2002-11-01 - 1:08

Bells

So, my Hallowe'en get-up was acting the part of a guy so disoriented by illness that he couldn't get himself out of bed in the morning. Oh wait . . . no, that wasn't acting.

Yeah, the mild sickness that I mentioned yesterday was showing more force this morning.

Ding-dong.

Mmm?

Ding-dong.

Bells?

Ding-dong.

How does that sound fit into my reality?

Ding-dong.

Hmm . . .

Ding-dong.

Oh wait, that wasn't reality; that was a dream.

Ding-dong.

But the bell seems distinctly real.

Ding-dong.

Real bells mean something . . .

Ding-dong.

That sounds like a . . . doorbell.

Ding-dong.

Oh shit. Pull on a pair of shorts and stumble to the door.

"Greg, sorry, bro. Didn't . . . the bells. I'm not feeling so well. Bells. Ughh. Tell Dr. J I'll be in late . . . bells."

So, eventually, I did stumble in to work and coherence was within my grasp for the rest of the day. Fortunately, it had to be a short day, anyway, since I had to head home for Hallowe'en.

Hallowe'en is far less bustling in the new house. I had my Misfits "Hallowe'en 2000" tour shirt on and appropriate tunage on the stereo, as in years past, but the turn-out was only around thirty-five, compared to the hundred and fifty that I saw one year at the townhouse. It was also more fun in the past, hanging out with someone as I handed out the treats.

I must say, though, that it was a polite batch of kids. If anything, they were too meek, as they left me with a significant candy surplus.

Have faith, though. I'm sure that it's nothing that I can't handle.

J.