Dot emailed me a few weeks ago, full of compliments for my writing. This seems to be the season for old friends, something that is both reassuring & disturbing. I never know who's about to show up around the corner, and while this is a good thing, it also means that I get to feel guilty about not calling/seeing dozens of people instead of a handful.

Anyway, she just wrote me again, wondering if something was wrong. So did Scherezade, my postcard goddess in the Netherlands. Well, yeah. Something's wrong. But it's nothing that's going to go away if I don't write, so I might as well get down to it.

Like I said earlier, my meds are shifting in their efficacy and I'm left in the unsavoury position of juggling panic & anxiety again. I think I need to exercise, meditate & seek counselling - you know, the things I was supposed to do before I decided that all my problems could be solved with drugs? Them.

The Boy & I have been fighting again, the kind of fighting you can only do with someone who knows you really well. The arguments aren't stormy, but they stretch over hours and colour the day black. I've been experiencing some pretty wicked short-term memory problems, which is making our Thanksgiving weekend an absolute scheduling nightmare as I can't remember what I've agreed to do from one moment to the next. And the Boy, for all of his wonderful qualities, isn't exactly King Memory himself; that used to be my job. It's...not pleasant to be like this.

When did losing my mind become a common place thing? At what point did I become capable of discussing it with such dispassionate scrutiny? And is that a good thing?

Anyway, Dot, I'll call you later. For now, this is my postcard, to you and to all. Still here in this head, and I'm glad you're not. Well, I'm glad that you all visit, but I'm glad you don't live here like I do.

Post script:

My do-nothing Saturday has been quite lovely, despite the gloom above. The Boy & I drove to KOS for breakfast, then I went to Poison Ivy to touch up my brown roots and he took off to meet Exodus. I spent about an hour & a half being pampered by an amusing ex-pat Cape Bretoner, then I wandered College Street, looking for books and a suitable housewarming gift. Tonight we formally welcome Q back to the city, and appropriate offerings must be tendered. More on this later.