diary of a semi-retired hypochondriac

Lili Tomlin, I think, was the one who said: "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you." Along the same lines: "Just because you're a hypochondriac doesn't mean there's nothing wrong with you." What's wrong with me at the moment is that I have cell-phone-itis.
I just spend two hours and thirty-eight minutes on my cell with precisely the person I had resolved not to spend hours on my cell with. Not that I didn't wish to speak to this person, I was just going to do it on the land phone. Well, the land phone where I currently am situated is temporarily out of commission. I could have gone home, but there the land phone has such a short cord that to talk on it I have to sit in a chair next to the cat litter box. The friend I was just talking to on my cell has let me know her birthday present to me is a looooooooong phone cord. Another option would have been getting a new battery for the cordless phone, but such are the chores that get put off to my next lifetime.

Anyway, the news from Louisville to my fellow bloggers is that everything is falling apart. For example: the black puppy's voice has changed. Just now, I mean five minutes ago, I heard him howl for the first time in his life. Or anyway in my life. The black puppy is evolving beyond teething, too, which of course is welcome, and he has begun doing his business on newspaper we put out for him on the living room floor. ALSO: yesterday
the black puppy met the love of his life. She is just about exactly his age and size, both look like Labs but his mom is a Doberman, hers is a
Chesapeake Bay Retriever. They met in the park, they kissed, they hugged, they chased, they rolled in the grass. The girlfriend's owner lit a cigarette and I wanted one more than I have wanted one these two months, sometimes it seems a ceremonial cigarette should be smoked.
How can I possibily declare a moment sacred without the holiness of SMOKE???

But today I'm still on the wagon. It was the first day of school; a friend had told me "If you want to stay away from smoking, don't do anything you don't want to do, because if you feel put-upon you'll want to smoke."
So today I had to start teaching and believe me, I felt put-upon. SOMEBODY was making me do it. Now I couldn't tell you who somebody was; if asked to meditate on it I would be forced to conclude that I myself was the one who dreamt up the cock-eyed idea of going back to teaching when my life of liesure had only one defect --- it was making me crazy.
Why give up perfectly good crazy-making liesure for perfectly healthy
order-causing structure???

And when I was talking to the kids (college freshmen) today I realized:
I KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. I realized: when I'm going on about the value of reading and writing, when I'm going on about the value of writing and re-writing, I AM NOT BS-ING. In a class of 25, two or three are bound to hear me. One or two are going to really enjoy this class, come out of the experience feeling they've grown not just as writers, but as human beings.

So to go back to where I started this blog entry, I'm trying to put the hypochondriac thing on the back burner. Maybe it was the ECE that made me feel my wheels were coming off. I'm waiting to hear from Rae about her first day teaching at the men's prison. With any luck, they won't lock her up there with the guys. To all of you who have followed this blog entry to its feeble conclusion, thank you. I hope you're all feeling fine.

---Harriet