Shadow is settling in. Actually, "the kitten" is settling in; that's what we mostly call him. Par for the course; both of my children were "the baby" for months, even though they had official names when they left the hospital.

He spent his first five days closed into the kitchen and sitting room. Now those are the only rooms he acknowledges. The doors are wide open, but as far as he's concerned, one window, one chair, two packing boxes, and the catbox are all he needs. Sometimes I carry him off into the bedroom for cuddles. He likes the cuddles, but dives under the dresser when he's free to move. He never comes to any of the bedrooms or living rooms under his own power.

He doesn't hiss any more. He meows for attention. He's finally gotten to the point where he walks up to the chair, meows for attention, and hops into my lap. He spends most of most evenings sitting in my lap and purring and squirming. He's not much for play; mostly he wants affection, which he's getting lots of.

I like having a pet.

Even in the blissful Bay Area, there are migraines. Two to three a week. I'm several thousand miles from my neurologist, so I need to find a new neurologist. I picked one from the managed care company's list. Today was my second visit.

Migraines. Killer migraines. Frequent killer migraines. I mention that I had a migraine that morning. "Funny, you don't look like you have a migraine. I can usually tell." No, that's because the medication worked. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here. His solution? I take too many antidepressants. (I'm on a combination therapy because single medications all failed.) He especially doesn't like Celexa, the AD I'm taking. He reads me a list of its side effects from the PDR. None of which, as I point out to him, include migraines. He's noticed that people with migraines are often angry people, and depressed people are often angry people, and have I ever done therapy?

Why, yes, I reply, I have done therapy until it's coming out my nose. Ah, but it wasn't with the right therapists. And have I considered electroconvulsive therapy? It isn't really as bad for you as the rumors have it, and there aren't serious long-term memory effects. No, I say, memory loss is kind of a career problem for a writer.

So the asshole, in short, isn't going to talk about the migraines, he wants to talk about my depression treatment, and second-guess that. He wants to find a new psychiatrist for me, but all the psychiatrists he knows are either dead or retired. Sometimes both! We share a chuckle. He will continue to try to find a psychiatrist he can recommend. One with -- and this is a direct quote "gray hair".

I will go find a new neurologist. And a psychiatrist. And hopefully the neurologist will be interested in treating my migraines, and the psychiatrist in treating the depression. Wouldn't that be nice?

I have some elegant shantung mules. In red. They are fabulous.


I am wearing my dark royal blue '50s-style shirtwaist with the ankle-length wide skirt. You can't wear black with royal (almost navy) blue. All my shoes are black. Except the elegant shantung mules.

So, of course, I wore the elegant shantung mules. Forgetting that I work for a Very Big Company. Which is so big that it doesn't have an office, it has a campus. And I had an appointment somewhere on the campus, somewhere I hadn't yet dropped breadcrumbs to.

So I walked all over the campus, searching for a building. In vain. Because the building isn't actually on the campus, it's down the street. But I walked and walked in unhappy ignorance. I think I walked past the Lost Ark. It couldn't have been more lost than I was. Maybe I bumped into an honest man. Whatever. I walked over a bump in the sidewalk, fell, and twisted my ankle. In the elegant shantung mules.

Another fashion victim.

You know, you just can't make up stuff like this:

" In www.SuperShagLand.com, a parody of Nintendo's hit Super Mario Brothers, an intrepid man or woman chases the boy or girl of their dreams, gaining points for each condom they gather and losing points for drinking alcohol or bumping into monks, nuns or dogs. "

I would think it'd be okay if you bumped into a monk or nun, as long as you were wearing a condom, but what do I know of these things?