It's not easy being me...

I am heartened by the fact that I question my sanity with fair regularity. After all, truly crazy people never think they are. Crazy, I mean. They just plow along, often right over other people, doing their peculiar little things. All the peculiar little things I do are actually quite sane. Take the cheesecake, for example. Wednesday, I bought this amazing strawberry cheesecake with full intention of taking it to our Thursday night gathering of women. Except that somehow it got knocked over in the car. Poor thing looked like a natural disaster. And I thought "that looks like my cheesecake now." And I promptly cut myself a piece as soon as I got home. The girls got a perfectly wonderful mocha cake. And I get strawberry cheesecake for breakfast everyday. Can't be worse that bacon and eggs, and it does have fruit in it. Funnily enough, I would never have bought it just for me, though. So that accident was pretty fortuitous. And currently I am finishing a book I have had for over a year, by Caroline Knapp, an ode to her dog Lucille. Poor Caroline worried incessantly; is the dog a substitute for children? is the dog keeping her from social interaction? is the dog a substitute for an intimate partner? Honestly, what a bunch of neuroses she had. I, on the other hand, admit that I happily hurry home to be with my Boo. He is the best bed partner I have ever had, doesn't snore, not ever, and takes up a minimum amount of space, once I get him acclimated to the far side of the bed, usually with the assistance of a well-placed foot. He never complains about what I serve him for dinner, and is still as happy with a $3 toy as he was when he was a puppy. He may not laugh at my jokes, but he never rolls his eyes, either. We are happily nuts, together. And what does it matter what others think of us, anyway? They don't have to live with us. Thank God.