This morning I was drinking coffee and checking e-mail and WHOOSH! our internet connection quit. No lights were blinking. Frogs began falling from the sky. Veiled horsemen began circling outside the house. People (mostly me) were flipping out.
(Actually, Jeff detected my sweat and sent me off to the shower so he could fix it in peace. I shaved my legs for the first time in ages! Also, I used really excellent shower gel. If you talk to me today, don’t be concerned if I take a lot of breaks to smell myself. MmmmmmVanilla.)
All of this to say: Because we don’t know if the connection will blow again, I am literally puking out my NaBloPoMo entry. I’mtypingasfastasIcanBarbaraGordon!
Tonight we’re going here. We’ll be riding a shuttle bus dressed up as a train, and we’ll be feeling The Christmas Spirit, and I’m planning on taking the video camera, but chances are I’ll be crying entirely too hard to actually take it out of the case. (The Christmas Spirit gets me Every Single Time. Don’t even get me started on Amy Grant’s Christmas album. The one with Tennessee Christmas? I can’t even drive while listening to it—much more dangerous than texting.)
I hope all is well with you and that you can’t really detect my Frantic. You know, I’ve heard at least 849 people say that God never gives you more than you can handle. Clearly, if losing an internet connection affects me like this, I can’t handle much. This explains why I tend to swim in gravy. Calm water gravy. Not money gravy. So many different gravies out there.