Damn . . . well just DAMN!

Life is a double edged sword. I have come to that unequivocal conclusion. There are no exceptions, period. All of life is give and take, get and give, good and bad, dark and light. All good results come with unwelcome conclusions. In theory the good outweighs the bad, though I sometimes think good gets extra points just on account. Then there's also that mischievous brain function that makes it so much easier for the body to remember good and forget bad. Bet you remember more about your last orgasm than you do your last bout of indigestion? The body is programmed to remember and want the good stuff over and over again, and jettison the bad body memories in pursuit of even more good stuff. The deck is stacked.

So here I am. A 44 year old woman trying to read labels in grocery stores who is at that age where she is not only extremely near sighted, but also now far sighted. In short, there is no acceptable workable distance at which I can hold a label with teeny tiny itsy bitsy print and actually be able to read it. I take my reading glasses to the store now, and sometimes even that isn't enough. Anyway, having to read labels is a pain in the ass, and by most accounts bad. Still it's an eye opener when you read label after label and realize you do not recognize two thirds of the things in most canned, frozen, boxed and jarred foods. The more I read labels, the more articles I read, the more amazed I am by what we put in our bodies daily. I think that's both a good thing and a bad thing. I know it frightens me.

Reading labels is one of those distance creating exercises. Having read Gods knows how many labels in the last several weeks, I now look at the food in the grocery store from a whole different place. There is me, over here standing in a vacuum with the wind whistling through my ears, trying to eat a gluten free diet and not bore myself to tears, and over there is this whole ugly, messy, dark, frightening building full of chemical preservatives, flavor enhancers, anti-caking agents, soy additives and gluten thickeners. I'm afraid of food. This is a new experience for me. I've taken to shopping around the outside of the aisles these days in the dairy and meat and veggie places. I make an occasional forage into the aisles for rice noodles and club soda, but mostly I'm buying whole foods and making from that what I need. I spent an hour last weekend cooking up a batch of salsa. It's not bad and I know exactly what's in it, plus or minus the bug spray they used on the tomatoes. So I can spend five minutes reading labels on jarred salsa trying to pick the one that I hope truly has no gluten in it, or I can spend an hour making my own salsa from whole foods and know it's gluten free. Spend five minutes reading and then toss a jar in the cart - good. Spend one hour mixing raw ingredients and cooking - bad. Or is it the other way around?

I'm amazed now at all the people who unconsciously shuffle their way through the aisles tossing things into their cart. Had you told me I was one of them three months ago I would have denied it. I learned to shop cheap several years ago when my gross personal profit went down drastically. I never much changed my habits after that no matter how much was in my bank account. I thought I was a good, aware conscious shopper. But in truth I had no idea what I'd been putting in my cart and my body. I'm by no means standing up on a soapbox here and screaming "ORGANIC OR DIE". I don't care much for people like that. They're the ones that keep insisting I should eat Carob instead of chocolate . . . Pffthhhhhhh . . . But the sheer weight of chemicals and preservatives I've consumed in my life now saddens and scares me. The thought of driving by a McDonald's makes me want to hurl. I don't want to risk breathing in the putrid air of frying chemicals ever again. Yeah, I know they sell nice salads that are probably safe, but being that close to the chemical vats would make me puke, I just know it. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a precipice watching train after train hurtle towards each other from opposite sides of the same track. And down there in the valley people are quietly saying in between crashes "I don't understand why these trains keep running into each other." There is an almost horrified resigned acceptance about it. This is the way it works after all. Corporations make convenient products for you, sparing you hours in the kitchen, and in return you pay them vast sums of money. You don't ask and they don't spill the details about that trade you've just signed off on. Good and bad. But again, which is which.

But that's not even the worst of it. No, not even. I feel wonderful these days. I'm told it will take six months to a year for all the side effects to work their way out of my body and for me to feel normal. I don't know what normal will feel like having never been normal, but it should be interesting. I no longer get bouts of extreme exhaustion. The other bodily effects have diminished. I'm more alert and have a better memory that I have had in quite some time. The huge vicious mood swings are gone. It's been such a relief. It's all good. Right?

I've been menopausal for about a year and a half. I've been told repeatedly by other women and doctors that my sex drive will diminish or disappear all together with menopause and it may or may not come back. That was the one cheery bit of news to come out of the whole surprise menopausal revelation. That was supposed to be a good thing. When you're a single woman, living on a mountain, surrounded by some of the scariest single men on earth, being horny is an exercise in terror and frustration. But it turns out menopause had the exact opposite effect on me it was supposed to have. Instead of my desire for hot sweaty dirty sex diminishing, it increased. Noticeably increased. When a 300 pound man with a gray beard down to his crotch in overalls with a stud in his ear starts to look good, well, Huston, we've got a BIG problem. Still I retained some hoped that as time when on I'd get some little relief from the ramped up sex drive. Sure enough, slowly last year, as I began to feel worse and worse the sex drive pretty much disappeared. I was thrilled. I had no idea at that point about the gluten intolerance. I just thought "Score, finally menopause is coming through for me with something I can use!"

Yeah . . . you can probably figure out the rest. DAMN! So, I feel better, healthier, stronger than I have in a long time, and now I'd willingly jump the bone of any man who can get it up and keep it there for more than 60 seconds. Yes, I cry myself to sleep most nights. The cord on my favorite vibration is starting to go too. It's just not fair! Why the hell can't I just be normal? Why can't I have a normal menopause where I spit on strange men and turn all my vibrators into foot massagers? My whole life seems so far to be an experience in being different. I used to think that was a good thing. I used to be proud of that. Now it's turned on me so abruptly and cruelly that I'd kill for the opportunity to unzip the pants of Jethro's second cousin's uncle. I feel so good I think I'm going to go cry now.