April 17th, 2004

wombat

Just one of those days

Work today was ungodly slow, not helped by the Lisinopril making me sleepy or by brooding over the changes in my ex-wife. I suppose I shouldn't really care, but it was very evident Thursday night that while the meat is still walking around and making mouth noises, the woman I loved, married, and raised two children with is dead.

I understand that psychiatric drugs change peoples' personalities - that's what they do, after all - but the changes wrought by combining those antidepressants with booze and other recreational chemicals has destroyed the woman I knew. A friend of mine advises me not to beat myself up over it. You can't change an addict, he says, and since part of being an addict is refusing to admit there's a problem, I have to agree with him. There's really nothing I could have done. There sure as hell isn't anything I can do now.

On a happier subject, the Twins beat the Royals tonight and the Red Sox beat the Yankees behind the flutterball of Tim Wakefield. I feel about the Yankees the way most Washingtonians feel about the Dallas Cowboys - we only cheer for two teams, our Redskins and whoever plays the Cowboys. Love to see Steinbrenner's lads take a beating, all the more so when it's the Red Sox doing the thumping.
My fantasy team is doing well, even though Teixeira continues to ride the pine for the Rangers and I live in daily fear that Corey Koskie's back is going to go spung! on the new turf at the Humpdome. At least my pitching is kicking butt and staying healthy.

For those of you interested in jazz, I also put up seven more CDs on eBay.