So having conquered one anxiety, tomorrow I set off to try out another one. I haven't flown in three years - since before 9/11, since before developing this fun new anxiety disorder.

I have a bottle of ativan and a thin thread of optimism. I was reading the warnings on the side of the ativan bottle and it listed unconsciousness as a side effect of overdose. I thought, shit, that's not side effect, that's what I'm aiming for.

The reason I'm going home - other than a vacation - is to go through all the debris I left at my parents house when I moved. I can't remember everything I have there, but I know it includes my prom dresses, my alto saxophone, my high school yearbooks, a bunch of photo albums, and a huge box of passed notes from high school.

I'm so looking forward to being in Jefferson again, because part of my knows I may not make it back there again for a long time. After my parents move out here, there will be less reason to travel there, and more logistical complications to deal with. And it will also be strange knowing that the house grew up in will belong to other people. When I left Jefferson, it was with the knowledge that I could come back and visit. In some ways, this seems like a more permanent good-bye than that one did.

I need to go start packing.

The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to the First Level of Hell - Limbo!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	High
Level 2 (Lustful)	Moderate
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Low
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Moderate
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Low

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

100 Things To Do Before I Die
~completed~

1. See muskoxen in the wild.
2. Have grandchildren.
3. Hike to the floor of the Grand Canyon.
4. Get a PhD.
5. Teach, preferably college.
6. See my friend Lori get married.
7. Mentor someone.
8. Volunteer for the League of Women Voters.
9. Give something back to the town I grew up in.
10. Write a novel.
11. Bake kransekake for my daughter's wedding.
12. Travel to the Middle East.
13. Have a housewife-themed tea party.
14. Buy a house with my husband.
15. Meet my friend Kristina, who I've been writing to since I was 16 but have never met.
16. Be cured of vulvodynia.
17. Become proficient in a foreign language, preferably French.
18. Travel to Norway and see where my grandfather was born.
19. Learn more about program evaluation and use it, possibly as a consultant.
20. Write Sally's biography.
21. Plant a hydrangea bush in my back yard.
22. Decide whether I want to be cremated or buried, and where.
23. Own a cat named Fibonacci.
24. Learn to meditate.
25. Find my friend Robin.
26. Be part of a women's activist group.
27. Finish knitting a baby afghan.
28. Travel with my mom and sister.
29. Do one MS walk and one Alzheimer's walk.
30. Go to Glacier National Park.
31. Learn to have genuine conversations with my parents.
32. Spend a week doing nothing but reading.
33. Go back to the Guest House Cottages.
34. Learn to play a little something on the guitar (aside from the first bars of Louie Louie).
35. Find Chad Henry and say hi.
36. Get to work on time for 5 consecutive days.
37. See a new museum established in Issaquah.
38. Spend summer solstice in Alaska.
39. Go to a nude beach.
40. Read all the books on my "to read" list.
41. Work on programs at a job instead of administration.
42. Be able to donate a large chunk of money to one of my favorite causes.
43. Plant a lovely English-cottage garden.
44. Find out from my Dad whether or not my grandfather was depressed, and how it impacted his childhood.
45. Find out more from my mother about the sister I had who died before I was born.
46. See kittens being born.
47. Celebrate a golden wedding anniversary.
48. Take a watercolor class.
49. Complete Andrew Weils 8 Weeks To Optimum Health program.
50. Take a road trip in the VW bus.
51. Solve a history mystery.
52. Meet distant relatives.
53. See the house my father grew up in.
54. Find camp records on my great uncle Leon.
55. Read all Ed Abbey books.
56. Visit J's roots in San Diego.
57. Do something to commemorate my grandmother's life.
58. Go to a karaoke bar and sing.
59. See the museums in New York.
60. Read the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy.
61. Found a non-profit organization.
62. Serve on the board of a non-profit organization.
63. Take a road trip, just Sherman and me.
64. Live in a house with a big yard.
65. Give tarot readings for $$.
66. Revamp my web site in a major way.
67. Go horseback riding.
68. Sew another (better) quilt.
69. Have pet rabbits again.
70. See Crater Lake.
71. Travel to Provence.
72. Drive down a large chunk of Highway 101.
73. Paint the rooms in my house a color I love.
74. Memorize J's social security number.
75. Do some new genealogical research.
76. Keep a journal for my children.
77. Visit the Cliff Palace at Mesa Verde.
78. Read some books about the Anasazi.
79. Write more letters to my legislature about issues that are important to me.
80. Go to San Francisco again.
81. Get pregnant.
82. Have a golden retriever puppy named Buttercup..
83. Get another tattoo.
84. Climb Mt. St. Helen's.
85. Own a boat (even if only a canoe).
86. Have sex in an elevator.
87. Plant an herb garden.
88. Have a compost heap.
89. Go back to see the palm reader in Boonsboro.
90. Have a sunporch full of plants.
91. Form some kind of neighborhood coalition or block watch.
92. Do something to keep people from racing down my street at high speeds.
93. Cook a full-on Christmas dinner for the family at my house.
94. Do something creative with other vulvodynia sufferers.
95. Take a dance class.
96. Get something published in Bitch or Bust magazine.
97. Use the word "ironically" correctly.
98. Have long hair again.
99. See a chiropractor and/or massage therapist.
100. Spend an afternoon lying down on a grassy hill, watching the clods float by overhead.

Our golden girl Blossom comes home from the vet today. Yesterday she underwent a rhinoscopy, in order to find out why her nose has been bleeding. They confirmed what we were beginning to suspect anyway - that she has a malignant tumor growing in her nasal passages.

We are bringing her home today and hoping that we can make her comfortable for a while longer. We've been thinking of what we want to do with her, things that she will enjoy doing in her last weeks. We'll take her to Marymoor so she can run through the grass, and let her sit outside in the garden with us, and brush her and rub her tummy and feed her peanut butter toast.

There never was a better dog, a sweeter pet, or a truer friend. While she's been gone at the vet's, Sherman has taken to sitting in the back yard and howling. I know just how he feels.

Today someone on a list serve I'm on sent me e-mail off-list complaining that she was offended at one of my posts, and asking if I was the leader of the list or "just bossy"?

I replied to her comment on list in hopes of it deteriorating into a public fracas. What can I say, I'm feeling a little fiesty today. And frankly, amused at being called "bossy."

Moooooooo.

We Have Nothing to be Anxious About
But Anxiety Itself

This is a momentous day. Not momentous in the way it would be momentous for normal people. I'm not graduating or getting married or giving birth or accepting a major award. I'm driving to Bellingham by myself, for the first time in a year. In fact, this is the first drive longer than 20 miles that I've attempted in a year.

The last time I drove to Bellingham, my car's exhaust system was fucked up. I almost passed out, had trouble breathing, freaked out a bit. And even after I got the exhaust leaked fixed, breathlessness and panic continued to plague me when I drove. It would come and go, depending on a variety of factors, and it finally came to stay when I started taking acid reflux meds.

Not being able to drive was devestating to me. I grew up in a rural area, and driving meant freedom. Driving meant getting out of my parents' house, listening to loud music, and smoking while I careened down the back roads. Driving meant getting out of Tucson with my friend Amber (who had a car while I did not) and cruising through the desert along I-10 while she slept. Driving meant escaping, for a weekend or for a new life. Driving meant time spent alone, seeing new places and enjoying my own company.

One long weekend I drove from Maryland to Alabama and back again by myself. It was a 12-hour drive each way.

When I was 25 I drove from Maryland to Washington by myself in three weeks, taking the long route and putting more than 5,000 miles on my car.

While I was in grad school I piloted my friend Kristin and I on trips to visit museums from Yakima to Vancouver to Neah Bay.

And I can't count the solo trips to Portland and back, leaving Seattle early on a Saturday morning or a late Friday evening, my car stocked with mix tapes and snacks, arriving under a full moon, and departing again in a haze of marijuana hangover.

When I started having panic attacks, the thing I hated most was becoming dependent on J to drive me around. I had to start taking the train to Portland, and I couldn't get to Bellingham to see my sister unless J was free to drive me. It seemed so unfair that someone with my passion for the road, and thousands of miles of solo travel, should suddenly be completely freaked about driving over Lake Washington.

After a while, I got used to the dependence. I didn't mind the train so much, and there were plenty of things to do close to home. But panicking daily as I drove to work was still a pain in the ass. I thought about taking the bus, but it would take two hours and require three transfers. I thought about carpooling, but couldn't find anyone whose schedule and enthusiasm level matched mine. Finally I had two choices - quit my job, or admit that I had an anxiety disorder and get some help.

Now I've been on Zoloft for three months. I haven't had a full-blown anxiety attack in more than a month now. I drove to West Seattle, at night, for a potluck. Then I drove to Lynnwood to see J's restaurant. Then I drove to Marymoor to take the dogs to the off-leash area. I started listening to my old road-trip tapes again, and remembering how much fun it is to sing along. Last night I picked out fresh music to listen to on the trip and found myself looking forward to it. I am a little anxious about the trip - anxious that I'll get anxious.

If I can recapture my love of driving, and my independence and confidence behind the wheel, it might even make up for the fact that Zoloft prevents me from having orgasms.

Does that tell you how much I used to love to drive?

This afternoon the museum was open and we had a slow trickle of visitors. Just after closing, two young men in dark blue suits opened the door of the museum and peered in, then came in to look around. They looked so natty and so scrubbed that I was sure they were Mormons on their mission even before I saw the Bible, protected by a Ziploc bag, tucked into one man's pocket. One was taller than me, with red hair and a smooth face. The other was of medium height, with dark hair, glasses, and the tail end of teen-age acne.

I half-expected the pitch to commence, but they started looking around. The tall one asked me what the oldest artifact we had was (I felt like my answer disappointed him). The other one asked if the jail was out back. When I said yes, he asked hopefully, "Can we take pictures in it?"

I said they could and he eagerly told his partner that he was going to the car to get the camera. They disappeared into the back yard to take each other's photos in the hundred year old jail, a place that fascinates little boys of all ages.

I wondered if they believed strongly enough in their church that they were enjoying their mission, enjoying their stroll around town, enjoying their efforts at converting new believers, able to shrug off the slam of so many front doors. Or, were they on a forced march through this obligation that their family and culture demanded?

I can't imagine a more miserable way to spend the first two years of early adulthood - walking door to door, trying to convince strangers to adopt new beliefs. It's taken me more than ten years to feel comfortable talking to strangers, period, and I still hate the idea of confronting someone's belief system.

Maybe I was projecting, but I felt like I was offering them welcome respite from their task. Support for this theory: as they left, one asked me, "So you're open on Fridays and Saturdays too, huh?"

Have a feeling I'll be seeing a lot of them.

Snarky Much?

Apparantly, there is a strange unspoken (well, until recently) belief that if you're an octagenarian, you must be a half-senile senior lacking bladder control.

While I'm offended at the assumption that women should all want to be married (regardless of their appearance), I think I am even more offended on behalf of senior citizens.

100 Things To Do Before I Die

1. See muskoxen in the wild.
2. Have grandchildren.
3. Hike to the floor of the Grand Canyon.
4. Get a PhD.
5. Teach, preferably college.
6. See my friend Lori get married.
7. Mentor someone.
8. Volunteer for the League of Women Voters.
9. Give something back to the town I grew up in.
10. Write a novel.
11. Bake kransekake for my daughter's wedding.
12. Travel to the Middle East.
13. Have a housewife-themed tea party.
14. Buy a house with my husband.
15. Meet my friend Kristina, who I've been writing to since I was 16 but have never met.
16. Be cured of vulvodynia.
17. Become proficient in a foreign language, preferably French.
18. Travel to Norway and France.
19. Learn more about program evaluation and use it, possibly as a consultant.
20. Write Sally's biography.
21. Plant a hydrangea bush in my back yard.
22. Decide whether I want to be cremated or buried, and where.
23. Own a cat named Fibonacci.
24. Learn to meditate.
25. Find my friend Robin.
26. Be part of a women's activist group.
27. Finish knitting a baby afghan.
28. Travel with my mom and sister.
29. Do one MS walk and one Alzheimer's walk.
30. Go to Glacier National Park.
31. Learn to have genuine conversations with my parents.
32. Spend a week doing nothing but reading.
33. Go back to the Guest House Cottages.
34. Learn to play a little something on the guitar (aside from the first bars of Louie Louie).
35. Find Chad Henry and say hi.
36. Get to work on time for 5 consecutive days.
37. See a new museum established in Issaquah.
38. Spend summer solstice in Alaska.
39. Go to a nude beach.
40. Read all the books on my "to read" list.
41. Work on programs at a job instead of administration.
42. Be able to donate a large chunk of money to one of my favorite causes.
43. Plant a lovely English-cottage garden.
44. Find out from my Dad whether or not my grandfather was depressed, and how it impacted his childhood.
45. Find out more from my mother about the sister I had who died before I was born.
46. See kittens being born.
47. Celebrate a golden wedding anniversary.
48. Take a watercolor class.
49. Complete Andrew Weils 8 Weeks To Optimum Health program.
50. Take a road trip in the VW bus.
51. Solve a history mystery.
52. Meet distant relatives.
53. See the house my father grew up in.
54. Find camp records on my great uncle Leon.
55. Read all Ed Abbey books.
56. Visit J's roots in San Diego.
57. Do something to commemorate my grandmother's life.
58. Go to a karaoke bar and sing.
59. See the museums in New York.
60. Read the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy.
61. Found a non-profit organization.
62. Serve on the board of a non-profit organization.
63. Take a road trip, just Sherman and me.
...to be continued