I've lost my inner bitch

It's official. Thanks to Prozac, my alter-ego, my inner bitch has departed. I think she left slowly, not quite sure when she was gone for good, but I do know now she's gone completely. I never thought I could say that about myself, but I fear I've turned into a big wimpy, gushing pushover.

My kids now know she's gone. My husband knows she's gone. My co-workers know she's gone. And even my dogs know she's gone. It's really nice living in la-la-land, but I no longer have the edge over everyone. I used to have coworkers who were fearful of asking me to do yet another task with my already overbooked schedule. Now they hand it to me and I just say, "Yeah, what the hell... I'll just take it home and do it over the weekend." My kids ask to do something, and if I say no the first time, they know they just have to do one little "...pleeeeeaaaasssseeee..." and I'll say, "Oh, just go ahead."

The worst part is my husband knows she's gone. I used to bitch about him leaving his shoes in the dining room, or his underwear in the middle of the bathroom floor. Now I just pick it up myself. It's easier.

Maybe I've just learned that all the bitching really got me nowhere, maybe I just got too old and too tired of doing it, or maybe it's all drug-induced. Surprisingly, I really don't care what the reason is.