Post-Con

It's been several days so I tip-toed in on little cat feet to see how the Thin Man was doing. He was still in bed, watching me with one baleful, blood-shot eye.

"What do you want, cat?"

"Time to update the blog."

He groaned. "Fine. Make something up." I waited and finally he continued in a sepulchuric voice. "You know, I go to conventions and take more medicine than I ought to but I feel like I do pretty good. By the time I come home, I'm starting to think that I'm not that crazy after all and that maybe I could go out more often if I wanted to...then I get home. Once I go back down on the meds and the manic phase passes..." He groaned again and pulled the blankets over his head.

"DTs?" I asked.

"Not too bad. My stomach's torn all to pieces though. The shaking is mostly exhaustion. The worst is the way that my head feels full of cotton. What day is it?"

"Saturday. You've been down all week."

"Five days? That's not too bad. I'll be up tomorrow."

With that I left him and wished he was exaggerating.