happening ... oddly. Nothing horrendous, just odd.

There was just a blue moon.

This coming Friday is the 13th.

I've been eating a lot of spicy food.

While any one of these things could account for this weirdness, the only one over which I have any control is my diet. And yet I continue to indulge in peppers, onions, salt and garlic when there is a 33.3% chance that these items are adversely affecting my life.

This "coincidence" occurs to me after receiving a warning email from my husband. He wrote to inform me that a piece of blackberry pie has just made it's way into his stomach - a pie whose crust is known to contain dairy. He's intolerant to even the most insignificant quantity of lactose and allergic to blackberries (these ones, hopefully, have been cooked thoroughly and are, therefore, benign).

How stupid are we??

I know which foods keep me from sleeping and which wines give me headaches as well as I know not to run out into traffic or to handle a downed power line. My husband is very well aware of what contains dairy, nuts, fruits and soy and even refuses to use a knife with which I may have sliced my cheese sandwich. Yet we both, fully informed and presumably competent, are purposely and happily ingesting those foodstuffs that harm us.

There's no clinic for this. No patch or group therapy. I have yet to read an article showing almonds, butter or green onion to be stupefyingly addictive.

We have will power, honestly. I can avoid the 3pm chocolate bar and stop after one cup of coffee. My husband can by-pass the brie. But some deep seeded need to be humbled, reminded of our weaknesses or display our imperfections seems to prevail when it comes to our dietary senses. We know we'll survive - there's no extreme puffer fish cuisine here. We'll just be uncomfortable for a while (sometimes more so than others, and sometimes more so for the person who didn't have the lapse in judgment). But I fail to see how, while not life threatening, this willful intestinal abuse can be healthy. How much sleep deprivation, dehydration and itchiness can a body be expected to take?

My sister-in-law's into cleanses and I have to admit that I'm intrigued by them. I'm also intrigued by vegetarianism, the avoidance of refined flour, sugars and prepackaged foods. However, no passing curiosity has yet to make me a granola-loving, wild rice-steaming vegan. I eat my share of tofu. I just mix it with ground turkey and cook it really well so my husband doesn't have to take any more anti-histamines. I then throw in a few hot peppers for extra kick. I'll wake up around 2:30am because of it, but that'll give me a chance to plan tomorrow's menu.

a rambling on the maleability of time

If you don't do odd, skip this one right now.

It's been a holiday Monday, and I am now totally and completely messed up. Tomorrow, although Tuesday, will feel like a Monday and the rest of the week will continue to be one day off. However, knowing that this is a short work week will, in fact, make the week seem longer.

Never mind that it's already August 2004. We're well past half the year already and it barely feels out of Christmas. (I'm ignoring the fact that I believed it was 2005 one night last week - I was blog-hopping and thought how awful it was that someone hadn't updated their blog since July 2004.) Summer's almost over, it'll be Christmas again soon, and I won't have made it out of 2003.

This weekend has been unseemingly long. But that's good. I think it's because I actually got out and accomplished a few things. I am of the belief that the standard issue Monday to Friday 9-5 job shortens lives, in perception if not in reality. It's the days that I actively partake in several different activities that I remember more vividly, with more impact and that provide me with a greater sense of being.

It's true. Years seem to have flown by this last little while and, since I have no proof of any Star Trek-esque anomolies in the space-time continuum, I stand by my current theory.

Think about it. When you were in elementary school, September through December was an awfully long time and an entire school year seemed like an eternity. Summer break was the best, most wonderful length of holidays and even Christmas and Easter break were deliciously indulgent. Here's the punch: at any of those times, you were doing at least 12 different things each day. If it wasn't several completely different classes, including gym, music, math and science, it was going swimming, biking to the store, searching for treasure in the backyard, reading and then walking the dog. Even dinner was an event unto itself. A child's single afternoon schedule could be a challenge for the most accomodating Palm Pilot.

Now, however, I compartmentalize my life by days and sometimes by whole weeks. Work accounts for almost half of my waking day on 5/7 days per week. Everything else that happens is simply tacked on around that - not as an event, but more like an addendum. After work, I have a doctor's appointment. I have to phone the bank before work. I will get groceries on my lunch break.

I suppose this gets back to my reference in "sweaty eyelids" to all the things I haven't found the time to do. It's going to take more that a swift kick in the ass to get me going. I need a re-alignment. My brain's gone out of phase with the rest of the world - into a parallel universe, perhaps. I've got no hope of James T. Kirk or Jean Luc coming in with a last minute "beam me up" to reset my perspective, so I think that leaves only me to issue the order: Make It So.