I Don't Want to be at the Eyeball.

We had big plans for the evening: dinner at a local fish house, watching a friend sing in Mozart's Requiem concert, perhaps an after-concert dessert and coffee....but.

I got as far as finishing my fish and chips when I felt that dreaded sensation that always precedes a crash -- an icy cold sensation on my face, followed by a drenching cold body-wide sweat, and the inexplicable need to get horizontal ASAP.

Dang.

We were quite a distance from home having carpooled with Terese and Greg, and when I realized that I was about to crash, I also realized that it would be stupid to ignore the warning signs, so I spoke up. "Guys. I'm really sorry, but..."

Within minutes, I was lying almost flat in a reclined seat in Goldie, and John and Greg and I were barreling north towards home. Crumb. This meant that all of our delightful plans were scrambled for everyone. Terese and her daughter did go to the concert, but the flying trip back home meant that John and Greg's plans were abandoned. And once John had helped me into my jammies and tucked me in for the night, he and Greg made the trip back downtown to retrieve everyone else after the concert was over.

AND NO PIE FOR ANYBODY. What a shame. What a party pooper I am.

I'm trying not to overreact to this adventure. I know that it's been at least four or five months since I had a crash of this proportion, and I'm guessing that there will be more in the upcoming eight weeks or so....but shoot. I suppose this means that I'm coming up on the eye on my mousie energy chart. Which means that the tip of his snout (and the lowest point on my graph) is also fast approaching.

I much prefer being right on the height of the mousie's back.