Succor

When I'm upset, I take baths - long, hot baths with lavender-scented bath salts. I read a good book or a magazine. I lie down and run the water until my arms and legs float. I stay there until I feel as if I can face the world again, which can be a surprisingly long time.

Sometimes I eat candied ginger to make myself feel better. It's chewy and sweet and peppery, with a crunchy-sugary crust on the outside. It soothes my stomach, which tends to knot up when things are going badly.

I've been known to take long walks, especially when I'm angry about something. It's a two-fer: I walk off the adrenaline while improving my health. When I get back I'm not only calmer, I'm armored with the self-righteousness of the exercise nut.

Milk chocolate truffles are nice, but the comfort only lasts as long as the candy; a vodka martini on ice with a twist is nice, too, but it lulls me to sleep.

Sometimes I just have to lose myself in a good book. Not 'literature.' A good, pulpy adventure of some sort: scifi or mystery or a thriller.

There are certain movies that always make me feel better: The Shawshank Redemption, Babe, Billy Elliott, The Whale Rider. Or I'll turn on a marathon of some sort: The Lord of the Rings, Star Wars. Project Runway or America's Next Top Model.

Well, that's my list. I've been all over it this week after listening to one too many pundits miss the point entirely on the whole subject of torture and its efficacy and its morality and which administration should be damaged by it. (Hint: the administration which used it to generate fake evidence so it could run amok in the world should be the administration covered in shame. And the media, which can't seem to find an ethical code with both hands and a flashlight, oughta share in that particular limelight.)

The only thing I haven't tried yet is the martini - I'm saving it for dinner. Tomorrow, I suppose, I'll have to start cycling through again.