Tell me if this has ever happened to you: You wake up and a cat with a lampshade on his head is staring at you accusingly. It happened to me this morning. After a tumble with an enemy combatant poor Wyatt Earp was bitten. Bitten! By another cat! WITH TEETH! Gah!
I did the only thing I could do. Lockdown. No one goes in or out without passwords. Cat door has been closed for business and taped with heavy duty duct tape. Everyone is bitter.
In the continuing saga of what could aptly be titled: The Ear Infection That Swallowed Los Angeles, I have been deemed unfit for travel requiring changes in cabin pressure. NO FLYING. The ENT I saw today did things to my ear that are best not discussed. I will not speak of them. I have another appointment on Monday. So in other words I won't find out if I'm heading south on a jet plane until 24 hours before take off. Madre santa!
All of this reminds me of a trip I had planned for Paris some years back. I didn't receive biopsy results until 24 hours before the flight. I was planning to go anyway no matter what. In my mind I could see myself launched for flight at the tippy top of the Eifel Tower. My sister had even agreed to push me. Just before falling to my death I would whisper, 'goodbye cruel world'. BUT! The biopsy turned out not to be stage 4 cancer. I was going to live! The Eifel Tower scenario didn't happen. I went to Paris and I SPARKLED!
So I rest my fate in the hands of Chaos. It lends a sort of drama to the trip and I don't have to pack now, if at all, until Monday.