Great expectations

Greetings from Plagueville. I finished my antibiotics Sunday night, but those six Japanese men living in my chest and humming in dissonant harmony apparently have settled in for the long haul. I went back to my doctor today, who heard them and laughed, which made me laugh, which made them wheeze and hum louder.

At any rate, it was good to laugh, and it was good to see him. Like Sahara's Dr. Wolff, I am blessed with a doctor who actually cares, who actually listens, and is, by all accounts, a human being. Best of all, he lets me be a human being.

Which isn't always easy in this world. As women, we're expected to bear it all, keep a graceful attitude, and put others above ourselves at all costs. And that, my friends, isn't always a good thing. That's not to add an air of doom and gloom to the blog, but rather to simply say that all of us can think, say, and feel things that aren't perfect.

Unless you're wearing another person's shoes, you can't begin to know what's driving his or her moods and outbursts. Think of the sunniest woman you know. Odds are, even she cracks sometimes. And if she's you, climb down off the silly pedestal. Let yourself eat too much chocolate cake. Say what you mean. Forgive yourself.

You're only human.