It was only a dream...

I have a new addiction.

A while back, I was on my way home from the city, and desperately needed something to drink. Spotting a friendly, neighborhood 7-11 on the corner, I popped in for some icy-cold refreshment.

And there, in the back corner of the store, I discovered what will surely be my downfall.

The Crystal Light, sugar-free tangerine-lime slurpee.

Friends, this comes from the girl who swore off the slurpee 25 years ago. Remember back then? You generally had two flavor choices - Coke or cherry. You could buy twizzlers at the same time, use them as straws, and eat the nasty half-frozen sugary candy by-product afterward.

Then you'd fight off the sugar rush and nausea for hours.

But this...this is different.

It is sugar-free.

And it is tangerine-lime. (sounds gross on the surface, doesn't it? Don't be fooled. It's magically delicious.)

It is guilt-free dessert.

So this past Friday, on an ill-fated road-trip to Mount Prospect, I dragged poor P into every 7-11 in a three-county area to see who carries them.

Alas, we only found the cherry lime-aid flavor. Still tasty, but not nearly as yum. We'll call it the methadone variety.

To date, I have only found two locations that carry the tangerine-lime. One at Foster & Northwest Highway, and one in Elgin on Randall Road. Both are a hike from my home and office, but I wil find more, I swear.

They are out there, and they are taunting me with their freezy goodness.

And when I do find them close to home, I swear I will spend all of A's college savings on them.

Isn't that how a good addiction works?

Or might I be able to buy a slurpee machine and supplies on eBay?

If I stop showing up to work and social events, please wait a few weeks before holding an intervention. I'll just have one more, I swear.

I will do this for you.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

:)

As I've made my way through adult life, I've tried my best to become an open, honest communicator. When I was younger, I was horrible about such things. I come from a family that would rather gouge its eyes out with shrimp forks than tell someone they had hurt your feelings. I also grew up thinking that when you tell someone that you care about them (regardless of the context), the most likely outcome will be shunning and public ridicule.

A lot of that I've gotten past. I have spent years forcing myself to say those very difficult things, whether good or bad. Regardless of the cold sweat and racing heart, I do my best to get things out in the open when necessary. It may be with a hundred caveats, and painstakingly slow, but I find a way to say it.

I'll manage not to pass out when I say, "I think you're a wonderful person, and I'm glad you're in my life." I'll fight back the nausea to mention, "This situation made me uncomfortable, and I think we should work together to fix it." Dear God, but I do try.

Right now, though, I'm struggling. My feelings are hurt, and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to tell a friend how disappointed I am in his behavior. I'm afraid that either way, the friendship is permanently damaged.

The story is very long, and I won't go into all of the details. What it comes down to, though, is that he and I went through a period where things were tense. He stopped calling, and when we did manage to talk, it was around an unacknowledged elephant. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable, even though he would never talk about the situation. I brought it up, I asked the questions, and tried to find out how to fix it. Nothing worked. (If, at this point, you feel like interjecting, "Duh, he's a guy..." please don't. I expect more from this one. I also expect quite a bit from myself, and won't play innocent. I made my share of mistakes, and take responsibility for them.)

Until I started dating P. All of a sudden, it was like a switch had been thrown. I guess I was safe again, and everything was supposed to go back to the light, frolicking banter of the old days. He called, he wrote, and acted as if nothing had ever happened. The silent sigh of relief was palpable.

It feels like I'm fifteen again, and my mom is saying, "Ssshhh. It's over, and he's happy now. Don't make him talk about it, or it is just going to cause a fuss."

Yes, this is more on the melodramatic girl side than I usually blog, and I'm sorry about that. My question, though, is this:

Is the fuss worth it? *

Because I honestly don't know anymore.

*This is a rhetorical question. I am not looking for your answers, as I know you don't have enough facts to address it. I'm simply wondering out loud. Or in print. However you want to say it.

The fog was so dense that I could almost pretend it was an early spring morning. Visibility was only a few feet, and the air was completely still as I was leaving the house at 6:15 this morning. I had to be downtown for an early meeting, and the sun was still contemplating whether or not it was going to come up.

The air smelled of fall, though, and the few yellow leaves that were scattered on my driveway left no doubt that spring was quite a long way off. Suburban winter lay between us like a snarling beast, and it was intent on making the journey as difficult as possible.

I pretended anyway.

The world was quiet. The small crowd gathered on the platform at the train station was relatively subdued. Several men stood with their ties still hanging loosely around their necks, and many women crowded into the small shelters where it was warm. As the train approached, we climbed silently inside, finding corners into which we could curl up and watch the world pass.

Crossing the river was nearly surreal - plumes of white fog rose like campfire smoke toward the bridge as the sun began its subtle attempts to push the mist back from where it came. The intercom was startlingly loud as the recorded voice announced that we were now approaching the next station. People stared emptily out the windows. I wondered if this was a function of the fog, or merely the fact that this was one of the earliest trains of the day. For me, it was a combination of both, and I just couldn't seem to make the morning seem real.

When I stepped off the train and into the city, everything immediately changed. Cabs flew around corners as swarms of people moved with a determined purpose. The air was crisp and clear.

Everything was humming.

It struck me how much I love this city, and how alive it makes me feel. Every time I venture in from the suburbs, it hits me all over again. And I smile.

When the time is right, I will make the move in. Every day will begin with the motion of the city, and I will become a part of the vibrancy that is Chicago. Even with its warts, its costs, and its hectic pace, I have fallen in love with it. Who would have thought, even ten years ago, that I would come to such a place?

Not me. But then again, we're never sure where it is that our evolution will take us.

The panic in the markets is just about enough to send me over the edge.

Morgan Stanley and Goldman Sachs reported better than expected earnings, and their stock prices dropped about 30%.

Some money market funds broke the buck this week because of Lehman and AIG inestments - this isn't a first, keep in mind. It happened a few years ago, and people took it relatively in stride. This time, investors are so convinced that the world is ending that they are flying to the safety of short-term treasuries like there is no tomorrow. They are so crazy, in fact, that today a billion dollars of them traded at negative yields. Yes, people purposely lost money in T-bills. This hasn't happened since 1940. We (along with several other big houses) had to close our treasury money market fund to new purchases last night in order to protect the yield for existing holders.

Imagine the fury.

The rollercoaster of the major markets is enough to make you throw up, even intra-day (150 points up, 150 points down, 410 points up. Pass the pepto, please).

My clients are calling in tears, and all I want to do is politely tell them that it's that kind of panic that has made this mess into a catastrophe.

Here's the thing. If the market goes down, keeps going down, and never recovers?

Yeah, you're not going to give two shits about your investment portfolio. You won't have a job, a home, an economy, or a government. And if you think that's going to happen, then you really shouldn't be investing at all, anyway.

Panic breeds failure. The media, the bears, and the fear-mongers have dug us a hole so deep that getting out is getting harder and harder every day.

Please just stop. Let logic prevail again. We'll get through this, and everything is going to be okay again. I promise. Stop making this so much worse than it really has to be.

Please?

You're killing me.

This is absurdly funny.

This is enough to make me swear off any more political discussions until mid-November. Don't even try - I won't be sucked in.

This gives me nightmares.

This is still my favorite blog entry ever. If you can even call it just a blog.

If I ever recreate my blogging style, it's going to look something like this.

Life is too short. Eat more cookies.