Cecilia Reyes

Caught in an endless loop of Ru Paul's Drag Race and mimosas in bed. Send help.

You know, if you're going to steal a girl's wine and leave her money, at least leave a note.

Or, you know, don't steal my wine. Plenty of enablers here who would give it to you if you just asked.

Pleased to say the one birthday I spent at the mansion was probably the quietest yet.

Suck on that, fate. I beat you this time.

Nice as holiday cards are - 'tis the season, I hear - the thought doesn't count for as much if my name is misspelled.

One e in Cecilia. Two in Reyes.

I don't know who this Cecelia Rayes is that just got a nice greeting from Muir, but I am getting her mail.

Someone sent me an e-mail saying they were going as my right hook for Halloween. I know it was one of you. Fess up.

Greetings from a less-than-ideal hotel room in Brussels, a charming city with mussels, waffles and beer. All of which I am way too tired to enjoy.

I've been forced to stop here for the night before flying home sweet home tomorrow. Even though I passed airport temperature checks and everything, MSF wanted to get me checked out by one of their own people because - as we learned in our last encounter - they tend to be very interested in covering their own asses.

Okay. That's not entirely fair. They've been doing amazing work with this disease, and if it weren't for them, things would be even worse then they already are.

And they are horrible. This epidemic brings horror after horror, and there's no end in sight. You spend hours in heavy protective suits, that you put on slowly and carefully according to an intricate list of requirements. And it's like 80 degrees in Liberia, and you sweat, and you have to take hydration breaks because it's so intense. The days are long, and they are trying, and they are exhausting. The odds are that half your patients are going to die. Probably more.

I feel a little selfish leaving. Things there are rough. This is what I was trained for. (Well, kind of. I don't know as much about infectious diseases as some.)

But I don't know if I could have handled another week or two.

I hear a rumor that the kids are in school soon. Which, you know, probably sucks for the kids, but it also means we're a step closer to having permanent adult swim on weekdays, something I personally look forward to.

Amelia graciously agreed to man the fort last night, which meant great fun was had (yes, my fellow mutants, I have fun sometimes), but I think I left my phone at a bar in the city. If anyone's near Chelsea tonight — looking at you, brownstone campus — can they pick it up? (Assuming mine's actually there - the guy on the phone said they had lots of iPhones in the lost and found.) It can wait until tomorrow when I hop downtown to check on some things, but I just figured I'd ask.

My med school roommates want to all get together in January for a long weekend at a cabin in the woods. (I don't know which woods. I did not get specifics.)

This is a problem for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which are the following:

1. That is the start of every horror movie ever.
2. I'd have to be an idiot to agree to a long excursion in an isolated area now that I'm living here again.