As much as I love the modern-day Disney movies, there is something about the classics that still capture me. Recently, in need of a nostalgic pick-me-up, I decided to sit down and watch the original Alice in Wonderland with mini-me; the animated one, not the one with real people and the creepy Jabberwocky (although that's my favorite). Ever since, without even hearing it, I’ve had the song White Rabbit (Jefferson Airplane) stuck in my head. Which, I guess makes sense these days, because I’ve been feeling a bit like Alice; falling down a well and ending up trapped in hallway filled with magical bottles labeled “eat me” and “drink me” with little known about what they will do. I am speaking, of course, about my meds. In my case, one which makes me feel happy and optimistic, but at the risk of feeling indestructible. Another to shutdown the open tabs in my brain so that I can get a decent night’s sleep, when it works. And the newest one, the moderator of those above and the “stable