It's a very simple recipe. Combine:
1 hotel room in a grand, atmospheric hotel,
1 TV with cable
1 jacuzzi
1 hot lava massage
3 fancy meals
1 accommodating shuttle driver
1 deserted, charming town at the end of the world
2 beaches
1 "Seal hike" through the woods for an hour to a clearing from which you could see actual seals lazing around like paunchy middle-aged men on the rocks, plus an hour trek back
2 fireplaces
1 chess game
1 sex partner
0 family members
and
1 bottle of Klonopin.
Let sit, and serve.
This was all as necessary and as it was restorative, since I hadn't been feeling like myself since that small but vital part of my brain broke on Election Night. The new apple of my eye, Dr. Russian, first prescribed me a medicine that, in the long run, will have me running marathons and presidential campaigns simultaneously, but in the short run left me under house arrest. Like Madoff! Perhaps the nausea and constant panic I was experiencing were actually *his* and he spent some of his $50 billion transferring them to me. Since he doesn't know me personally, I can only imagine he chose me because he figured the Jews hadn't yet suffered enough.
Regardless, after one really bad day where I made it into work only to collapse and have to be taken home in a cab by coworkers, Dr. Russian, with an acknowledgment that I "seem to be very sensitive to medication," cut my dosage and later prescribed an ameliorative second pill to be taken with the first. Glory of glories, hosannah, praise the flying spaghetti monster -- I felt new again. And by "new," I only mean "normal." Well enough to enjoy the misty, desolate splendors of off-season Long Island, well enough to go to bed later than 9:00, and well enough to be back at work today.
Yeehaw! Now onto New Years, and the new year, in which hopefully I will again and consistently be the master of my own brain.
Sophie Turner Is Your New Tomb Raider
4 hours ago
Posts
9 comments:
Funny that you labeled this entry with my name, yet the entry never mentioned me . . . directly.
yes, that is funny. i suppose it was an effort to protect your privacy -- or to allow imaginative types to suppose that my one sex partner was clive owen.
i am so happy to hear the desolate coast was restful and lovely and just the right jew christmas for you and mr. ben. love you much, darling. let's talk again (and perhaps less despairingly) soon. happy new year!
oops! that was from stef!
I'd favor Mr. Ben to Clive Owen any day
where did you stay??
ester...it inspires me that as i have started and stopped blog after blog, you've been posting for nine-ish(?) years. now that i have started a fledgling permanent web home, i hope to be just as consistent as reliable ol' ester!
stefanie, i am all for more talking -- even despairing with you is fun.
i'm sure mr. ben appreciates that, yanni. :)
we were at Montauk Manor, a grand and slightly dilapidated Tudor place near the train station. do you know the area, annie?
little eva, you are toying with me. yet again i will fall in love with your new blog and yet again you will abandon it. but i am glad to be a pillar of stability during these turbulent times.
nuh-uh! This time it's for keeps!
Post a Comment