B*tch on Wheels, Hell on (stiletto) Heels.

This post is going to be brief.  Right now, the less I communicate, the better.

The T-Tapp is working.  I believe I'm down nearly one size.  I sleep better and I have tons of energy.  In fact, the last time I had this much energy, I was 9 years old.

But it's also making my hormones straighten themselves out.  When the hormones shift, I become impossible to live with.  My neighbor ran out in front of me as I was returning home a couple of hours ago and I wanted to beat him senseless with a Le Creuset cast-iron skillet.  The lady ahead of me at the grocery store wrote a check and the machine went haywire and couldn't process it.  I nearly clubbed her with her 25-lb. bottle of kitty litter.  When my mother asked me what was wrong, my inner Linda Blair told her I just wanted everyone to get the hell out of my way and shut the hell up.  Trouble is, nobody had been talking to me in the first place.  I think they all crawled under rocks to wait it out until I return to being normal.

So, I'm going to try a few T-Tapp moves and see if they'll take the edge off.  Goodness knows that the 3(ok, 5) mini Butterfinger bars I had didn't do much good.  If mild exercise doesn't help, then I'll have to go back to garlic and a crucifix...

P.S.  It's not all bad.  I have now gone 31 days without soda.  And I didn't substitute it with Kahlua, either.