I'm in Scranton, Pennsylvania, also known as "The Electric City," a nickname that probably sounded pretty cool in the late 1800s, and also for a brief time in the late 1970s. You probably know it as "The place from The Office," and apparently so does Scranton, because there's a replica of the "Welcome to Scranton" sign from the show opening right here in the Steamtown Mall. So you can pose with it, I guess. Whee?
So why Scranton? States' rights, that's why. My psychiatrist wrote me some prescriptions for Adderall in advance. Too far in advance for New York State, apparently: They don't fill scrips for Schedule II medications if they were written too long ago. Neither does Vermont. Neither does Massachusetts.
Working is very difficult when I'm in the throes of ADD and its hyperactive cousin ADHD, as my long-suffering editors have discovered over the past three or so weeks. (Technically I have "ADHD, Primarily Inattentive," but I can't resist the urge to quote Clone High.) Sitting down and writing is like trying to draw a thin straight line with a paintbrush that's been worked over by an expressionist preschooler. It was so bad that I actually decided, hell with it, I'm just going to drive back to California. I set my GPS to Cincinnati, so that I could get some chili served atop spaghetti noodles on the way, and drove, occasionally pulling in somewhere and seeing if I could get my brain to focus.
That brought me to Syracuse late last night, and waking up this morning I realized I wasn't far from Pennsylvania. A quick Web check informed me that Pensylvania only has time limits on prescriptions for Schedule III medications, which I don't know what they are but I assume medical black tar heroin is among them. So I drove southfully, and a helpful pharmacist just over the state line filled my scrip.
Now that I'm properly medicated, I realize that I could have looked up various state policies and driven to Maine, or Connecticut, or just taken a quicker route to Pennsylvania. But, you know, ADHD. Primarily inattentive.
So now I have thirty days of medication to help me decide what to do when the thirty days of medication runs out. Option one is to find a psychiatrist here, explain the situation, and presumably get another prescription. I'm not sure how my insurance handles all that, but it's probably the cheapest option in the short term.
But really, I'd like to speak with my current psychiatrist, he knows me and the history of my condition. So option two is to fly back to California, talk to my doctor, and maybe get a three-month supply of my medication.
Option three is yesterday's Option Only: Drive back to California. There's a certain appeal to that, because as I mentioned before entropy is starting to affect The Lungfish, and in California I could stay with relatives and work on repairs and upgrades without having to actually live in the van. I'd be sad to leave so much of the Northeast unexplored for now, but I'm not sure how wise it is to drive north anyway. As Frodo said to Dumbledore, "winter is coming."
At any rate, I'll decide later. Right now I have deadlines to catch up on.