It was the Bishop's annual visit today. (Thus, the "mitre" reference above... that's what you call the cool hat that he gets to wear, by the way. Why would you know that?) The whole sha-bang started at 6:30 this morning, with the source of all evil (apparently others call this an "alarm clock") going off... and ended at 11:30 tonight, with me falling somewhere near the bed.
I've been a little under the weather and my asthma's been acting up. You know how Asthma is... comin' in late without calling, drinkin' with his buddies Pneumonia and Influenza...
Well, by 9:30, all my meds started to wear off. I was coughin' and hackin' like any good 30-some-odd year old and went downstairs to find my inhalers.
As I came down the stairs, I could have sworn to you, that it was hazy and smokey down there. I walked from room to room, turning on all the lights, confirming that it was eerily foggy. I began touching the walls and sniffing the air. I even called a friend down, to check it out with me.
So... it's funny what lack of oxygen will do to the brain.
Suddenly, Johnny Weir looks straight and date-able. There are benefits to getting a Brazillion. And going back to re-live your Junior High days, sounds like a good idea.
And just so we're clear... this is what I looked like in Junior High.
Oh that hair. (And really, this pictures's not as bad as it got! I recall copious amounts of AquaNet being used. Yes, my generation is solely responsible for the depletion of the ozone.) Why didn't someone tell us?
As it turned out, no scrimey youth had been playing with matches and no ill-contented adult tried to burn my collection of coloring books.
It was just my head. Wanting to breath. And wanting to see Johnny Weir in a mitre.