Seriously, I had a bad case of writer’s block over the past few days. My questions for Benedict Cumberbatch took the blogging life out of me. I guess this is the disclaimer for that: Don’t get me wrong. I am a seriously Ben-addicted girl. If I could get to London to go to the Sherlock convention, I would drag my mother and my dog in order to get there. But seriously, back to the grind: I don’t know what he knows about autism. It seems there are some serious gas, which I would love to help fill. That out of the way, let me get to what is going on: My brain is suffering from serious Cabin Fever. I have been racking my brain looking for things to write about. I have continued crocheting a pink baby blanket for a little baby girl, cleaned the house as deeply as I could, walked and walked the dog again, then tried to read some Oscar Wilde. (When the first poem you read is about a man who murdered his wife, it’s very hard to read-at least for me, anyway.) Of course, this is a strong case of cabin fever. I have finally settled on something I can actually believe: it gets better. I was bullied mercilessly throughout high school, and abused in my 20s. I had to wait until my 30s, but it actually got better. I could not believe it. So, look for “It Gets Better,” coming soon.