It isn’t even ten AM and I’ve hit what I pray is the day’s low point: blowing my nose in a Trader Joes receipt.
In general, I can’t shake this feeling of syncopation. I’m just several beats out of step with the rhythm around me. One eye is still a little blurry from the PRK, and I seem to have caught the bubonic plague from Francie and Fiona, which means I am sneezing into receipts and coughing phlegm balls into a dirty tee shirt I keep wadded up in the car. Very sexy. Oh, and I have a three day school week to look forward to next week. (They say it’s for parent/teacher conferences, but I think the teachers are chartering a boat to Maui.)
But I’m in Seattle, where at least it looks like this today.
And where we can all marry who we love and be slightly high while doing so.
It ain’t all bad, people.