Anyway, so I have this new nightie. It's very silky, voluminous and long; it looks like a nightie my Gram would wear, except it's black. Because Mumsie, I wanna be goth! Anyway, so I'm drifting around my house this morning wearing the new Lilly Munster Has Nothing On Me Deluxe Nightie, feeling very luxuriously like an occult version of Mrs Roper, when I decide that I need some orange soda and my first dose of Effexor - both of which are downstairs (and neither of which are spooky)

I step on the first step and the hem of my nightie at the same time, and the silky fabric underfoot makes me slide mercilessly down most of the steps before I can kind of catch my balance. Nice, eh? I wrenched my back clinging to the railing and then started snivelling for no reason, and now that it's late, my back has started to throb again in disgust.

So I've obviously need some heavy-duty tailoring on my new nightie, (it needs to be hemmed before I kill myself) and in the meantime am wearing the pink nightie that actually came from my Gram. Well, the nightie I borrowed from her years ago and never returned. Anyway, as I was typing this, I noticed the funniest thing - this nightie I'm wearing has already been hemmed, and hemmed by hand with matching pink thread by my Gram. Ha!

We had a funny Easter dinner at my parent's house. Dan is going through a snooty, teenagerish phase and pronounced Lulu sitting at the table was "disgusting" even though Lulu has been watching us eat from the comfort of her own chair for nearly a decade. Now suddenly it's bothering Sir Daniel ... well, la dee freaking dah.

We all ate soggy overly-pink ham, delicious potato salad and handmade ravioli because Loaf might expire if forced to eat a meal without tomato sauce, then argued about the theme songs for James Bond movies, talked about Bippie's obvious obesity problem (she's going to pop and now has a big fat sausage body and a leetle pinhead), Dan told me that non-smokers were in the minority in this house and he'd damn well smoke where he wanted, then blew smoke all over me, and then we went home.

It's very weird.

After two doses of Effexor, I already feel different. Like... hmmm... I'm looking out at everything from the bottom of a very deep well. Not in a bad way, but in a very serene and cool way. Despite the sporadic nausea tinglings and the constant need to yawn (both of which will go away) I feel pretty good actually. I hope it works this way for at least a few months.

You know, I've been meaning to ask. What do you all recommend when you've lost a very beloved pet? My brother is still depressed over Iggy's death and nothing I say puts a dent in it; he pretends that he's fine and then you catch him mourning. I think that he needs a new dog for himself. My mother has 9 dogs, but they're all her dogs. Well, no... Loaf has Una as "his dog" and Dad has Sally as his special "sweetie-cup" as he calls her, but mother has the rest as hers. (I know this because whenever I try to take one of them home with me, I get a long list of reasons why it's simply impossible for me to even consider it.... usually because they would "cry" and "miss their friends".)

Anyway, so I think Tony needs another dog. James Herriot wrote very specifically that people who lose their pets should quickly get another pet, but that's all the information I have, really. I've never lost a pet that I really loved except for Iggy, so it's like, what do you do? I'm assuming that everybody who reads my journal isn't quite as pet-deficient as me and you know what to do or at least have a better idea.

So, recommendations, if you please.