I got bitchslapped by my stairs last night.
Every night, my dog wakes me up at either 3 a.m. or 5 a.m. to be asked to be let out.. This is a natural thing for a dog owner, unless you are one of those amazing superstars that crate-trained your puppies. You, friends, are incredible.
I live in a old house with wooden floors and stairs. I had, just last week, had a talk with my friend Matt regarding the slipperiness of stairs.
As far as I can tell, I first slipped on my heel, scraping it, then landed on my tailbone, scraping it and propelling me forward, to scrape up my chest, neck and thunk an amazing thunk into and out of my forehead.
I got up from this, let the dog out, and then promptly passed out in the kitchen, blood pooling and running down the basement stairs.
It sounds hideous, but that's exactly what happened.
I woke up in said pool to Pickles barking outside, wondering where I was and why something hurt. And then promptly began to cry.
Went upstairs, washed off my face, crying. I mostly wanted more sleep, I did not want to see this far into my skin (the skin had separated and was that my skull?), I was in shock. I began to plan and plan (I had a shoot at 9:30 a.m.), crying and crying.. It was the best response I could muster - - maybe as I've been crying so much the last couple weeks, maybe because shock is shock, maybe because it was the best and only response. I put on clothes and drove myself to hospital, holding a paper towel to my head and sobbing.
I've been reading "The Hunger Games" by Suzanne Collins, which is so damnedly good and jawdroppingly violent. It's like watching a newsreport, but here we love these characters so much. (sort of the same story as "Battle Royale" - - read both!) I kept thinking about the main character, and her last injury I had just read (whip to face!), and continued to cry and cry.
It's scary to black out. It's scary to have life happen to you. (as the doctor said, it's just life) I got hurt, but it could have been so much worse. And that's probably the scariest.
I was not drunk, I was not hungover, I fell down the stairs, the most cliche' of all injuries, and the hospital staff believed me. Comedically speaking, they shouldn't have. But they did.
Going to the hospital felt like going to a salon. This is beyond my means, you people are paid to do this, please take care of me.
And that's what happened! I wore a hospital gown, they gave me pre-warmed blankets, they asked me what day it was, they popped me full of tetanus shot, they gave me a CT scan and looked at my brain. They wheeled me around on a gurney, which weirdly unexpected. I was with it enough not too laugh at the orderly's (from Crystal, MN) Iowa joke, which caused him to backpedal ("Iowa's not so bad.") They were awesome and professional and called me hon. Usually, someone has to travel at least 500 miles south to be called 'hon' by strangers. Not here.
It's all rapidly becoming all dreamlike. My doctor was awesome. Everyone, including himself, was very impressed with his stitches, of which I have seven.
They let me sleep under bright bright lights, only to be woken by someone screaming "OWOWOWOWWOWWOW! I don't want it in my head!!!" a couple doors down. Emergency rooms.
I drove myself home (which was also stupid, but.. see shoot at 9:30 a.m.), kind of slept for a hour, got up, ironed, did the shoot, and went back home to sleep until the water meter man arrived (he was supposed to arrive next Tuesday).
Thankful things: I'm okay! No need to call or check on me. I have awesome Frankenstein stitches and my head hurts, but I'm okay! The cut is under my bangs, so I could do the shoot this morning. (What if it had been my eye or my cheek? Vanity plays a part, and so does makin' the cash... Not that it should matter AT ALL, but it would have mattered Monday morning..) I'm going to have a scar on my right forehead, but it's not going to be "too bad". I can't see what might have been my skull anymore, and for that, I am incredibly grateful.
Lesson #3456: Wake up your roommate and have her drive you to the hospital. This way, you won't get the shocked look of "You drove yourself?" from the hospital staff. Also, your roommate won't be surprised or creeped out when she wakes to blood seemingly everywhere.
Lesson #2225: Time to put runners on the stairs! We must prepare our living places for us. I feel as though I'm ready to toddler-proof the house, but I'm the toddler. I've realized that I cannot and shouldn't live in this house as an old person. I didn't see myself doing that, but.. it's just a affirmation.
When I'm old, I might live in something all short, cute and midcentury, with barely any stairs to trip over. I will have a living room-kitchen-dining-room area, a sunroom with windows, and two small bedrooms, maybe an office. It will be separated enough from the neighbors, that I can outside in my yard or porch and not have to explain my presence. It will in a nice enough area, that I can sleep with my windows open. My dog and cat will shed everywhere and want to destroy the squirrels we see.
This is a lovely dream, and even as I love and adore my house, I like this dream too.
I'm really really tired.
Onward.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
I ain't puttin' nuthin'..
This blog will be all about what I've consumed today. It was, very luckily, a day of bargains.
- I ate 3/4's of a free bagel (shared with the beautiful Rita) at 9:30 a.m. improv rehearsal today. (The bagel was from Panera. Seriously.) And then I stole some wi-fi.
- Sunshine! Sunshine is free.
- I went to the gym - - which does cost. However, I got to see a Beyonce' and Janet Jackson videos while there for free, and music videos are either horrid or fascinating. (i.e. anything by the artist Jesse James stinks of dirty hoo. Beyonce videos are cool. Janet Jackson videos haven't changed in 25 years.)
- I bought almonds and gum. Not free. But really good to have in the car.
- I went to Opitz and got a supposedly $384 dress for $1. Because it was missing a zipper pull. Holy crap!
The psychology of this dress making it to the $1 bin is kinda fascinating. How much does the lack of a small, plastic, replaceable bit depreciate something? Weird. (Granted, if I had $384 to spend on a dress, I'd get the one with the zipper pull. But.. indeed.)
- Visited Hannah at work. Hannah works at the Smitten Kitten, which is a store. However, I didn't buy anything and instead got laughs, stories and hugs. And I might join a book club.
- I went to second improv rehearsal, which don't cost nuthin'. And we learned together.
- I went to Indian with friend Melanie, and shoveled 3x the amount of food I normally eat for dinner into my gullet. Because, supposedly, it was a serving. It was served, in a beautiful platter with tv dinner style compartments, as a serving. And Melanie and I were on a tear. And OHMYGOD it was sooo good. It was stupid good. It tasted like awesome and, afterwards, felt painfully like Thanksgiving. And it cost $15 each. Ridiculous.
I can't do that again any time soon. But.. I sure want to. Thank you, Gandi Mahal!!
- Melanie and I talked about the books we loved during our childhood. Talk is free! (However, how much our parents spent on Weekly Reader or Troll Book orders.. who knows)
- I went for a walk, to try and feel human again, instead of feeling like some Indian eating black hole. Walks are free.
- I went to Improv A Go Go and spent $1 to laugh and laugh. $1!
Troy claiming to be like GizmoDuck shouldn't have tickled me that much. But it did.
There was much cheap or free today. Very lucky.
Tomorrow is about working, as is almost every other day this week. But that's okay. There's much cheap or free to be grateful for.
Onward.
P.S. Saw the Bread and Puppet Theater last night, which, is all about the free and the cheap. Goodness, yes. Funny, talented, fucking way too hip people. Nerds! The making of the plays with puppets shouldn't be cool, but it's really cool. Garbage bags were birds, old table cloths were mountains.. AND, the best ostriches EVER, along with the best and nastiest devil too.
Puppets let you say things and tell stories you couldn't do with just you. It's like cartoons.
And then they give you bread with garlic, which hangs out in your mouth and your nose, as you process what you just saw. Did you like it, did you not. The bread and garlic and thoughts were for free, even if you paid those serving it to do what they did. As you should.
"Sheep, like clouds, escaped through the cracks in heaven."
Puppet shows DO need good audiences..
It was also wonderful to watch a group of multi-talented generalists perform together. Good.
P.S.S. Inside of Gandi Mahal, there is a play area for kids, which rules. They had all these plastic toys, including an Elmo speak and say, laid on polished wooden shelves. There was a moment of cognitive dissonance, as I had seen plastic toys on polished wooden shelves just before. Ah yes.. all of the vibrators and dildos at the Kitten. Brain feels weird for a moment, and shakes it off quick.
- I ate 3/4's of a free bagel (shared with the beautiful Rita) at 9:30 a.m. improv rehearsal today. (The bagel was from Panera. Seriously.) And then I stole some wi-fi.
- Sunshine! Sunshine is free.
- I went to the gym - - which does cost. However, I got to see a Beyonce' and Janet Jackson videos while there for free, and music videos are either horrid or fascinating. (i.e. anything by the artist Jesse James stinks of dirty hoo. Beyonce videos are cool. Janet Jackson videos haven't changed in 25 years.)
- I bought almonds and gum. Not free. But really good to have in the car.
- I went to Opitz and got a supposedly $384 dress for $1. Because it was missing a zipper pull. Holy crap!
The psychology of this dress making it to the $1 bin is kinda fascinating. How much does the lack of a small, plastic, replaceable bit depreciate something? Weird. (Granted, if I had $384 to spend on a dress, I'd get the one with the zipper pull. But.. indeed.)
- Visited Hannah at work. Hannah works at the Smitten Kitten, which is a store. However, I didn't buy anything and instead got laughs, stories and hugs. And I might join a book club.
- I went to second improv rehearsal, which don't cost nuthin'. And we learned together.
- I went to Indian with friend Melanie, and shoveled 3x the amount of food I normally eat for dinner into my gullet. Because, supposedly, it was a serving. It was served, in a beautiful platter with tv dinner style compartments, as a serving. And Melanie and I were on a tear. And OHMYGOD it was sooo good. It was stupid good. It tasted like awesome and, afterwards, felt painfully like Thanksgiving. And it cost $15 each. Ridiculous.
I can't do that again any time soon. But.. I sure want to. Thank you, Gandi Mahal!!
- Melanie and I talked about the books we loved during our childhood. Talk is free! (However, how much our parents spent on Weekly Reader or Troll Book orders.. who knows)
- I went for a walk, to try and feel human again, instead of feeling like some Indian eating black hole. Walks are free.
- I went to Improv A Go Go and spent $1 to laugh and laugh. $1!
Troy claiming to be like GizmoDuck shouldn't have tickled me that much. But it did.
There was much cheap or free today. Very lucky.
Tomorrow is about working, as is almost every other day this week. But that's okay. There's much cheap or free to be grateful for.
Onward.
P.S. Saw the Bread and Puppet Theater last night, which, is all about the free and the cheap. Goodness, yes. Funny, talented, fucking way too hip people. Nerds! The making of the plays with puppets shouldn't be cool, but it's really cool. Garbage bags were birds, old table cloths were mountains.. AND, the best ostriches EVER, along with the best and nastiest devil too.
Puppets let you say things and tell stories you couldn't do with just you. It's like cartoons.
And then they give you bread with garlic, which hangs out in your mouth and your nose, as you process what you just saw. Did you like it, did you not. The bread and garlic and thoughts were for free, even if you paid those serving it to do what they did. As you should.
"Sheep, like clouds, escaped through the cracks in heaven."
Puppet shows DO need good audiences..
It was also wonderful to watch a group of multi-talented generalists perform together. Good.
P.S.S. Inside of Gandi Mahal, there is a play area for kids, which rules. They had all these plastic toys, including an Elmo speak and say, laid on polished wooden shelves. There was a moment of cognitive dissonance, as I had seen plastic toys on polished wooden shelves just before. Ah yes.. all of the vibrators and dildos at the Kitten. Brain feels weird for a moment, and shakes it off quick.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Lake runnin'!
Yes! For St. Patrick's Day, I (kinda) ran around the lake FOR THE SECOND TIME THIS YEAR! Yes. Just like my Irish ancestors would have. There's a lake, let's use what precious energy we have, and spend it running around it. And then pray for forgiveness.
My Irish ancestors were, I assume, pretty awesome and probably pretty catholic. I'm lucky to be here, alive, existing, American, all of it - - and nothing gets what strained Irish (?) pride I have up like downtown St. Paul in the afternoon on St. Patrick's Day.
I love the idea of being Irish. I can't wait to go across to visit and see all the green, and maybe some sheep. But.. you bunch of drunkie fakers. So much grossness. I'm sure there's fun there too, but I can't find it through all shirts bought at Target and plastic cups.
My great grandma Jeffries would certainly not have approved.
That being said, maybe it would have helped if I had been drinking too. But it was 12:30 p.m. in the afternoon, and the rest of the day was still waiting.
I don't think that this sort of Mardi Gras was a part of Irish culture. Was it? I say here here and rah rah to Mardi Gras and Carneval and all the rest. (They're awesome traditions! You crazy Catholics! Holy crap!)
But St. Patrick's Day in Minnesota feels so.. weird. Perhaps I needed to hear more plaintive, heart broken singing with fiddles. Perhaps less Coors Lite and more Jameson. Perhaps it's that my completely stereotypical and constructed image of this culture does not fit this other completely stereotypical and constructed image of the "culture". Maybe it's just all the Minnesotan nordic drunkies bein' dumb (Didn't the vikings come kidnap a bunch of Irish as slaves and found Iceland? yes they did!). Maybe I'm just gettin' old.
Truth: If you're a lady over 75 covered in shamrocks, you're probably adorable. If you're a guy under 25 covered in shamrocks, you might be a douche.
Driving home, looked over to see guys openly drinking while driving on the freeway out of clear plastic cups. AGGGHHHH... They were from Ohio. (Ohio, we're still cool.)
Today's scheduled to be a long day. But full of good stuff. Also, I won't be wearing green, as the Pinching Threat Level has dropped, ironically, from orange (curse the Dutch!) to green (erin go bragh).
(There's still sunshine! Even if it snows tomorrow, please enjoy this today!)
Onward.
My Irish ancestors were, I assume, pretty awesome and probably pretty catholic. I'm lucky to be here, alive, existing, American, all of it - - and nothing gets what strained Irish (?) pride I have up like downtown St. Paul in the afternoon on St. Patrick's Day.
I love the idea of being Irish. I can't wait to go across to visit and see all the green, and maybe some sheep. But.. you bunch of drunkie fakers. So much grossness. I'm sure there's fun there too, but I can't find it through all shirts bought at Target and plastic cups.
My great grandma Jeffries would certainly not have approved.
That being said, maybe it would have helped if I had been drinking too. But it was 12:30 p.m. in the afternoon, and the rest of the day was still waiting.
I don't think that this sort of Mardi Gras was a part of Irish culture. Was it? I say here here and rah rah to Mardi Gras and Carneval and all the rest. (They're awesome traditions! You crazy Catholics! Holy crap!)
But St. Patrick's Day in Minnesota feels so.. weird. Perhaps I needed to hear more plaintive, heart broken singing with fiddles. Perhaps less Coors Lite and more Jameson. Perhaps it's that my completely stereotypical and constructed image of this culture does not fit this other completely stereotypical and constructed image of the "culture". Maybe it's just all the Minnesotan nordic drunkies bein' dumb (Didn't the vikings come kidnap a bunch of Irish as slaves and found Iceland? yes they did!). Maybe I'm just gettin' old.
Truth: If you're a lady over 75 covered in shamrocks, you're probably adorable. If you're a guy under 25 covered in shamrocks, you might be a douche.
Driving home, looked over to see guys openly drinking while driving on the freeway out of clear plastic cups. AGGGHHHH... They were from Ohio. (Ohio, we're still cool.)
Today's scheduled to be a long day. But full of good stuff. Also, I won't be wearing green, as the Pinching Threat Level has dropped, ironically, from orange (curse the Dutch!) to green (erin go bragh).
(There's still sunshine! Even if it snows tomorrow, please enjoy this today!)
Onward.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
The skin gets tired...
This blog ain't about anything at all. But I needed a pick me up, so I shall write to you, friends.
Damn, the animals are needy this morning. Sebastian (the cat) promptly wakes me up at 8:15 a.m. every morning. If I don't get up, there is plaintive meow-related hell-to-pay. Perhaps some finger-nibbling. This morning was filled with plaintive I'm-obviously-in-a-lot-of-soul-pain meowing from down the hall. (you know.. so I have to get up)
Pickles (the dog) asks to either be pet, or let out, by scratching at me.
Thank goodness that they are both under 20 lbs, for if they were Great Dane or small Mountain Cat sized, I'd be bleeding and beaten.
Spring in MN is the season of poop. The poop lies hidden underneath the snow, sleeping, for months - - now it is everywhere. Poop wants to get inside the house, to join it's friends in the litterbox. You have to Gene Kelly dance from the garage to the house. Poop.
Things:
- Saw Pocohontas County at the 331 with dear friends Josh & Sue last night. I am not the world's biggest bluegrass fan, but sweet christ, they're adorable. Four or so young guys, and one man, probably in his 70's. Certainly in a cowboy hat. What's their story? Did the young guys discover the old guy and ask him to teach them the ways of old timey music, or did the old guy descend from the heavens and pass them each a fiddle, banjo and stand up bass?
Snark moment: Despite my rahrah of this band, do tribal tattoo's go with banjo pickin'? The cool and hip part of me says "of course!". The grumpy and old part of me thinks it looks dumb, and accuses banjo-poser-ing, that you're abusing the dork-coolness of the instrument. Because you might have gotten the tattoos before you got the banjo. Because you should, in my mind, be secretly playing a didgeridoo instead.
But I'm also a hater, and dude could play the banjo pretty damn well. See, you can have big cuffy arm tattoo's and play the banjo. Just like you can wear a bonnet and know how to work a chainsaw. The world has room for all of this.
See, I am fully of hate-y judgement - - you kids these days! I will happily go see them again, unless they find this blog, and kick me out.
- Saw "Green Zone" with Josh & Sue too, as Sue wanted to see some big 'splosion movie. There was MUCH 'splosion! Much grainy 'splosion.
Spoiler:
a) Greg Kineer started the Iraq war.
b) Matt Damon let the truth be known.
c) If you talk in sound clips, it's a war movie.
d) The asshole Special Forces guy looked like Bono! Could this have been ironic?
(oh.. It's Jason Isaacs with a handlebar. Lucius Malfoy with dark hair. hrm. Never mind. That's two Harry Potter actors in this film, the other being the excellent Brendan Gleeson. Holy crap - - Matt Damon is Harry Potter! Greg Kinneer is Voldemort! .. now the film makes sense. Got it.)
That was my Monday. I am very lucky. I also (kinda) ran around a lake! W00t! First (kinda) lake running of the season.
Soon, trips to St. Cloud to perform some heavy Arthur Miller will be happening. But first, there's 2nd and 3rd graders to wrangle, and pray that their parents are cool. (Which they are, admittedly). Let us pray, instead, that I have my act together for class this afternoon. It'll be a trip.
I'm tired and I'm a bit beat, but I'm so proud of some incredible people. People are doing amazing things right now, for themselves, personally. I'm amazed, grateful and proud.
Onward.
Damn, the animals are needy this morning. Sebastian (the cat) promptly wakes me up at 8:15 a.m. every morning. If I don't get up, there is plaintive meow-related hell-to-pay. Perhaps some finger-nibbling. This morning was filled with plaintive I'm-obviously-in-a-lot-of-soul-pain meowing from down the hall. (you know.. so I have to get up)
Pickles (the dog) asks to either be pet, or let out, by scratching at me.
Thank goodness that they are both under 20 lbs, for if they were Great Dane or small Mountain Cat sized, I'd be bleeding and beaten.
Spring in MN is the season of poop. The poop lies hidden underneath the snow, sleeping, for months - - now it is everywhere. Poop wants to get inside the house, to join it's friends in the litterbox. You have to Gene Kelly dance from the garage to the house. Poop.
Things:
- Saw Pocohontas County at the 331 with dear friends Josh & Sue last night. I am not the world's biggest bluegrass fan, but sweet christ, they're adorable. Four or so young guys, and one man, probably in his 70's. Certainly in a cowboy hat. What's their story? Did the young guys discover the old guy and ask him to teach them the ways of old timey music, or did the old guy descend from the heavens and pass them each a fiddle, banjo and stand up bass?
Snark moment: Despite my rahrah of this band, do tribal tattoo's go with banjo pickin'? The cool and hip part of me says "of course!". The grumpy and old part of me thinks it looks dumb, and accuses banjo-poser-ing, that you're abusing the dork-coolness of the instrument. Because you might have gotten the tattoos before you got the banjo. Because you should, in my mind, be secretly playing a didgeridoo instead.
But I'm also a hater, and dude could play the banjo pretty damn well. See, you can have big cuffy arm tattoo's and play the banjo. Just like you can wear a bonnet and know how to work a chainsaw. The world has room for all of this.
See, I am fully of hate-y judgement - - you kids these days! I will happily go see them again, unless they find this blog, and kick me out.
- Saw "Green Zone" with Josh & Sue too, as Sue wanted to see some big 'splosion movie. There was MUCH 'splosion! Much grainy 'splosion.
Spoiler:
a) Greg Kineer started the Iraq war.
b) Matt Damon let the truth be known.
c) If you talk in sound clips, it's a war movie.
d) The asshole Special Forces guy looked like Bono! Could this have been ironic?
(oh.. It's Jason Isaacs with a handlebar. Lucius Malfoy with dark hair. hrm. Never mind. That's two Harry Potter actors in this film, the other being the excellent Brendan Gleeson. Holy crap - - Matt Damon is Harry Potter! Greg Kinneer is Voldemort! .. now the film makes sense. Got it.)
That was my Monday. I am very lucky. I also (kinda) ran around a lake! W00t! First (kinda) lake running of the season.
Soon, trips to St. Cloud to perform some heavy Arthur Miller will be happening. But first, there's 2nd and 3rd graders to wrangle, and pray that their parents are cool. (Which they are, admittedly). Let us pray, instead, that I have my act together for class this afternoon. It'll be a trip.
I'm tired and I'm a bit beat, but I'm so proud of some incredible people. People are doing amazing things right now, for themselves, personally. I'm amazed, grateful and proud.
Onward.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
You ever..
You ever ask for something, and then immediately start to regret it.
Or wonder if it was the right choice. It seems so much like the right choice some hours ago.
I've asked to not receive some awesomeness.
All I want to do is cry again.
Fuck.
I'll blog about happy things again soon, but right now I'm just all a sensitive mess.
Onward.
Or wonder if it was the right choice. It seems so much like the right choice some hours ago.
I've asked to not receive some awesomeness.
All I want to do is cry again.
Fuck.
I'll blog about happy things again soon, but right now I'm just all a sensitive mess.
Onward.
Saturday, March 06, 2010
It caught up with me
I think everything finally caught up with me.
I watch my schedule like a hawk - - check, recheck. Admire it's ship-shap-ed-ness.
However, I didn't recheck the call time of a show that's returning this weekend. I thought my call was 6 p.m.: guess what started at 4:30 p.m.? Guess what I completely missed?
Thank god for awesome stage managers, and amazing ladies willing to step in at a moment's notice.
I try to load my schedule to the brim when work is available. If I miss something, yes, there is free time, but I'm not making money (and I build a flaky reputation. I don't want that any more of that than what comes naturally.) My schedule, like everyone else's, depends on being where you're supposed to be. The first part of success is showing up.
When the somewhat rare occasion happens that I actually miss something, I feel like a failure on so many levels. And it shows that I have been a 'failure' over so many weeks. Emails, attachments, every sort of reminder was there, sent happily to my inbox door. But I thought I had it right.
It sucks when, sometimes, you can't even trust yourself.
So stupid. Really brain dead dumb. Can't make excuses, gotta get with it.
Hoping that I'm haven't actually secretly busted brain cells, that make this sort of mistake possible. (I haven't been partaking in much behavior that would actually do that. Unless, it's been my impressive intake of almonds and water. I now drink a lot of water. I also eat a lot of almonds. I also try to call my mom on a regular basis. I am very boring.)
Perhaps my cat has added something to the air filter. Maybe my house is making me dumb. See where this line of thinking takes us?
Maybe I should just ACTUALLY double-check my calendar, be skeptical of everything I put down there, breathe, and move on.
Everything worked out tonight. The show went on: I'm very lucky.
Onward.
I watch my schedule like a hawk - - check, recheck. Admire it's ship-shap-ed-ness.
However, I didn't recheck the call time of a show that's returning this weekend. I thought my call was 6 p.m.: guess what started at 4:30 p.m.? Guess what I completely missed?
Thank god for awesome stage managers, and amazing ladies willing to step in at a moment's notice.
I try to load my schedule to the brim when work is available. If I miss something, yes, there is free time, but I'm not making money (and I build a flaky reputation. I don't want that any more of that than what comes naturally.) My schedule, like everyone else's, depends on being where you're supposed to be. The first part of success is showing up.
When the somewhat rare occasion happens that I actually miss something, I feel like a failure on so many levels. And it shows that I have been a 'failure' over so many weeks. Emails, attachments, every sort of reminder was there, sent happily to my inbox door. But I thought I had it right.
It sucks when, sometimes, you can't even trust yourself.
So stupid. Really brain dead dumb. Can't make excuses, gotta get with it.
Hoping that I'm haven't actually secretly busted brain cells, that make this sort of mistake possible. (I haven't been partaking in much behavior that would actually do that. Unless, it's been my impressive intake of almonds and water. I now drink a lot of water. I also eat a lot of almonds. I also try to call my mom on a regular basis. I am very boring.)
Perhaps my cat has added something to the air filter. Maybe my house is making me dumb. See where this line of thinking takes us?
Maybe I should just ACTUALLY double-check my calendar, be skeptical of everything I put down there, breathe, and move on.
Everything worked out tonight. The show went on: I'm very lucky.
Onward.
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