How to Spot a Psychopath

I just found out my friend Pam is very likely a psychopath. What a total shocker. You’d think I would have recognized this sooner, wouldn’t you? We’ve been friends since high school for God’s sake. I played softball with her all through my 20s. We were in each other’s weddings and today she’s still one of my best friends. So why didn’t I notice something was amiss?

And she looks so normal...

And she looks so normal…

I’m also a bit surprised Pam’s psychosis slipped by me because in college I minored in Abnormal Psychology. I know it’s been 40 years, but still…I’m sorta drawn to the crazy. Excuse me; I believe the politically correct term is unstable. My bad.

You may be wondering how I discovered this personality disorder in my good friend. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying she maimed anyone and subsequently displayed no outward signs of telltale guilt because of a lack of empathy or ability to relate to others. Continue reading

Owning a Busy Brain

I’m a multitasker. My brain is always one step ahead of the rest of me and it’s tough playing catch up. You see, I find it difficult to do only one thing at a time. The real problem is that there’s only 24 hours in a day. Even though I only sleep for 5-6 of them, I continually discover there’s just not enough time to do what I need to do. Or more importantly, want to do.


For instance, while I’m writing this, I’m propped up in bed, intermittently checking my emails, watching the 11:00 news and alternately petting my cat Oliver, who’s asleep on the night stand and then my dog Skip, who’s glued to my side. I’d pet my dog Callie too but she’s at the foot of the bed and I don’t want to reach down that far. Hey, I’m human. I can only do so much.

what do you want from me

Sometimes I wish I could quiet my brain. I tried meditation but there’s an art to that, don’t you think? Being able to focus on, well…nothing, is hard. It takes discipline and lots of practice. At least that’s what I hear. Anyway, who has the time? Besides, when I’ve tried meditating, it gives my mind free reign to go wild. And let me tell ya it takes full advantage.

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Listening to my Innards


Do you believe in premonitions? I suppose some would call it intuition, instinct, or maybe simply a feeling. Whatever, I find it fascinating, mostly because it happens to me a lot. Sometimes I’ve ignored the message and it causes me grief of some sort, as if to say, I told you so! Why didn’t you listen?

So now that I’m older and dare I say wiser, I’m finally good at listening to my innards, so to speak. How about you?


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Who You Callin’ Irritable?

Hold on a second while I scream at a fly dive-bombing me in my bedroom.

If you don’t get out of here this second and leave me alone, I’m gonna send you sailing into that wall and I’m afraid you won’t be getting back up!fly2

Okay, I’m back. Forgive me for that little tirade, will you? It’s not like me to want to hurt anything, even a fly. It’s just doing what flies do — being annoying. They can’t seem to help it. But did that stop me from screaming at it? Obviously not. And I’ll tell you why.

A couple weeks ago I posted, Help, I’m Crumbling, about my achy breaky back. The MRI disclosed a herniated disc and 2 collapsing vertebrae. As an added bonus, I’m now blessed with sciatica and a dollop of arthritis in my spine. In other words, I’m a mess. So the next step is an epidural injection of cortisone.

Great, let’s do it. I’m ready!back pain

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My Groovy Guy, Dash

Last week you met Dash, the feral-turned-domestic-cat I adopted when his allergic guardians had to give him up because he wanted to come inside. Dash

But it wasn’t an easy decision for me. Yes, he’s very sweet and about as laid back as a 1970’s hippy, just high on life — a groovy guy filled with peace and love. So no, it wasn’t Dash that made my decision difficult. It was Taffy.

Taffy with paws to mouth

Really? It was me?

As you know, Taffy is my 10 pound Papillon mix. She’s the tiniest of my pets, yet I believe the one most feared — including and especially by Dash. Turns out he’s a big wuss. The first 2 weeks after I brought him home, I told him often: I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep you if you keep letting Taffy scare the bejeebers out of you. But I don’t think he believed me. Continue reading