Dear everyone:

I am fine. I was actually at Mass General when it happened, talking to a nice lady who just last month gave me a very very big bottle of Xanax, which I am about to put to its intended use. I wouldn't even have known anything had happened, except I went downstairs to ask a question of my insurance wrangler afterwards. Patient Financial Services shares a lobby with Triage, and the ambulances were starting to come in as I going out.

I would have been home a while ago, except the train ride out was a little too exciting for me, and I surfaced in Cambridge to walk around for a while and calm down. The Red Line was running everybody Outbound as fast as they could. We made MGH to Porter in eleven minutes flat, with stops at all stations. I'm just happy the driver remembered the curve at Harvard. There was another Alewife train approaching moments after the one I left pulled out.

I did my grocery shopping -- badly, as in, I now have cupcakes, but forgot to buy bread -- and then opted to wait for the 96, rather than get back on the subway. It took me so long mostly because Cambridge is completely normal right now, which is to say that it's rush hour and nobody on this coast knows how to yield.

I live out past Somerville, which is a town so boring that I am convinced it exists specifically so that nothing can ever happen there. So I'm home now, with my Xanax and a stack of things that still need tailoring, and a pair of rats who have noticed that I came home with more rice cakes.

[ETA: I made myself dinner, because meds with no food is a bad idea. So now there's a rat shoving his portion of green peas into his mouth so fast I'm not entirely sure he's chewing them. The other one is rather daintily eating a chunk off apple right off of the apple skin.]


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