When love is not madness, it is not love.
~Pedro Calderon de la Barca~
Where is the Consumer Reports for rehab centers? Who publishes the Zagat ratings for “recovery homes”? How does one in need know where to go for spa cuisine and which ones are best for multiple addictions? Who maintains the amazon.com-like “Other patients who liked TwiningTrees Twelve-Steps also spent time at Denton De-Tox”?

Despite my month-long self-imposed exile from writing journal entries, I am not, to my knowledge, in need in the services of a rehab establishment. The thought came to mind, instead, while reading Norman Green’s novel Shooting Dr. Jack. I’ve already read the follow-up called Dead Cat Bounce and am now working my way back in time to a point where Stoney, the protagonist, has not yet hit bottom with his drinking. The novels are tight and elegant and dark, more like what you’d find at this place than what I usually read.

The last month has gone something like this: o Rise at 6:00 AM, fully 6 hours before my body tells me it’s time to get out of bed o Stumble up the big steps onto the 7:13 “Great Valley Flyer” train o Arrive at Suburban Station in Philadelphia at about 7:51, stand in a long line at Dunkin Donuts that moves with blinding speed and buy a large coffee, extra light, extra sweet o Get to my desk by 8:00 (to put this in perspective: I was so de-motivated at my prior job that I could barely get up by this time, much less be *at* work) o Work, work, work (in a good way) until taking the 5:08 train home o Arrive home at about 6:00, take a shower, grab something that is vaguely food-like for “dinner”, and collapse into bed, heating pad against my back, barely able to raise the energy to change the TV channel until I fall asleep usually before 9:00 o Weekends are a blur of groceriesdrugstorelibrarypetfoodstoredoctorforBeccawhomighthavestrepvetforthedogwhomighthavewormsbanktosetupnewaccountforconsultingbusiness

And so we come to today, where I am homebound by a storm that continues to offer us snow-sleet-freezing-rain-biting-winds. Watching the birds at the feeder who are scrapping over the last few bits of seed has become much more interesting than writing a technical approach document. Which is why it’s very good that I have an office to go to that is four stories above the city streets, otherwise I’d spent my day watching the pigeons and those who feed them.