Yo peeps. I added a couple of long-overdue links over there to the right. One is Dooce, for obvious reasons of rockingness. She really writes the way a diary-like blog should be written (i.e. awesomely). And the other is Jennifer Myzowski, a local blog-friend who is also unfailingly honest and blunt in her writing and usually quite funny to boot.

Dooce has been amazing this past week or so; her postpartum depression got so horrible that she checked herself into a psychiactric hospital. After I read her post about the decision, I was so sad for her that I was almost crying, and I was depressed for hours, worrying about her. I also had this awful feeling: if it can happen to her, it can definitely happen to me. Luckily I've never felt quite so low as that. Well, once I did, years ago, but I was still able to go to work (but do little else) and I was able to overcome my depression through other means. (Those means? Systematically hunting down and slaughtering those who had wronged me.*) Anyway, Dooce found a great doctor at the hospital, and things are looking optimistic. Thank god.

My birthday was swell, thanks. Lack of sleep and lots of driving made me so woozy for my dinner out that I felt I couldn't avail myself of any complementary wine. I did go to Cold Stone Creamery, but for an account of that experience you'll have to read Craftytown and Eye on Northampton. My birthday really started this past Sunday, when I opened all of my familial loot, and will continue into this weekend, when the three-county fair happens. (Two words: Demolition Derby. Aw yeah.)


*Just kidding! Ha! Ha! Do not worry, I did not kill anyone. No need to go poking around in the wetlands next to Stop n' Shop on King Street! Nosiree bob!