It's a great read, really. More people would say so if they took the time to read it.

It’s a great read, really. More people would say so if they took the time to read it. Hey, it even won a literary award!

I really thought my memoir-writing days were over. Heck fire. Enough happened to me to fill a whole book. And it was l…o…n…g. But it ended so well. I didn’t die peacefully or anything like that. But I’m living with the perfect man for me in the perfect home for me. I feel way more found than lost. I’d say that was a good ending. Sure, I still have the crazy-pants health issues I had before:

*dizziness (but only when I’m awake)

*migraines (but only when I’m stressed, tired, overwhelmed by too much hoopla around me, or the weather changes)

*fatigue (but only when I’m tired)

*easily overwhelmed by sound, motion, light, other people’s emotions and any other possible sensory stimulation (but only when I’m around other people or alone)

*irritable bowel syndrome (butt only when my bowels are provoked)

I can happily say that these symptoms are not as severe as they used to be and, when they occur, don’t bother me for as long as they used to. My life is so much more serene and I’m surrounded by people who accept and love me. I’m no longer trying to be someone I’m not, which is good, because it takes a village idiot worth of energy just being who I am from day to day. Who ever that is.

Hey Lady, let's go over there! I think there must be something fun, fun, fun, to do over there. Then you can take me back to my special place. Okay? So let's go, go, go!

Hey Lady, let’s go, go, go over there!!! It looks like fun, fun, fun!!!. Then you can take me back to my special place. Okay? So let’s go, go, go!!! Now, now, now!!!

So, I figured that my life would be pretty boring from here on out. You know, nothing to write home about, or write a blog about, or write a book about. But, that’s not the way my life works. I should have known better. My life story just wants to keep going for your–not necessarily my–entertainment pleasure. And it doesn’t want to be a schmaltzy romance. Although…I could write some hotsy-totsy love scenes.

Just pretend George is Philip and this brunette is me. Yes. We love nature.

Just pretend George is Phil and this brunette is me. Yes. We love nature.

No. I’d categorize my continuing story as more of a “medical farcical mystery.” Is that a genre? If not, it should be one. So, over the next year, you are coming with me on my medical farcical mystery tour. Eventually, just like my memoir, these posts will magically congeal into a book. That means you’re getting in on the ground floor. Congratulations! But I won’t tell you everything here. I have to leave some surprises for the book. I’m blonde; I’m definitely dizzy, but I’m not dumb.

No, dear. It's not the hair or body or even the flawless features that got me where I am. It's the glasses. They make you smarter. It's like magic.

No, dear. It’s not the golden hair or the wowza body or even the flawless features that got me where I am. It’s the birth-control glasses. They make you smarter. It’s like magic.

What about my other book–the novel that’s already 86,000+ words long and not finished yet? Oh, I’m still working on that. I finish what I start, People. So, stay tuned for the next installment when I reveal the answer to the question:

Whatever has happened to our favorite dizzy blonde heroine now?

Don't fret, Bert. I'm sure she won't make us wait too long for the answer. She's not a cruel woman.

Don’t fret, Bert. I’m sure she won’t make us wait too long for the answer. She’s not a cruel woman.