Well, the plane ticket’s bought, my dear friend Deb* is waiting to offer me the crash space, the car will be shipped–no, dear readers, I may have made some very VERY stupid mistakes recently, but trying to drive back across Texas on my own in this state is an idiocy too far even for me–and I should be back in Raleigh by the end of the week. (Couldn’t do the tourism thing. I am not feeling much enjoyment of anything at this point. Better to fly out later and visit Carlota for a few weeks sometime when I can actually enjoy shit.) This ill-considered jaunt cost me most of my book advance, but hey, there’s no point to money if you don’t spend it.

Besides, it was a journey of self-discovery. Like a vision quest, only…y’know…dreadful. Well, some vision quests are probably dreadful, too.

Possibly I should have bought the stuffed jackalope back in Las Cruces….

I’m waiting on a call back from the doctor, to arrange an appointment and to see if I can get some kind of stop-gap meds to get me through the next week. People keep telling me that it’s okay to go on drugs, it’s not a failure, and I feel obligated at this point to say that gang, you are preachin’ to the choir. I am all ABOUT drugs. Bring on the seratonin and the MAO inhibitors! Bring on the polysyllabic names! I feel no shame, no guilt, no moral qualms on that front. If the devil himself reached a hand down into the hole, I’d grab for it–psychopharmacology is a much lesser evil.

Better living through chemistry, sez I.

*Everybody tell Deb how awesome she is. Also, she’s Sabrina Jeffries, famous romance author, in her spare time, which is another kind of awesome.

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