The weekend was fantastic. Salome was great. I adore Oscar Wilde. And before the show we went to the Roasted Garlic for tapas. There’s a Roasted Garlic like four minutes away from us that we’d never been to before. Neat.
And we went to the Botanical Gardens yesterday, and to the vegan Chinese restaurant for dinner (used to be called “Sam’s Gourmet,” it how has new management and is called “Little China”) after that. The Botanical Gardens were beautiful. A part of me has the urge to wax poetic here, but another part of me is too despondent to make the effort. I’m going with despondent me. Probably just as well as I have a feeling any words I try to string together right now would be clunky at best.
It was a lovely weekend and I should be refreshed and rejuvenited. But I’m not.
Instead, I’m having post-holiday blues. Doldrums or something. Or maybe it’s the meds screwing with my emotional state again. Started a new one this week: methotrexate. It has the unfortunate side effect of making me a bit nauseous. Lovely. It also has other side effects that require me to go in for blood tests every four months. And I can’t drink alcohol anymore. Not a biggie, as I don’t drink all that much now, and my doctor said I could still have a little bit as long as I didn’t tell him about it, but still annoying. Oh, and it’s a teratogenic agent, so no children for me. But, since I’m avowedly childfree anyway, that’s hardly a concern. It also, however, lists mood alterations as a possible side effect. And I’m still on the Prednisone, which isn’t doing wonderful things for my mental state either. Great.
I feel surly and depressed. And queasy. Mustn’t forget queasy.
Blah. Finished a 2000-word re-imagining of a classic Indian fairy tale. Matthew didn’t like it much. Not sure what to do with it. Probably will just throw it up on Critters and let the reviewers have at it.
No new rejections or acceptances over the weekend, although I’m expecting some to come in this month. Still jonsing for another sale. It’s like an addiction is what it is. Addictions, no matter what their shape, are uncomfortable.
I should work on a fantasy piece I made a beginning on, but I don’t feel like doing much of anything aside from feeling snappish and sorry for myself.
Grumble. Stupid brain.