I was spiraling up and down from the ramp-up and withdrawal effects of a changing cocktail of bipolar meds, my face was lacerated and I was enduring the pain of a concussion from a blackout and a full-body crash to a tile floor caused by a med that thankfully would become my lifeline and savior, and my mom was blaming autocorrect for turning “row” into “rowboat” in a post about my having a relative six good days in a rowboat. (Damn. It just happened to me too.)
But I’m now up to two good years in a rowboat, and I’m so thankful that I’ve been exposing myself daily to hundreds of people. Plus I still call dibs on “Six Good Days in a Rowboat” for my memoirs.
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