Unlike a quarter my husband swallowed when he was a boy, I did  not walk around for days with a plastic dish, waiting for a shiny object to fly out my ass.

I have, however, passed the Zoloft! For two months I've been happy pill free. I have two things to say about this:

1. I am, indeed, quite a bit more content. Turns out walking around like a zombie is not good for my libido, nor was it 100% necessary for my happiness. What began as a temporary crutch to get me through an excruciating television season ten years ago morphed into "This is just something my body needs."

Um, no. Drinking six diet cokes a day, straying from my spirituality, swigging coffee into 2am and not sleeping (not to mention not moving my body) is no excuse for chugging giggle pills as some sort of narcotic mood chaser.

2. My tolerance is lower than it used to be. This includes screaming children, whiny adults, pissy drivers and monster parents - you all know who you are.

The end result of going off the America's favorite addiction is going to have a few results: Either they'll find me head first in a bargain bin at The Salvation Army - quivering in a panic induced fetal postion or... I'll simply have to be more direct than I ever was before.

Wish me luck. Actually, I wish you luck. I'm back!

 More of my writing can be found daily at BabyCenter and Good Housekeeping.

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