But I have books! The Confidence Man: His Masquerade by Herman Melville (title seeming achingly appropriate right now, we'll see about the story), Long Walks, Last Flights and Other Strange Journeys by Ken Scholes, Memories of Envy by Barb Hendee, and Surface Detail by Iain M. Banks. I just finished Cryoburn by Lois McMaster Bujold last night... So I have at least the possibility of mental escape.
I also have NaNoWriMo writing to do, in the midst of all these siren calls. I'm on track so far, but it's day three. I'll be prouder further in, closer to the goal. If my novel were a happier place it would be more of an anodyne, but they say write what you know, after all.