09.24.00

Many many thanks to everyone who wrote with tips to beat insomnia. Cures ranged from warm milk to self lovin'. I tried some, but not all and I'm pleased to inform you that I've made friends with the Sand Man again. He's been very kind to me, and I need to make sure I don't piss him off again--I'm so miserable without him in my life.

In other events, I've been fairly obsessed with the notion of giving up cigarettes this Friday. The Smoking Cessation study at the University of Chicago found me to be an ideal candidate and I've been meeting with them for a couple of weeks now. I'm not being paid much, but the study provides over $600 dollars worth of one on one therapy with a trained professional. Yahoo. Unfortunately, I've had some experiences with therapists in the past and I don't really like them. Pretty much because they don't like me.

A few years ago I saw a shrink when my panic attacks became slightly intolerable (I could barely board the L without having tiny heart attacks and being stuck in a traffic jam made my skin crawl). The guy was nice enough and he did give me some pretty good tips on deep breathing exercises, but I could tell he was bored to death. I spent most of my time trying to entertain him and I would rate the sessions by how frequently I could make him laugh. I perceived no-laugh hours as dismal failures and on such occasions, would leave his office feeling supremely rejected.

At some point during the several months I spent an hour a week with him, I realized I was spending my time on the L and in traffic jams not having heart attacks, but working out new material for my next session. I stopped going.

Now wait just a minute, this was NOT supposed to be an entry about my failure at therapy, but about quitting smoking. No more monkeying around.

I need a substitute for my smokes and I may have found one. The Chiclet. This precursor to the more sophisticated of chewing gums like Freshen Up (the gum that squirts), or Dentyne Ice (the gum that makes your mouth feel like it's been sprayed with insecticide), the Chiclet (the original candy coated gum) hasn't changed one bit since I was a kid.

A cellophane wrapped box of Chiclets sounds like fun is happening in there when you shake it. There are no designated areas for Chiclets, you can have one anytime, anyplace. And, a serious Chiclet habit will cost you about $92 over the course of the year. My cigarettes cost me upwards of $1,500 over a year, plus they are giving me cancer. However, even with a box of crunchy minty goodness at my side, I'm afraid to quit smoking. You'll hear more about it as the drama unfolds. (I'm sorry about that. I really am.)

OH! One more thing. Awhile back, my hairdresser told me the reason my hair was breaking and split ending all over the place was because I wash it too much. When I explained that I only washed it once a day, she chastised me and informed me that in Europe, stylish women washed their hair only once a week and that people "in the know" let their own natural oils condition their hair rather than stripping it each day with the harsh chemicals often found in over the counter shampoos.

Okay, there was no way I was only going to wash my hair once a week, so we compromised. I wash it Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I've been doing this for awhile and it seems to be helping--fewer split ends and less breakage. When the bangs get a tad greasy on the alternate days, a shake of baby powder on a comb clears that right up. Sundays, however, are a different story. My hair looks disgusting and my scalp itches. Now, I'm a homebody and Sundays are meant for never getting out of your pajamas anyways, so nobody sees my head. BUT I think it could be the reason I have that freaky cancer looking thing happening on my forehead.

I quite possibly may be allergic to my own natural oils.

Greasy Sunday Hair

Notified readers are privy to the intimate details of my life.

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