Truly. Deeply. Madly

* It was something of a disconcerting experience to read a book set in the area where I grew up. Just like seeing that dreadful car/ghost movie they shot in the Tucson valley, and identifying the various roads the editors spliced together in order to make it fit. The Tombstone I know is worlds away from the one described in the book, and although I know logically that in the late 1800's, the silver hadn't run out, so there actually WAS money there, and it actually WAS considered a large city -- larger than Tucson, which owed its origin to a Spanish Mission, and its railroad pinning down the bottom end of the Oregon Trail, rather than mineral wealth, -- it's still disconcerting to read about opera houses and theatre engagements in what my brain keeps illustrating as a mostly-forgotten all-but-ghost town, where the only industry or wealth comes from reenactments and tours for the tourists.

* That said, I really enjoyed this book. Really enjoyed it a lot. Growing up in the Tucson valley, as I did, I'd grown a leather ear toward the endlessly-repeated story of the shootout at the O.K. Corrall, so it was a bit frustrating hearing the names of people whom I knew had been involved, but whose allegiances in the fight I couldn't recall, specifically. It might have deepened my enjoyment of this story, like a hint of salt in a sweet coffee, but not having a basis of comparison, I can't say for certain. I definitely felt that the author had a solid handle on the people she was illustrating, and whatever history or hollywood might think of them, she made them fit beautifully into the weft of the tale she meant to tell with them.

* It was pure vanity that made me self-identify with Kate Holiday. I'm a big enough cat to admit that. And likely pure fancy that made me imagine Doc's lines in Dominus' voice. Or perhaps it was that they seemed so devotedly in love, and indulgent of each other's weaknesses, while shoring up whatever actual vulnerabilities they could reach that made me think that doomed relationship smacked of my own. Only, of course, Dominus is not dying of consumption, thanks everso and knock wood.

* The finish of the book does not demand a sequel, but there's enough room left for one that I shouldn't be surprised to see Milicent Benjamin and Jesse Fox appear to drive along another book. I'd be surprised to see it set in Tombstone though, since I feel the author made a considerable effort to foreshadow the history everyone knows, while steering clear of the common story. Setting a follow up there without banging on about the O.K. and its casualties would be really difficult, I think, and to tell the truth, there's not a lot more that went on there, aside from Wyatt Earp taking over the town.

* The red herring was nicely dealt in this story. Very smooth, and very well hidden in plain sight until the hand was called. And the scene with the Poker game in the Oriental Hotel was pure brilliance. It had me laughing aloud, which was inconvenient, since I was on the treadmill, and working out at the time, and didn't have all that much breath to spare for it.

* I liked the book. It won't change anybody's world, but it's a good read, and I can think of half a dozen people I might gift it to by way of a Brighid present. So take that for what you consider it worth, I suppose.

<td bgcolor="#CEB28B" align="center">Finished</td> <td bgcolor="#CEB28B" align="center">Book Title</td> <td bgcolor="#CEB28B" align="center">Author</td> <td bgcolor="#CEB28B" align="center">Genre</td> <td bgcolor="#CEB28B" align="center">Pages</td> </tr>

Dec 30	Butcher Bird	Richard Kadrey	Urban Fantasy	257
Jan 09	Territory	Emma Bull	Historical Fantasy	Audio

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I don't think my MD likes me very much.

Especially tonight.

Long story. I sum up. I tend to forget to refill my scrips. This is generally because I very much Do Not Want to be on drugs of any kind, and so there's a not-so-suppressed twitch in my brain that says not to worry about it when the scrip starts running low. I'm the kind of person who never takes all her pain pills or antibiotics, because I'd rather be a little off, and let my body take up the slack, than to be dependent on a chemical, and by extension, the person who can provide it. And can also deny access to it at his whim. Why yes, yes I DID grow up with drug addicts. Is it obvious?

Thing is, I've also been recovering from a breakdown for the last two years. And with a lifetime of PTSD, and pretty near constant depression from the time I was ten, that means ... you guessed it, pharmaceudical coping assistance. I may not be poetry and Prozac, but I'm lyrics and Lexapro, anyhow. And, since I only get three months at a time on a refill, that's meant to insure that I'll go back to the MD, and get reevaluated at least a few times a year.

I don't, of course. The MD doesn't much care for me, so he doesn't make a fuss about it, just has a nurse refill the scrips when I phone the office, and unless I injure myself, that's pretty much that. (I can't entirely say WHY he doesn't like me, but the vibe is there, clear, and unmistakable. He'd no more see me oftener, than I'd like to go. Maybe he thinks I'm uppity. Can't say for sure, I just know when I'm not wanted somewhere... even if I don't always concede to it.)

So my point... I don't actually have a point, do much as a rambling destination, but we'll continue thence all the same. I ran out of happy pills the other night, and phoned in my scrips. I've learned that the side effects of going without are highly unpleasant -- disorienting bouts of vertigo, strange, electric-like washes of skin sensation, headache, and blood sugars doing barrel rolls at random intervals -- so I try not to go longer than one night without. Trouble was, only one of those scrips had refills left. The other, the pharmacy would call in to the physician's office (said the automated system,) and get authorization within 24 hours. Ohhh kay. Copable. I left it two nights, and went to pick them up tonight... only to find that the doctor's office had not called the pharmacy back yet, so the scrip couldn't be authorized. Dammit.

I called the doctor's answering service, mentioned the problem, and that I was NOT at home, but would be there in ten minutes, and went home.
To find the doctor's highly annoyed voice on my ansaphone, dammit.
I called the number he'd used, and got a very annoyed woman answering. I asked for him, she said to hold on, and then proceeded to bitch him out for my having called, because 'I have to have a life, you know!' before handing the phone over to him. What a line to walk in on, eh? I did my best to explain the situation quickly, but I was a bit flustered by being caught in the aggro, and I wasn't entirely concise. So he snapped at me about needing to plan these things better, demanded the pharmacy number -- which I had to send Dominus downstairs to get. Another delay, -- after which he said he'd call it in.

Now I can put up with him treating me like I'm a hypochondriac, and I can put up with him acting put out when I ask specific questions about alternate treatment options and techniques, and I can even put up with his occasional condescendence toward health practices which I know damned well work better than his bloody pill regimen, but I'm not sure I can deal with being caught in the crossfire of his marital dramae!

Geez, but it'd be nice to have a doctor who I at least felt respected me... Maybe if I learn Chinese, and make a trip down to the City a few times a year, I'd have better luck. Dr. Chernly, back in Arlington was a bloody wonder, whom I sorely miss, and by far the best treatment for sinus infection I've ever had in my life was the medicine I bought from the Chinese apothecary in Victoria Marketplace last year, when we were in New Zealand. I'm still hoarding the last packets, in hope of getting more from somewhere. I'm going to take it with me to Boston in a couple of weeks, and wave it around the Chinatown out there, just to see if anyone can resupply me in time for this year's cold and flu season.

Bah. My head's all swimmy, and I'm all annoyed now.
I guess I should take my amytriptalene and shut up.

Oh... wait. The positive note.
I worked on The Mark of Cain painting today, and it's coming along swimmingly. I did have to leave the house though, once I'd worked the background to the level I wanted it -- I was in danger of 'rushing the Misket', out of sheer impatience. But I stayed strong, and left it alone to dry properly, so I'll be able to take my rubber and peel the mask away without ripping paper to shreds, and setting myself back a week in the process.

I think that's why I don't paint all that much anymore though; it involves LOTS of waiting around for things to dry before you can move on, and so that means I can't just sit down to it and stay AT it, I'm always doing the painting-and. Like today; painting and audiobook and crochet while the coats dried. Or painting and sewing. Or painting and cleaning. I almost never do painting and writing for some reason though. Dunno why, but there you have it. Perhaps I'll see if I can, without my brain leaking out my ears one of these days.