Oh, I well remember a time when BIG took a post that I had sent and quietly laid it to rest with Jimmy Hoffa at my request, never to be seen again. I no longer quite remember *why* I was so mad, or *who* I was so mad at, but I was pretty much ranting and slavering into the keyboard. You have to appreciate that this was a day or two into a new medication that my doctor had prescribed for me. It was actually an anti-epileptic that I had never been on at a dose that I had never been on befrore. The result was absolutely appalling. Imagine this. At some point in the day I read the FML, and become a nine foot tall, bulletproof warrior- tower of rage. I write several drafts of a post that all pretty much begin "Listen up, you un-lettered, fatherless consort of a mangy hyena infested with bot-fly larvae" in tone, if not in actual wording. I finally send one off to the FML. Maybe only an hour later, very strange things start to happen. I can't drink my coffee because it tastes...wrong. It tastes af if there is a tablespoon of diesel fuel poured into it. I try to eat lunch, but it smells as if...well, I won't go into it, in detail, but it certainly does not smell like something that people would eat. Like something that would get served at a restaurant for dogs, yes, but not for people. (There simply is no appropriate wine to serve with roadkill, I don't care what people say.) I call my doctor and said "WHAT GIVES, BUDDY?!" in my new warrior-tower voice. He calmly (very calmly) explains that I have essentially overdosed on the medication, even though I have taken it precisely as prescribed. These symptoms will wear off, probably overnight, just stop taking the medication. Call back tomorrow and let him know how I am doing. Well, good to know, good to know. I am not losing my mind. Sigh of relief. Have you ever had a glass of ice tea on a really hot day? And the ice cubes melt down to just a sliver, like a fingernail paring? I had a wee flash of insight, no more substantial than one of those ice cubes after that conversation with my doctor , that maybe...just maybe...I wasn't quite allright. Maybe this just wasn't a good judgement day for me, the way there are good hair days, and bad ones. Maybe I was suffering from chemically induced bad judgement. Maybe when we are half-way down Alice's rabbit hole with our asses in the air maybe we shouldn't be e-mailing *anybody*. And I had sent that post to the FML.Oh, the horror of it...What had I done? Well, still a nine foot tall and bulletproof warrior-tower (if a somewhat subdued one), I go clanking in my armour and chainmail to the keyboard. First I have to find a place to put down my broadsword and spiked mace on a chain, it's difficult, but I manage, finally. I write to BIG and ask in my nicest warrior-tower voice if he would please SLAY AND LAY WASTE (Whoops! I'm being nice, being nice) to that last post I sent, medication failure, bad things bad things bad things! BIG, being much smarter than the average bear, says NOTHING in reply. The offending post is never seen or heard from again. He must have a bathroom papered with 'em. Alexandra in Massachusetts Feeling much better, thank you. [Posted in FML issue 4602]