Just to clarify: It's not the flying I'm scared of. Commercial flying is an intensely unpleasant experience because the airlines and TSA make it so, but I don't find it scary. It's the idea of being away from New Orleans in a place where I can't hop in my car and drive back in a couple of hours. It's the memories of the big electronic signs on the I-10 that read NEW ORLEANS: CITY CLOSED. It's the fact that outside the city limits, the true heart of darkness begins.

So I had to stop taking the Vilify Abilify because it was screwing with my ability to read, or, more specifically, with my concentration on and enjoyment of reading. It would take me half an hour to get past the front page of the newspaper. I was skipping around between books, reading three or four at once, which I almost never do and don't like. I've been worried about this apparently atypical side effect since I first noticed it on June 25, but it came to a head on Sunday when I tested myself by thinking about the new Stephen King book and felt about as much excitement as if I were thinking about a block of wood. Clearly this was not acceptable. I quit taking it the next day. According to my doctor, the drug's half-life means it should clear my system in about a month. I can't wait, because I hate this.

Other than that, I'd say it only worked OK. I think it made me a little speedy. It improved my mood, but conversely, it also gave me a craving for -pams. I don't know how that worked. I don't mean to sound like a Special Flower, but my reactions to medication are not always typical; I was apparently one of three people in the world who didn't experience those very unpleasant-sounding "brain zaps" when I went off Cymbalta for five weeks. Perhaps it confirms the prevailing theory that your correspondent does not, in fact, have a brain.