black hole of slack
shameless self promotion, 206 in a series

and so we are back

Actually, we returned yesterday -- but it is only now that there's been a minute to actually post. Weird how that happens. I seem to spend more time preparing and recovering from a trip than I spend actually on the trip. Something is just wrong with that.

As much as I enjoy leaving the big city, simply because I get so tired of simply handing out money every 30 seconds for things that I've been conditioned to believe should be free, like, you know, courtesy, there's just something about NYC that is addictive. I miss it, a wee bit. And I've rediscovered how much I love Grand Central. The painted ceiling. The marble. The shops. Even the signage. Grand Central just always feels full of possibilities and of movement, but of permanence as well. I could spend a morning, I think, wandering about and watching the people and the place. Weird, I know.

It is also a huge terrorist target but I'd just as soon be killed there as anywhere else in the City, if that makes sense. Grand Central already feels like a wonderfully transitional place, as if any state is within the realm of possibility. It makes me feel hopeful, even if it could be the scene of a messy death.


A brief plug -- go see The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee. It is simply charming, in a completely unsaccharine way. I mean, any show that has a catchy little number about an erection can't take itself too seriously, you know?

Another brief plug -- I am now a local newspaper columnist. I'll write one monthly and, I hope, manage to generate at least one piece of hate mail per column. Hey, a girl's got to have goals.

And a link that proves that Tom Cruise is completely out of his fucking mind. I'd like to tell him where to stick his vitamins...


Not only would I like to tell him where to put those damn vitamins, I'd happily shove them up there, too.

PPD is awful... I know your article was there, but am so afraid of reading it and dredging up all of the sad memories of DD's first year.... I missed out on so much and wish I found those so called bad drugs sooner. :-(

Someone needs to remind the Uber-midget that he can't really say a goddamn thing about PPD since he's (a) male. (b) gayer than a bunch of well-oiled weightlifters on Fire Island, (c) not possesed of a medical degree and (d) a FUCKING SCIENTOLOGIST (which means his critical thinking facilities are, at best, equal to those of a planarium).

Then they can give him a vitamin suppository wrapped in concertina wire.

Ah, Adam. You express my righteous indignation much more, um, viscerally, than I ever could. It's the weightlifter bit that I truly love.

Lynn -- yup, PPD sucks. I think the saving grace, for me, at least, is that it gave me an amazing appreciation for relative sanity that I had never before had. I refuse to feel bad about it or about the nasty drugs. If you ever feel up to reading the piece and want to talk, let me know. It ends happily, as I'm sure your experience has as well. You can't change the past, you know?

Nope, can't change the past, but I'd rather be looking forward and feeling good about that. And thanking my lucky stars for meds then and now.

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