The morning of the day before Bouchercon. The old me would be in full on freak mode, afraid of forgetting something, packing and re-packing as I go over lists again and again with pathetic redundancy.
This morning finds me rather relaxed and bemused. Two cats in heat perpetuating dueling butt songs kept me up. To counter-act this, I've partaken in a rare cup of coffee that I took with my B-complex. May I recommend that others do not follow suit. I have a lovely deep red, burning niacin flush that makes me look as if I've stuck my face on a skillet. I've also had to remove three layers of garish nail polish I applied under a sleeping pill stupor that really brought out the stupid in me.
After a year of chaos, this harvest time event really is a chance for me to see people I adore and to tell them as much. Going on the heels of a day of idiocy just seems right.
So, if you see me, say hi. I'll be the confused one with the long burgandy hair and the soon to wear off (I hope!) inner and outer glow courtesy of B to the max.