Itchy with doubts about the short-term fate of my just finished novel,
I am in the right humor to admit to a few psychiatric bumps I stumbled upon in
my recent trip abroad… (Ooh, I’ve never said I’ve traveled “abroad” before.
Now, I’m feeling all tingly. *grins foolishly*)
Anyhow, on two particular meals with a group of cruise-going strangers
I confess to falling flat on my awkward, anxiety-ridden, panic-blotched, stupid
face.
I freaked.
I stayed, I saw the 3 and 5 course meals through, but I freaked. (I
also rubbed the side of my hand raw during one of the dinners, giving myself a
rather gruesome road rash to cover up the rest of the trip.)
Bottom line: Mental illness stinks… even in Venice.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
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