Just Me and My Sinuses...

Strolling down the avenue....

I've complained previously and at length about my damn stupid sinuses and their odd tendency to freak out for no reason and condemn me to an endless cycle of snot, and Sudafed, and probably an eventual appearance on Cops for the over-purchase of said Sudafed in my attempt to gain appropriately sinus-quelling quantities.

And while the Sudafed Diet Plan is an effective one--i.e., if you're on speed and can't taste anything, you tend not to eat much and the extra twitchiness burns more calories--the dreams that come out of the Sudafed haze are not exactly restful.

Take last night as an example.  Apparently, the university had decided to send me to England to cover a policy speech by some wonky minister of the economy.  No, I have no experience in this field, nor do I have even a passing interest.  Such are the wages of Sudafed.

Anyhoo, off I went to England, to this brick building that seemed part renovated theatre, part classroom building, and part Jane Austen townhome.  I had my trusty digital recorder, but I had no "proper media credentials."  Also, I had no pants.

So there I was, clad only in underpants and my Davidson Elite 8 commemmorative t-shirt, trying desperately to "blend" with the Business Casual crowd by sitting demurely in a flowered wingback chair.  No, I don't know either.  Then I realized I had lost my digital recorder outside, whereupon a truly epic Battle Against Architecture ensued as I clambered down ladders to nowhere and navigated strange metal railings in an attempt to get outside.  I finally made it outdoors, and spent a lot of time squishing barefooted across the soggy lawn in the quest to find my recorder.  Finally, Posh Spice showed up and pointed it out to me.  Again, I have no idea.

Recorder in hand, I attempted to regain entry, only to be forced into the equivalent of a green room where I could only sit, soggy and pantsless, and watch the wonky economic minister's announcement on TV. 

Then I woke up.  I hate my sinuses.