I'm going to take Enya's advice

and "Sail away, sail away, sail away..." (I'm going with the Orincoco Flow). That's right, near the end of the month, I'm flying to Florida and boarding one of these bad boys. A week in the Caribbean, stopping at San Juan and other ports 'o call: sun, casinos, old women in bathing suits, booze, shuffle board, waves and waves, fancy dinners with Captain Stubing and Isaac Washington, salty sea air, and God knows what else.

I'm not excited, I'm kind of petrified. No, no, should be a good time, right? It'll be cool, hot, whatever. I'll get a tan and read some books and see hot Caribbean women, right?

I need someone to watch my little Lilly. She'll be as much of a wreck as I.

I have to find a new/another job. I'm freaking out. I didn't get a C4 Doctor's appointment scheduled until really late this month, I'm going to run out of meds. I'm freaking out. I haven't been able to schedule a meeting with my Primary. I'm freaking out. My neighborhood is buried in snow, my commute tomorrow looks to be horrible. I'm freaking out. My apartment is still unmade. My ship ticket didn't arrive via FedEx yet. I'm freaking out. My depression is back like the old (a couple of months ago/always) days. I haven't hooked up my stereo. I am postponing using the oven. I haven't been eating much since New Year's Day. I'm going to run out of money in about 2 1/2 months. I'm freaking out. I'm freaking out. I'm FREAKING OUT!

I'm going to bed.